sunlight would last forever. She hated Erec, who kept smirking at her.
Most of all, she hated Armand, because she had really believed that his idea about the library and the wine cellar might work.
Worse: she couldn’t stop seeing him.
She was supposed to watch him. But now she kept noticing every detail: his embroidered cuffs shifting against his silver wrists. The sliver of pale throat visible above his collar. The peculiar way he planted himself when he stood, as if bracing for a heavy wind. Even sitting on a horse, his shoulders had the same stubborn set.
He still smiled at the lords and ladies who talked to him, but now there was something wry to the expression. Sometimes he would draw out a word a little longer or clip it off a little shorter than she had expected, as if a bit of his thoughts had bled through. As if his thoughts were something separate and lonely that had no place in the role he was playing.
At noon, there were pavilions and a baskets of food and jugs of wine. The day had grown hot, so it was a relief to sit down in the shade; Rachelle overheard several ladies complaining about the heat and then giggling as they loudly wished that there really would be an Endless Night.
La Fontaine drew Armand away to sit with her and the King, and Rachelle would have followed, but somebody grabbed her shoulder.
There was an instant where she nearly drew her sword. Then she turned, and there was Vincent Angevin.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I just wanted to meet you. Won’t you sit down with me?”
Everyone was sitting down around them. Rachelle supposed that the next hour was going to be horrible no matter what, so she sat down next to him on one of the rugs that the servants had thrown down.
“Tell me, is it very boring to guard my cousin all day long?” he asked.
“Not as boring as I’d like,” she said. “Especially with the assassins that keep attacking.”
Vincent didn’t seem the slightest bit disturbed by her remark. “Poor Armand,” he sighed. “Nobody ever liked him much. Except Raoul, who never could stop feeling sorry for the oddest people.”
“I don’t like you much,” said Rachelle, and instantly regretted being so blunt.
Vincent grinned. “You’re so pretty when you’re resentful,” he said, and pinched her cheek.
Nobody had pinched her cheek since she was ten. For one moment, she couldn’t believe it had happened, until the pair of ladies sitting nearby started giggling. Vincent’s eyes were crinkled up with laughter.
“If you could see your face,” he said, in a genial voice that invited all the world to laugh with him.
Rachelle gave him her most balefully blank look. “I’m a murderer. Do you really think you ought to upset me?”
“But that’s what makes it so exciting. Will she kiss me or will she kill me—I think every man secretly wants to play that game.”
But she couldn’t kill him, any more than she could have refused to accompany Armand on the hunt. She had to keep pretending she was a part of this court. She had to keep playing their game, and there was only one role for her.
The nearby ladies were giggling again, no doubt delighted that they got to watch Vincent Angevin make a conquest of a bloodbound.
Her face burned. She thought: You murdered your own aunt. Do you really deserve dignity?
Then one of his hands dropped to rest on her thigh.
“Excuse me,” said Armand, “but I need Mademoiselle Brinon right now.”
“You’ll have to wait your turn,” Vincent started, but Armand was already sitting beside Rachelle.
“The sunlight has given me a terrible headache,” he said. “May I rest my head in your lap?”
It was such a bizarre request, it took Rachelle a moment to believe he had really said it. “Yes,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Armand, and in one fluid movement, he lowered his head into her lap and closed his eyes, as calmly as if there weren’t people staring and whispering.
Rachelle was caught in a kind of stupefied surprise, like the smudged colors that would hang in her vision after staring at a fire.
Vincent laughed nervously. “Of all the strange—” He reached toward her, but now Rachelle had an excuse to take action. She caught his wrist in a grip so tight he gasped.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you disturb him,” she said blandly. “Maybe we can talk later.”
“Of course,” said Vincent, sounding rather strangled. She released him and he scrambled to his feet