"Are you judging that by my dancing?" His hand tightened, and he twirled them faster, completing two full rotations where the dance only called for one.
"That, my lord, sounds like you are fishing for compliments. Does your ego require reinforcing?"
The laugh that was his answer boomed across the ballroom.
Impressively, roaring with laughter didn't make the man skip a beat of the dance.
"Not usually, Lieutenant, but perhaps after a few hours in your company, I may need time to recover from being so neatly skewered." He grinned at her.
She doubted much could skewer this man. "A few hours, my lord? I don't think the set will last so long."
"There will be another set after this one. If you are inclined only to dancing."
Definitely not skewered. No dint to his confidence for him to be hinting at perhaps the chance for more. Some women would have thought him presumptuous. Or outright overstepping the bounds of good manners. Whereas she was just...well, judging by the heartbeat ringing in her ears at the thought of his hands touching other parts of her body, inclined to something more than dancing. But that didn't mean she would give in so easily.
"And if I were inclined only to dancing, my lord, would you still want to spend a few hours in my company?"
His expression turned thoughtful for a moment, and she wondered if he was going to say no. But then his hand tightened on her waist, just a fraction. Enough to draw her an inch closer, as though he rejected the notion of letting her go. "As it turns out, Lieutenant," he said, his eyes intent on hers, "I think I would."
She lost her breath. And perhaps her mind. The room continued to spin around them as they danced on, and she kept her eyes locked to Jean-Paul's. He seemed like the one true thing in the world. A sensation both reassuring and alarmingly seductive. A sensation she didn't want to come to an end. Not just yet. She needed to stay here where she could just dance and not think too hard. Not until she was sure she was ready to let him lead her on to the next step of this dance of theirs. She wanted what came after. Her body told her that. She ached to move closer to him. To touch more. To taste.
But a corner of her mind was also whispering that perhaps this was more than she'd gone looking for.
She didn't want to let that thought in. So instead she gazed into gray eyes that caught her like a storm and just danced.
And when they stood breathing hard after the set concluded, she decided that she would indeed chance the storm to see what happened. But, as Jean-Paul escorted her off the dance floor, there was a gold-and-silver-liveried servant waiting for him.
"Major," the man said. "I was sent to find you."
Imogene's heart dropped. Jean-Paul’s hand, where it rested on hers tucked through his arm, flexed.
"My father?" Jean-Paul asked, sounding impatient.
"No, your emperor," the servant said.
Jean-Paul blew out a frustrated breath. She had some sympathy for that emotion. But he couldn't ignore the emperor's request.
She slid her arm free and stepped away. "You must go, my lord. Thank you for the dance."
He bowed fast and then straightened. "Don't go anywhere until I return, Lieutenant," he said fiercely, then caught her hand to his lips to kiss the back of her glove.
Chapter 8
Jean-Paul followed the servant through the palace halls, recognizing the route toward one of Aristides’s favorite audience chambers. That was a reassuring sign. If something had gone seriously wrong, he would have been ordered to the barracks to join the rest of his squad as soon as they’d left the ballroom. Mostly, though, he was aware that every step he took was in the wrong direction. He wanted to be back with Imogene, not doing whatever the hell this was. His body was rumbling with frustrated...well, he didn’t want to think too closely on the sensation. Lust, yes. The woman was beautiful. But there was more than lust at play here. A thought perhaps, more disconcerting than why he was being dragged from the ballroom and her company.
But when the servant ushered him into the chamber with a discreet "The Marq of Lasienne" and he saw who stood talking with the emperor, his frustration at leaving Imogene and concern about what had happened to cause Aristides to drag him out of the ball was swamped by a pulse of deep irritation.
He bowed to Aristides with a quick "Your Imperial Majesty," then turned to greet the other man. "Father. Fancy meeting you here." He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice and hoped to the goddess that this wasn't to be another of his father's “It's time to start paying more attention to your duties” talks, backed up with the weight of Aristides’s presence.
