“And the women?”
“Ah,” she said, her voice almost a purr. She broke eye contact with you and shot me a smirk. “Women are another matter entirely.”
Her fingers brushed against my leg under the table, equal parts bold and tentative. I seized her hand in mine, unable to decide whether I wanted to cast her off or pull her closer.
I squeezed her fingers and let her hand go, and she withdrew her hand into her own lap. But we were seated so closely together we were almost touching, and I could feel the living heat wafting off her body. Her blood smelled strongly spiced and sweet as fortified wine, shot through with a salacious, irresistible musk.
I wanted to take her away from you and pull her into some darkened hallway, unfasten the lace ruff from around her throat and run my mouth along the pale slope of her neck. I wanted to feel her lifeblood bursting in my mouth, savor every note of her complex bouquet.
Instead, I swallowed through a dry throat and said, “I’m sorry to hear about your father’s disappearance.”
Magdalena let out a peal of laughter. She was flushed from drinking and dancing, and her shoulders were loose with joy.
“I’m not! I deposed him, Constanta. Didn’t your husband mention?”
I shook my head politely, wondering what kind of madhouse I had been brought into. Magdalena threaded her arm through mine and pulled me in closer. I noticed that you were lightly holding her free hand, running your thumb over the delicate bones in her wrist.
“My father,” Magdalena began, her lips almost brushing my ear. “Was a tyrant. Feared by the people, stubborn in all his strategies, and untrustworthy with the family fortune. I spent my life in his shadow, trying to wrest control away from him, or at least convince him that I could be trusted with diplomatic responsibilities. He didn’t see my skills for politics. But I will not accept a world behind bars, Constanta. I must always have my freedom. So I worked my magic with gossip and bribes and carefully exposed secrets, and the next thing you know my father is wasting away of gout in some remote hunting lodge, out of the public eye.”
“You banished him?”
“He quietly… showed himself out. Barely left a trace. With his reputation ruined there was no life for him here anymore. And that’s when my life truly began.”
“A wonder,” you pronounced, your gaze devouring the bow of her lips, the line of her jaw. “A genius.”
Now I understood why you were so enamored with her. She was as cunning as you were, and as cold as a Transylvanian winter. Beneath the fripperies and the giggles there was a girl made of steel, one who would do whatever it took to survive.
You could never resist a survivor. Or a mirror.
You took her hand and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the pulse on the inside of her wrist. The nobles were watching; people could see you. You didn’t care.
“And what would you sacrifice, my Lady Machiavelli, for your freedom? What would you give me if it were in my power to promise you total immunity from the shackles of society? A life without limits, without laws to chafe against?”
“Anything,” Magdalena said, without a moment’s hesitation.
“If I could take you away from all this tomorrow, would you let me?”
“Yes.”
You smiled against her skin.
“Good.”
The rest of dinner passed in a blur. I ate whatever Magdalena hand-fed me, I listened to the warm lull of your voice as she trailed her fingers along mine. I gently touched the curls that had come loose at the base of her neck while you fed her little sips of wine from your glass; she whispered salacious nothings in your ear while her ankle brushed against mine under the table. We grew increasingly entangled, the air between us close and hot, and it was no surprise when you said:
“It’s getting late. Will your excellency be retiring soon?”
“I think I shall,” she said breathlessly, catching your drift immediately.
“Allow me to escort you to your rooms,” you said, standing to pull her chair out for her. She threw a dark-eyed glance through her lashes at me. It was a look men would have razed whole cities to the ground for.
“Will Lady Constanta be joining us?” she asked.
I wrung my napkin tightly in my lap, out of sight, and tried to keep my voice level. I was being invited to bed with you both, and you would be enjoying each other tonight, whether I came or not.
“Later, perhaps. I’d like to take some of the night air first.”
“Of course,” you said magnanimously, as though you were allowing me some indulgence instead of taking your own. You leaned over and kissed my brow, your hand hovering over the small of Magdalena’s back. “I have your permission, don’t I?”