Page 33 of The Queen's Line

My eyes slid to Wendell, and I was surprised to find him watching them as avidly as I had, a soft smile on his lips. For whom? The princess or the artist? Visually, I liked them both. I searched the room and found Owen fiddling with a broken lamp in the corner. He glanced up, and his own lips curled as he took in Cosmo's flirting.

If Bryony had a favorite of us, I suspected it was Owen thus far, but he didn't appear jealous. And I was…surprised to find that I wasn't bothered by Wendell's attention turned away from me either. That was good. If he and I were going to have any longevity here as Bryony's Chosen—because I had no doubt shewouldbe making use of us, sooner or later—our own romance was going to have to be open to new members, or at least guests.

I wasn't sure about Cosmo yet, but I certainly didn't mind the idea of sharing Wendell with Bryony. Or vice versa.

"I can't think of a use for a statue of myself, but I'll help in any way I can," Bryony said, charmingly pink down to her throat now.

"Done with this," Owen called, righting the lamp against the wall and moving to join us.

"Owen, you don't have to make the repairs yourself, you know," Bryony murmured, reaching for him and enfolding herself between the two men.

He shrugged. "Seems like a waste to wait for someone else to do it when I know how. I don't mind. Come on, there's another room I want you to see," he said.

Wendell waited for me as they passed him and headed back to the dark hall.

"I can't tell if you're goading her intentionally," Wendell whispered in his slightly clunky Mennarian. He often mixed up the words from formal tongue and common when we were only speaking with one another.

"Neither can I," I answered.

I usually settled on the common tongue; the grammar was closer to Kimmerian for Wendell. Before, when I was only a Mennarian prince and Wendell was only the ambassador, we should've spoken exclusively in formal tongue, regardless of our intimacy. If one of us had been a woman, using the common tongue would've been a demonstration of our intentions to one another, but there was no allowance for relationships between men. It was a relief to finally be in an environment where none of that mattered.

"Treat the others with respect," Wendell said, even more quietly. "It's one thing to tease her, but she rises to their defense quickly and she might mistake your intent."

My back tightened at the caution, and I reined myself in before I snapped at Wendell. He wasn't wrong—I couldn't remember a time Wendell had ever been wrong—I was just notoriously irritable when corrected, the inflexibility of my own upbringing was finding its way into uncomfortable places in my personal relationships.

I nodded to Wendell, and it was worth ignoring my own discomfort for the tilt of his lips and the brush of his hand against my back. Ahead of us, Bryony leaned into Owen's side, her right hand tangled with Cosmo's left. They were so at ease with each other, and they'd only known one another for a handful of days. Wendell and I had been lovers for years, but we were so used to hiding the fact that we barely knew how to express it outside of our sex life. I reached for his hand and felt his steps falter before he squeezed tight around my fingers and granted me a shining smile. A simple offering with a powerful return. I sighed, and my tension unwound.

Owen led us through the dim halls to the back corner of the palace and into the gymnasium he and I had found the day before. It still had a stale smell to it, equipment left out to gather dust, and I was surprised by the gleeful note from Bryony.

"Oh, look! Everything's been left," she said, freeing herself from between her Chosen and running across the room to examine the swords resting in the notches on the wall. My eyebrows lifted as she rose to her toes, drawing up a long sabre and pulling it from its thin sleeve.

"Kimmery loves its fencing," Wendell reminded me. "And our queen's line has a reputation for being the fiercest swordswomen." He bowed lightly in Bryony's direction and she rolled her eyes a little.

I could see it though, with the way she held the blade to rest against her knuckles as she examined its length. A sabre for sport was a needle by comparison to the inukat—the long, flat, Mennarian blade with a slight curve to its length—I'd trained to fight with for battle, but a needle could still cut an important artery in well trained hands. She bounced the blade lightly and then took the hilt, cutting through the air with a resulting whistle.

"It's still good," she said. "Do you duel, Wendell?"

"I could easily lose to you," Wendell said, laughing at Bryony's frown. "I'm terrible, not modest. Thao would be a better sparring partner for you."

It might've seemed like an innocent suggestion, if it weren't for Wendell's glance at me out of the corner of his eye.

"It's not my weapon, but I might serve with a little tutelage," I agreed, moving to join Bryony at the wall.

If I were sword-fighting for sport in Mennary, I would never choose an opponent as diminutive as the princess, let alone a woman. But watching her rotate her wrist and arm, learning the weight of the weapon she held comfortably in one hand, I had no doubt that it would be a mistake to underestimate Bryony with a blade of any kind.

"I'll gladly teach you sabre fencing if you will teach me the art of inukat," Bryony said, glancing up at me from beneath her lashes.

"If I do not faint at the sight of you holding a sword as tall as you are, I will happily teach you to wield it," I said, grinning.

Bryony's smile was my own reward, sly and delighted, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if she were ready to lunge and gut me already. I would have to be on my guard with this woman.

* * *

"Mmm, I feel…I feel spoiled,"Wendell said, still trying to catch his breath as I wiped our stomachs clean with a towel.

"By my lovemaking?" I asked, grinning.

"Ha! Well, yes, but more…isn't it better this way?" Wendell asked, and then blinked up at me, a sleepy satisfied smile painted over his lips. He was exquisite, my hazy sunlight of a man, all pale and golden with eyes to match a good day's sky. "Maybe you didn't worry about it the way I did," Wendell mumbled, eyelids growing heavy.