Prince of Lies [COMPLETED]

Chapter 32

"Master Frederick, it is time."

Frederick eyed himself in the mirror. "Is it really necessary for me to wear my family's crown tonight?"

"The queen insisted," Viscon said. "Now, please do not take this as an insult, but you look positively Carnelian."

Indeed. The blue brocade suit fit him perfectly. A plain black tunic beneath it all. Though it was more extravagant than what he ever wore at Thescan yet somehow quite informal, he found that he did not mind it, caught in the way the light traveled over the fabric and illuminated the subtle silver threading.

He'd never owned anything so finely made, detail in every stitch capturing the way the moon sheened off the ocean. And he imagined his wife in that crammed room, lovingly overseeing every detail of this garment. After he begrudgingly put on the crown, he found it suited the whole thing rather well, and someone whistled behind him.

"If you weren't Arabella's husband, I would have pounced all over you," Gheorge said. His red hair had been tied back, and he'd somehow managed to make a black evening jacket with no shirt look formal and refined.

Frederick raised both brows. "I am Arabella's husband, and it doesn't stop you from attempting to pounce on me every chance you get."

"Vicious flirt," Viscon said. "Have you no shame, man?"

Gheorge's mouth split into a slow grin. "Speaking of shameless, did you ever go back to Thescan to speak to that soldier, Viscon?"

"Soldier? What soldier?" Frederick asked.

"That's quite enough," Viscon said, smoothing the ruffles of his shirt in one prim sweep. Viscon said that there would be every fashion from every period in every style worn at this ball tonight, assuring it would all be quite eclectic and morbid.

"But I'm curious now," Frederick said. "What solider, Viscon?"

"See," Gheorge said smugly, standing next to Viscon with his hands clasped behind his back, "Prince Frederick is curious. He has neigh as much authority as our queen. Why don't you answer?"

"Our queen would never press the way you do, and neither would Frederick."

Frederick cleared his throat. "Actually ..."

Viscon's eyes widened, and Gheorge laughed. "Come on, old man, spill. Tell him about that delicious soldier who you—"

"It was nothing, Master, nothing," Viscon insisted. "I just saved someone from a precarious position at that battle gone past. He was thankful that I'd been able to spare him from the enemy's sword. And he was kind to me. That's all."

"I'll bet," Frederick said, raising a brow. "And you fancy him, do you?"

Viscon reddened. "No." Gheorge barked with laughter and Viscon glared at him. "No. I do not fancy him."

"Which soldier?" Frederick asked. "Did you get his name?"

The color in Viscon's face deepened to a bloody rush. "Loren."

"Captain Ellison?" Frederick said. "Then that's marvelous. He's rumored to favor the company of men as opposed to women. I only know he's a fine soldier, but I know of him. Why don't I make up some horseshit errand that forces you to see him?"

"Thank you but you don't need to do that," Viscon said, lowering his eyes to the floor. "As much as I crave companionship, I rarely attract it."

That gave Frederick pause. "You crave companionship, Viscon?"

"Of course I do." He shook his head. "Just look at me. I'm deformed, grotesque, hideous—"

"And so completely dismal and dull," Gheorge included, but the humor in his words didn't reach his eyes. "But I didn't come here to wallow in your self-pity. I have enough of that for myself already. Just know that you're a coward. That man was dying to talk to you, and some cock might make you feel better, you pompous."