"Jean-Paul." His father nodded a greeting. Dressed in a jacket embroidered with cresting waves in the du Laq blues, Andre du Laq glittered only slightly less than the emperor, whose jacket was a symphony of gold and silver. Knowing how much Aristides sometimes disliked the displays he was obliged to make, Jean-Paul could only imagine it had been chosen by the empress. "I hope you are enjoying the evening."
Well, he had been until now. But that wasn't a tactful response. Particularly when he didn't yet know what Aristides wanted.
He focused back on the emperor. Aristides was some eight years older than Jean-Paul, but they were friends of a kind. As much as you could be friends with an emperor. "You asked to see me, Your Imperial Majesty?"
"Yes," Aristides said. "I have a new assignment for you."
Jean-Paul's neck prickled. He wasn't sure he would like the next words out of Aristides’s mouth. "I am, of course, happy to serve." Though somewhat confused. The emperor's Imperial Guard was run through the mage corps, not the regulars. Jean-Paul's military duties were assigned via his commanding officer, not Aristides.
"We have received word that the ambassadorial delegation from Andalyssia will reach the city tomorrow. I'd like you to oversee their security detail."
Security? Not usually the realm of the cavalry. "Isn't that something the Guard should do?" he asked.
Aristides shrugged. "Things are still delicate with Andalyssia. We thought it best to make them feel as though we are paying them due deference. And so—" He pointed at Jean-Paul. "—they get you."
Delicate was a nice way of saying that the idiot in charge of the last mission to Andalyssia had been a moron who had somehow managed to upset an entire country. Jean-Paul didn't recall the precise details, as it had been some time ago, but he knew the Imperial army had been braced for rumblings of trouble from that part of the empire following the mission. They hadn't eventuated, but it had still taken months for the Andalyssians to agree to come to Lumia to meet with Aristides. It rarely took months for Aristides to get his way on a matter, which was proof of just how delicate the situation was. Aristides was buttering the Andalyssians up. Which made Jean-Paul’s role crystal clear.
"You want the son of a duq to make them feel important." Jean-Paul rolled his eyes and didn't look at his father. Andre had campaigned with Aristides’s father and had made a name for himself as something of a diplomat in his youth. He still acted as an advisor to the emperor on matters of some of the farther-flung parts of the empire at times. Usually those times involved Andre having a broader game in mind. Or just being in the mood to meddle. In this case, Jean-Paul hoped he wasn't trying to gain favor with Aristides in order to get the emperor to lean on Jean-Paul to be a good boy and marry.
"Precisely," Aristides said. "But don't worry, you will work with my guards. We just need you to play nice and make sure our friends from Andalyssia are happy. We will hold a welcome ball a few days after they arrive. That should placate them somewhat."
Jean-Paul hid his wince. He didn't mind balls like tonight’s so much, the ones that were more social occasions for the court than anything. They, of course, came with politics and posturing, but not to the level seen at the more formal balls held when Aristides had a point to make or a message to deliver. Those were far more tedious, every move and word needing to be considered and analyzed. He had to pay attention to court politics. It was part o
f being who he was. That didn't mean he had to enjoy the worst aspects of it. But he did have to obey his emperor. "Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. I look forward to it."
Aristides’s mouth quirked, but he didn't call Jean-Paul on the lie. Instead he turned to Andre and said, "There, my lord. Your son has accepted his task. Perhaps you would allow us to talk alone for a few moments? I hate to think I am keeping you from this evening's pleasantries."
The speed with which his father complied with this request made the hairs on the back of Jean-Paul's neck prickle. So he wasn't surprised when Aristides walked over to the sideboard, poured himself a glass of ilvsoir, and then settled into one of the delicate gilt chairs, gesturing for Jean-Paul to sit too before saying, "Danced with any pretty girls tonight?"
