Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,64
recognised from his childhood. It meant his dad was Having an Idea, something that might be either brilliant or terrifying. Loth took after his dad like that. “Isn’t he your uncle?”
They were getting into dangerous territory, mostly because Loth didn’t know enough about Quinn’s background to actually answer a question like that with any depth. He floundered for a moment, opening and closing his mouth.
“Dad,” Quinn said, the word a little faint and wavering on his lips. “The prince and I talked about this. Apparently, Lord Doom hasn’t seen the prince since he was quite small, and, you know, then there were years in captivity on top of that. It’s very likely that Lord Doom will think that the prince is h—uh, is me. At least for long enough to press an advantage.”
They hadn’t actually talked about it, but Loth appreciated the save. “Yes, that’s what h-we said.”
“I’m confused,” Dave said, and he wasn’t the only one.
“It’s not much of an advantage though, is it?” Dad asked. “Won’t he just kill you both?”
Loth blinked.
“Um, y-yes,” Quinn said. He swallowed. “That is very much the downside to the plan.”
“Except,” Loth said, remembering what Quinn had said. He held up his finger. “Except I am the crown prince, here to claim the throne, and the soldiers will side with me.”
“Will they?” Dad asked. “How sure are you of that?”
“I’m almost certain it's a possibility,” Loth said, and that had definitely sounded more reassuring in his head.
“At least you have an orc and a dwarf and an elf to back you up,” Mum said, but she sounded hesitant.
“And a professional hero!” Scott exclaimed.
Everyone ignored him.
“Well, the thing about that,” Loth said, “is that they’re just here to get paid. Once they deliver me to Lord Doom, their contract is up and they’re done.”
Ha! At least he had the satisfaction of seeing Ada, Dave, and Calarian wilt a little under the intense combined judgement of his parents’ stares.
“Is that so?” Mum asked. “Hmmm.”
Why were her eyes twinkling? Loth had never before known her eyes to twinkle when she was winding up into a furious rage. And yet... the furious rage didn’t come as sharply and suddenly as a summer storm, like that time Loth had been dragged home by the royal guard after... well, no need to relive the specifics. The point was, nobody could prove that had been Loth’s arse hammering up and down between that young man’s thighs, in his house, while his father, who was lord mayor, was having tea with the Callier Ladies Guild for the Prevention of Immorality downstairs, even if Loth had been found a block away with his pants still around his ankles a few minutes after being disturbed. It was totally circumstantial. No, this time Mum’s anger must have been less a summer storm and more of a tempest, building to something truly spectacular, simmering away as she turned up the heat. Loth couldn’t wait to see it explode.
“Well,” Dad said at last. “I suppose you’re both going to have to look like princes then?” He clapped one hand on Loth’s shoulder, and one on Quinn’s. “Boys, follow me.”
He drew them out of the kitchen.
Damn.
Loth was going to miss the fireworks.
Dad mostly worked in the kitchen, but he did keep a small shop front attached to the brewery where he saw customers and measured them up. Loth had learned everything he knew about fashion here, and also everything he knew about measuring dick sizes. He was a gifted amateur on both counts. He could estimate an inside leg measurement at ten paces and tell what size trousers a man wore as well.
Dad hummed tunelessly as he flicked through the rack of doublets and cloaks he kept there. An assortment of clothing that while all beautifully tailored, had for one reason or another ended up in the reject corner, on the rack. These were the clothes that had been ordered and not paid for. Items where the customer had tried them on and been disappointed in how they looked, and even clothing where the wedding had been cancelled and the customers hadn’t needed matching navy doublets after all. That particular cancellation may have had something to do with Loth helping out in the shop the day the grooms came in for their final fitting, but Loth refused to admit it. After long moments of consideration, Dad pulled out the two matching navy doublets, along with two pairs of black pants.
“These look like what we need,” he said,