The Queer Principles of Kit Webb - Cat Sebastian Page 0,66

about the stage were swordsmen. One was large, with cropped hair, and the other was thin, with blond hair that hung to his shoulders.

Despite the size of the crowd, the only sounds were the clatter of blades and the clinking of coins, punctuated by occasional crowd-wide gasps as one or the other of the combatants nearly got his throat cut.

“Move,” Kit said, shouldering his way forward through the crowd.

“Hey!” said a man who quite understandably did not enjoy being shoved aside. Kit did not care.

The world was filled with men who had hair that precise shade of gold, surely. There was no reason to think that this was Percy with an enormous fucking weapon being thrust at his idiotic neck.

Kit still wasn’t near enough to see their faces, but he could see the way the fighters moved. And he knew the way that blond man thrust and parried, because he did almost the same damn thing with his fist. Kit knew the way that man favored his left arm, knew that senseless little half step he did with his back foot. Kit was going to fucking murder him.

He was close enough to see their profiles now, and that was either Percy or his identical goddamn twin. The fighters circled one another, and Kit gasped aloud like a half-wit when he saw that Percy’s cheek was split with a red gash. He had to firmly tell himself not to storm the stage, and then realized that the gash he was seeing was a scar. He had seen Percy in broad daylight only yesterday: the scar was false, Percy was uninjured, and Kit was a prize idiot.

Kit wasn’t even sure he breathed for the rest of the fight, or the next one, or the one after that. When Percy was awarded the purse and the crowd finally dispersed, Kit resisted the urge to approach. Instead, he hung back, then followed Percy and apparently all the other swordsmen to a nearby tavern, where Percy spent a fortune feeding and toasting his fellow combatants.

Kit paid for a pint and settled into a shadowy corner where he could watch Percy undetected. From the way Percy hung back, Kit could tell he wasn’t quite comfortable, but he didn’t think he’d have noticed if he didn’t know how Percy acted when he was at his ease—loose limbed and overly talkative. This was how Percy had been that first time or two he sat at the long table at Kit’s—a shade too quiet, as if trying to learn the rules that governed his new companions. Kit would have bet anything that the next time Percy broke bread with these swordsmen, he’d be at ease.

Percy, who had been leaning against a wall, approached the table where most of his comrades had gathered. Kit, who had not properly appreciated Percy’s attire during the fight, as he was distracted by such matters as the sharpened blades coming within inches of Percy’s vital organs, got a good view of the very close-fitting leather breeches that Percy wore.

The leather waistcoat with all its little metal buttons had been bad enough. The breeches were an atrocity. Kit wanted to throw a cloak over the man. Surely, the law was being broken. Where were magistrates when you actually wanted them? He could make out the perfect, indecent curve of Percy’s arse, which had been quite distracting in worn buckskins and poncey silk but was heart-stopping in black leather.

As he watched, the redheaded fighter tried to touch Percy’s cheek.

“Leave it be, you oaf,” Percy said.

“Take it off,” the redhead urged. “Show your pretty face.”

“No, damn you, it’s a disguise. I do not need my people finding out I’ve been consorting with the likes of you ruffians.”

Kit clenched his teeth in jealousy. He did not like watching Percy insult anyone who wasn’t him, which was probably a mad thought, but if insults and flirtation weren’t synonymous for Percy, then Kit was very much at sea.

“Your people!” the redhead laughed.

“Yes, my people. I did not emerge from the sea, sword in hand.”

That was as much as Kit could take. He rose from his seat and sidled around the edge of the room until he was within reach of Percy’s table.

He dropped a heavy hand onto Percy’s shoulder, then watched in satisfaction as Percy turned his head and realized who he was looking at.

“Out,” Kit said.

“No,” Percy responded coolly. “Join us, Mr. Webb. We are dining like kings.”

“Out,” Kit repeated.

Percy looked at him, vastly unimpressed. “Alas, gentlemen,” he told