Now that they were alone, Jean-Paul didn't need to be polite. "What did my father promise you to get you to ask me that?" He lowered himself carefully onto a chair. Palace furniture tended toward spindly-legged styles that were not designed for someone of his size. Though these were more comfortable than some of the torture devices disguised as furniture Aristides used in some of the audience chambers he reserved for people he didn't want to encourage to linger.
Aristides grinned. "Can't I be concerned over my friend's lonely bachelorhood?"
"Given it hasn't much concerned you before now, no. I'm in no hurry to follow you into matrimony. Unlike you, I don't have an empire to secure with heirs." Aristides had married young. He and his empress had produced a crown prince and three princesses since then. Their children were spread out over twelve years. Alain was just eighteen. Cecilie, the youngest, was six. And the empress was unexpectedly—to the court, at least—pregnant again. Perhaps that was what was making Aristides family minded.
"A duq also has a line to secure," Aristides retorted.
"I'm not duq yet," Jean-Paul said. "And I have siblings. Nothing’s going to happen to the San Pierre legacy if something happens to me."
"I prefer you to your siblings."
"Well, my younger brother is a twit, I grant you that. The girls are both sensible, though."
"There has never, to my knowledge, been a Duquesse of San Pierre in her own right," Aristides said. "I have enough trouble with things at the moment without your family causing an uproar by failing to pass the title to a male heir.”
"Then you'll take the twit and set my sisters to managing him. They'll find him a sensible wife," Jean-Paul said, then realized he had perhaps made a tactical error in reintroducing the subject of marriage.
Aristides smiled, the expression edged. "I'd rather find you a sensible wife. Your father mentioned Celadin?"
"Celly would rather eat her entire collection of shoes than marry me, I expect." Jean-Paul waved a dismissive hand. He'd know Celadin de Bretani since they'd both been small. Never had the slightest desire to kiss her, nor, as far as he could tell, she him. "We get along, but nothing more than that."
"Your father reliably informs me that the breeding of heirs doesn't require such things." Aristides smirked and drank again.
"Says the man who adores his wife." True, Aristides hadn't had much time to choose when he'd been pressed to marry so young, but in Liane, he had made a match with someone he could love.
"I'm perfectly prepared to let you marry someone you adore, too," Aristides said. He tapped his glass with one long brown finger, dark eyes serious. "But you need to find her. Your father, I suspect, will start to force the issue if you do not take some action soon. So consider this my hint to start to take action."
Jean-Paul thought of Imogene and the action he would have been taking with her right now if he hadn't been interrupted. He frowned, wondering if she would indeed be waiting for him when he returned. His frown turned to a grin that he had to work to regulate to something less enthusiastic.
Aristides cleared his throat. "Am I to take it from your expression that there may be a candidate?"
"For marriage? No." The lieutenant was beautiful, but they had only just met. He wasn't going to confuse attraction for affection so soon.
"Ah. So we interrupted something more...temporary? In which case, my friend, I shall consider my duty to your father done and release you back to your entertainments, such as they are. Major Perrine will be in touch with you tomorrow about the Andalyssians.”
"I look forward to it," Jean-Paul lied again. Major Perrine, the second-in-command of Aristides’s personal guard, was a good man but somewhat of a stickler for detail. A good quality in someone in charge of the emperor's safety. Less good if he was to be in charge of Jean-Paul, too. Technically they shared a rank. But it was Jean-Paul being inserted into the guards’ usual sphere of operations, and Perrine's rank was somewhat less newly minted than Jean-Paul's own. Which meant he had to follow Perrine's orders. "Are you returning to the ball?"
"Not just yet," Aristides said. "I have other conversations to hold." He looked down at his glass as though resenting the fact. He wore the weight of his crown lightly most of the time, but there were moments when Jean-Paul glimpsed the price he paid for his power.
"Then I will bid you good night, Your Imperial Majesty."
"And I will bid you good hunting, my friend."
