Part 16 (1/2)

It glanced off him as his lips quirked, he turned and I watched his a.r.s.e in another, more faded-blue pair of his attractive other-world trousers.

When he disappeared beyond the door, I tilted my eyes so far to the side, I could see the ceiling.

”If I promise to be the soul of charitability and kindness, will you release me of my torment?” I asked the G.o.ds, any of them, I didn't care which one was listening.

”What's that, Lady Franka?” Josette called.

”Nothing,” I muttered, foiled at every turn, including the fact I knew my maid was sitting by the fire in one of the armchairs in my room, mending some of my clothing, thus she would hear I was reduced to verbally begging the G.o.ds for a reprieve.

Oh, but it was so much easier when no one cared a whit. It'd only been hours when they did and I already knew that as a certainty.

I sighed.

I stared at the pillow.

I considered making more promises to the G.o.ds (but silently).

My mind wandered to Noc's a.r.s.e in his trousers.

And thus, unbeknownst to me, I fell asleep with a curl on my lips.

I woke suddenly, feeling strange.

I saw vague firelight glinting on my pillow but the room was lit by naught else.

It was night.

I'd been sleeping.

Now I was awake.

Awake and I could see the shadow of a large man sitting in a chair by my bed.

Disoriented but feeling alarm course through me at this realization, my back raged with pain as I abruptly pushed up to my forearms.

”Calm, Franka,” Frey's voice came to me quietly. ”It's only me.”

I tried to put a whip in my voice, but I was drowsy and confused so it came only as a minor bite when I asked, ”And what, pray, are you doing sitting by my bed in the middle of the night?”

”It's barely eight in the evening.”

Blast my father and his abuses. I'd drifted off after my (delicious, amazingly so considering what it was) broth, bread and wine.

”I presumed you'd wake and then we could talk,” Frey continued.

”I do hope you understand I'm really in no mood,” I replied.

He leaned toward me, putting his elbows on his knees, and ignored my a.s.sertion completely.

”I was wrong about you,” he told me softly.

”You were not,” I returned briskly. ”I am precisely who you thought I was.”

”You realize the game is over?” he inquired.

”I realize nothing of the sort, considering there was no game,” I retorted. ”I am Franka Drakkar now. I was Franka Drakkar a week ago, two months ago, ten years ago. Nothing has changed.”

”Everything's changed.”

I could take no more.

”Frey, my darling cousin,” I started on a drawl, ”it seems I've procured one stubborn, annoying male in my life for the foreseeable future. I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't double that number for I don't even want the one I already have.”

He again ignored me, something both the stubborn, annoying males in my life were clearly very adept at doing.

”I was under the impression your father was dead.”

Ah yes, my father's ”death.”

A juvenile piece of conniving, that. Unnecessarily dramatic. Although at the time I did find the lack of grief expressed by the Houses at his ”demise” rather humorous.

That said, it did allow my dearest papa to achieve success in a variety of nefarious machinations, one of which was continuing to rain abuse down on his two children with great alacrity and no accountability.

I shrugged one shoulder minutely and held my gaze aimed to his face, but dipped my voice lower as I shared, ”You know we Drakkars like our schemes, Frey.”

I saw his head bow in a nod.

Therefore I went on.

”Schemes are far easier to achieve if perpetrated by a ghost.”

This was met with silence and I waited with ill-patience as my cousin digested the nugget I'd granted.

He'd clearly done so when he spoke his next.

”I wish you'd told me.”

That was not relayed in a quiet voice. Or a soft one.

It was gentle and it was melancholy.

And, d.a.m.n all the G.o.ds, I felt it touch my heart.

As I was adept at doing, I triumphed over the weakness of such a feeling.