The Thief King

39 | Tales of a Bastard

Dorian watched the crown prince and the decadently clad heiress from Grey Mountains slip out of the banquet hall—unnoticed by most, but not all. He smiled in the alcove in which he stood, toasting the prince in a private solute. So there was courage in the boy, albeit but a trace.

He breathed in the thick air with all its fragrances, aromas, and stenches. Food dominated the smells, and if he were merely a party-goer, he would have succumbed to its call and indulged in all it had to offer. As it were, he had tried perhaps a glass too much of the wine this night—not as much as Logan might think—but enough to make his duties far easier.

He cast his gaze across the heads of the guests, seeking out a specific young lady who was likely blending into the decor, despite her pretty face. He studied each maidservant, each butler and lady's maid. Perhaps the wine was dulling his senses, turning every brunette into the other until features blurred and they all looked...

There she stood. Eyes downcast and...crying. She was crying, and no one was paying any attention. He finished his glass of wine, cringing as its potent aftertaste burned his palette. Wine was meant to be sipped, not thrown back like a pint of cheap ale. He deposited the flute on a passing tray, barely acknowledging the butler that thanked him, and walked towards the fragile fairy shedding silent tears. A part of him did not miss the romance in the situation, but that part of him was not dominant, and he had plans for the girl.

He had halved the distance between them when an old crow stepped up behind Sera and yanked on her arm. A sultry looking maid stood waiting behind the crow, threading her fingers through one another nervously, her eyes downcast. Sera turned, curtsying to the old woman in a curt bob.

Her superior then. Dorian snarled, but waited for the exchange to be over before approaching further.

There was a lot of pointing fingers—by the crow, and nods—Sera, before finally Sera bobbed again and hurried away from the old lady and towards the closed doors that led to the palace rose garden. Dorian smiled as fate swung him a boon and followed.

Sera pressed her cold fingers to her cheeks, feeling the heat that simmered under her skin jump as she left the banquet hall. She swallowed the insistent lump at the back of her throat, and finally allowed the tears to fall as they may. What was the use in fighting it when she was failing so miserably? There was a chance that if she gave them free reign, they would run their course and subside.

The air was cold enough to freeze tears, and it felt good stepping out into the frosty air after so long in the musty banquet hall. She left the safety of the veranda and stepped onto feather light snow, shallow enough for her feet to still touch the sodden earth below. She walked further, towards the pavilion on the other side of the hedge. It was far enough from the palace for the nobles to not dare traverse, but close enough for her to chance.

She slipped silently into the night, her footprints a clear path of her disappearance. Mrs Bailey had been furious to find her crying for no apparent reason. She had threatened to deduct wages, and truthfully Sera would have collapsed if she had, but instead she'd instructed Sera to leave and compose herself before checking back in. The respite was perhaps the best remedy for her haunting mind that taunted her with memories and questions and...

"Sera?" It was a familiar accent, in a voice Sera recognized. She turned and was surprised to see a dark figure following in her footsteps. His strides were long and purposeful and it was only a few moments later that a familiar shaven face stood before her.

"Lord Dorian?"

He smiled, puffs of white smoke betraying his exertion. He studied her for a moment before a crease appeared between his brows. "You're shivering."