Chapter 9
The last person Imogene expected to see coming around the corner of the main barracks of the Imperial Mage Corps two days after the ball was the vanishing son of a duq himself.
Dressed in imperial black, brows drawn down as though contemplating something unpleasant, he didn't look as though he was expecting to see her either. But when he did, his face broke into a smile that chased away the regret she'd been trying to ignore since their evening had ended so abruptly. A sensation that was both pleasant and somewhat...alarming.
"Lieutenant," he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."
"Major du Laq." She saluted—they were, after all, both in uniform—wrestling her expression away from the tickle in her cheek muscles that wanted to smile right back at him.
The sight of him instantly lifted her mood, but she didn't want to let him know that just yet. Not after he'd failed to reappear at the ball.
She'd waited for him for almost an hour, lingering around the edge of the dance floor, pretending to sip more campenois and watch the dancers while fending off offers from other men. But as the time had stretched, she'd begun to think perhaps he wasn't returning. Then Chloe had found her, armed with an invitation to continue on to a smaller gathering.
She could hardly refuse to go. Friendship trumped new flirtations. Besides, she'd had no idea whether her flirtation was coming back. A fact her body had lamented even as she'd left with Chloe and her friends.
"So formal, Lieutenant," Jean-Paul said. "Does this mean your disappearance from the ball indicated a sudden change of...heart?"
Imogene glanced around. They weren't inside the barracks, but this wasn't a conversation she would be keen for her fellow mages to overhear. By a strict reading of the rules, there was no issue with an officer in the mages being involved with one from the regulars, but it wasn't encouraged. Not that she was planning on being involved with the man, but his rank was an added complication. One she'd forgotten to think about back there in the ballroom with his hands on her waist and those storm cloud eyes making it hard to think.
They were making it hard to think now. The man was no less handsome out of his evening clothes. Perhaps even more so. The sleek lines of the uniform suited him better than the frippery of court dress. But no, she had to think not of how good he looked but whether she still wanted to encourage him at all.
"I'm not entirely sure this is the time and place for such a conversation, Major," she said. "I have to report for duty."
Not duty exactly. Generally officers were granted a week's leave following an extended foreign mission unless the army had urgent need of their services. She'd submitted all her reports, so her time was her own. But Colonel Ferritine had sent a note to request her to come to headquarters. Given he was the one who would decide whether s
he would be allowed to bond a sanctii, she wasn't going to keep him waiting.
"Is Colonel Ferritine your commander?" Jean-Paul said. "I'll walk with you. I have an appointment with Major Perrine."
He did? She felt her brows rise. The cavalry didn't usually cross paths with the Imperial Guard unless the emperor was going somewhere beyond the city. The guard protected their turf zealously when it came to asserting authority over the emperor's safety. But a lieutenant didn't ask a major why he was meeting with another senior officer.
"Very well."
"But before we go, Lieutenant, I wondered if you might like to try dancing with me again? There is another ball at the palace in three days’ time. It would be my pleasure to secure you an invitation. If you haven't had that change of heart I mentioned earlier?"
That was clear enough. He was interested enough to pursue the matter further. Though she wasn't sure how clear to be in return. Or if it was the wisest move to accept his invitation. The man was handsome, and his touch had made her breathless, but her career was at a delicate point. But surely just one night couldn't hurt. She could even bring Chloe to lend respectability to her appearance at another ball. "Just me?"
He frowned. "Is there someone else you would like to bring?"
"My friend, Chloe Matin," she said quickly, wondering why she was so keen to correct any misapprehension of his that she might have a man in mind.
"The Maistre's daughter?" His expression eased, and he nodded. "That would present no problem. Though is she likely to take it amiss if I monopolize your time?"
She smiled up at him. Chloe had managed herself well enough at the ball. She had known more people there than Imogene, in fact. "I'm sure she will not."
His smile matched her own. "Then, Lieutenant, I will have an invitation delivered to you. Now, let us walk. I wouldn't want to make you late."
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