Page 84 of Hollow Court
He was too smug, like he knew something I didn’t. Like he had the names of every rebel masquerading as a loyal soldier and would die for the chance to rub them in my face.
Any lingering doubt that he was responsible for what happened today effectively disappeared.
Whatever it took, I was going to win this vote.
And then, when I had won, when I had no discernible motive, when enough time had passed that everyone had finished gossiping about the little spat between me and my not-quite-cousin…
Then, I was going to end him.
* * *
When Galina gotto the roof that night, I was already waiting with a glass of her favorite white wine.
It had been jarring to go from the chaos of the village to a ridiculously late dinner with courtiers in the same evening. From blood-soaked bandages to fine linens and crystal goblets.
The handful of nobles who had been in the village discussed the attack in low whispers, as if they were afraid the mere mention of it all would bring the rebels to the formal dining hall.
I couldn’t say I blamed them, but it made for an ominous evening, nonetheless.
Galina took the glass of wine with an arch of her eyebrows. She said nothing about the fact that I had clearly anticipated her presence.
“White wine?” she asked, her crystalline gaze reflecting the stars above us.
“Well, I figured you hate me enough already without forcing you to drink hard liquor.” My tone was light, like we hadn’t both spent our day watching people die.
I needed five minutes to not think about that.
Galina surveyed me a moment before taking the glass, tilting it against her lips.
“I don’t hate you,” she said, her lashes fluttering as she savored the flavor of the wine. “I…nothingyou.”
Her tone, too, was more casual than the storms churning behind her eyes.
“Younothingme?” I played along.
She took another long sip from her glass, a delicate hip resting against the balustrade as she pretended to consider her response.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s a perfectly neutral stance wherein I have no feelings at all regarding your person.”
There was a time I had believed that was exactly how she felt about me. A bit of fun, she had said. Butfunhad never really been her style.
I shook my head. “No. I understood the concept perfectly, but thank you for that slightly hurtful clarification.”
She lifted a single slim shoulder. “I thought you’d appreciate the honesty.”
I let out a low chuckle, taking a drink from my own glass, relishing the burn of the whiskey all the way down.
“Of course. You and your endless penchant for truth telling. Have any delicious crab soup lately?” It wasn’t the question I wanted to ask.
I wanted to ask why she was here if she had exactly zero feelings regarding my person, but I wasn’t willing to risk her leaving just to prove a point.
“I’m sure I would have, if you had anything to say about it,” she shot back. “You do seem to enjoy making me miserable.”
It was a joke, but it brought home the reality of our situation, of the way we had spent our evening. I sucked in a breath before asking my next question.
“Areyou miserable?”
She turned to face me, her eyes searching my features. “Would it matter if I was? We have a deal.”