She didn’t flush, not Lysse. She was used to such attention now. Her smile softened her face while making her sex appeal even better. A true beauty. “You never could resist a nice bum, could you?”
He grinned rakishly, then strolled to the sidebar that was stocked with an aged whiskey and poured two fingers in a short glass. He tossed the drink back, the burning sensation in his throat like scorching fire. “Not yours, apparently.”
Silence found them, his words weighing in the room. Maybe he was seeing things in the dimly lit room, but he thought her gaze appeared warmer than it had a few minutes ago. She still kept the pistol pointed at him but her arm had lowered greatly so he was only at risk of losing his manhood at most.
Fantastic.
She grabbed the doorknob and began to turn it. “Well, if that’s all…”
“I do think you should keep that door closed, Lysse.”
“And why is that, Patrick?” She pointedly used his name.
He decided to let it slide this time. He had other plans for her.
“Unless you want me to tell the king about your secret, then you’ll close that door, turn around, and finish this conversation with me.”
Her shoulders flew back and a growl vibrated from her throat—an animalistic sound—as she spun around, bearing her teeth like a rabid wolf.
He’d struck a nerve. Perfect. He had her in a corner now. He’d deftly taken the upper hand and she didn’t even know it yet. He had her where he wanted her.
Because he knew her secret. A secret so heinous, the king himself would turn her in to see her beheaded. An arena would cheer as they watched her die, so hated would she be. If they only knew what he knew.
Pistol or not, he’d get what he wanted. On second thought, this would require another drink. He finished another swig of fire before continuing with his plans.
She didn’t share the same patience he’d summoned. “My secret?” Her eyes changed then, turning into something cold and deadly. A look that nearly made him tighten his grip on his sword handle—but that’d be silly—she was no real danger to him.
“Yes, your rather ugly little secret. Only, it’s not so little, is it? What would people think if they knew, Lysse? What would they think of you?”
“I’m a whore. It won’t be much different than what they think of me already.” Her eyes rolled. She sighed like a dramatic actress, her expression telling him how very boring this all was to her. How very boring he was to her.
It grated his nerves like eating rocks. She never did take him seriously. His hand curled into a white-knuckled fist. Then he forced it to relax; no use getting riled up. Not when he had her where he wanted her.
“Angry? You always did lose your temper easily.” Her smug laughter rankled him more than he liked.
Patrick glowered, not finding her laughter anything close to humorous.
She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “You always were oblivious to the truth. As if I’d tell you anything. You’d be surprised at the things I hear. At the thoughts people let slip out around me when they think I’m not listening or too dumb to understand. It’s even better when they think you’re stupid. My dear Patrick, it’s all rather glorious how easily they are played.”
“Even the king?”
“Yes, even Lyle.” Her eyes twinkled with smug satisfaction.
He had no doubt her words rang true.
“Do explain, love. I’m aching to hear all.” Sarcasm dripped from him like ooze.
“Lyle feels quite the affection for his friend, the general. The king had a long list of names he could have chosen from for the Claiming Ceremony. All the women were perfectly attractive and healthy, but he chose Penelope Farris. A ballet dancer from town who’d created quite a name for herself. She’d managed to entrance the attention of the general.”
“I believe that’s because of how high she can kick her legs.”
Before she could blink, Patrick unsheathed his pinpoint sword from his cane and held the tip to her neck.
She sucked in a breath, caught by surprise. Delicately, she arched her neck away from the deadly point.
But he kept the silver-plated tip poised at her neck, his arm ready to finish the deed. Though, it’d pain him to end her. In ways he’d always—appreciated—Lysse and her tenacious personality. It reminded him much of himself. Or maybe it was because they were both on the lower rung of life, in ways, and they shared that in common.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “I want you to tell me everything you know about Ryon’s schedule for the Claiming Ceremony tomorrow.” He tapped the edge of his sword to her throat—a warning.