Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,32

absolutely no idea.

“The front, yes, we’ve only just returned,” Serefin said.

“How goes the war?” Krywicki asked.

“Same as it bloody ever has.” Serefin took a drink. “Barely anything has changed in the last, what, fifty years? I don’t expect anything ever will. It feels too optimistic to hope our victory at Voldoga will turn the tide.”

Krywicki looked bewildered. Ostyia shot Serefin a wide-eyed look. Oh, he wasn’t supposed to express his disdain about the war out loud, right. Certainly not as the poster child for the war effort.

“But we’ll beat the superstitious Kalyazi down,” he continued, now utterly self-conscious that he was backpedaling. “They’ll break soon.” He leaned across the table toward Krywicki, who unconsciously leaned toward him in return. “I can feel it. The war will end during my reign, if not sooner.” The signs were there: Voldoga, the appearance of the cleric implying desperation, that they were able to make it all the way to the Baikkle Mountains, and yet Serefin did not usually give in to hope.

Krywicki raised his eyebrows. A Tranavian prince did not treat his upcoming reign as if it were a given. No Tranavian treated their future as though it were a given. Serefin had spent far too much time in Kalyazin.

“So soon?” Krywicki asked.

Serefin nodded emphatically. He frowned. Wasn’t Krywicki just talking about his daughter? Where was she? He realized he was inquiring after her before his brain had a chance to catch up to his mouth.

He definitely should not have had that last drink.

Krywicki looked all too delighted to introduce his daughter to the High Prince. He left the table, returning with a girl who looked like she was barely old enough to be free of her nursemaid.

Serefin shot a desperate glance Kacper’s way. Kacper just shrugged.

Felicíja looked nothing like her father. She had waves of blond hair and pale violet eyes. She looked gentle, pretty. Serefin would have to keep an eye on her.

She bowed to Serefin. Court niceties would have her curtsy to him, but they weren’t at court.

Blood and bone, she’s young, he thought. In reality she was likely only a year or two younger than Serefin. She just looked young. Dimly it occurred to him that by calling all of the potentially eligible slavhki into Grazyk, his father was weeding out the weak and settling the strong blood in the heart of Tranavia.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Highness,” she said as he took her hand and pressed it lightly against his lips.

He hoped it was lightly. He’d lost any real feeling in his hands two tankards ago. His vision was also far more blurry than usual, which only happened when he was really drunk.

“The pleasure is mine,” he replied. “Is it safe to assume you are traveling to Grazyk?”

Ostyia’s single eye widened in alarm. Serefin had no idea why until Krywicki answered for his daughter.

“Of course we are,” he said. “There hasn’t been a Rawalyk in generations, it’s not to be missed. In fact, Your Highness, you are more than welcome to join us for the rest of the journey.”

Oh, that’s why Ostyia is making that face. Serefin watched as Ostyia dropped her head onto the table. He didn’t particularly relish the idea of traveling with the lieutenant and his daughter, either. It would be rude of him to refuse the invitation, but he didn’t particularly care for being polite. Besides, this was an obvious ploy to get Felicíja on his good side before the Rawalyk.

Serefin squirmed his way out of it. “I must beg your forgiveness, I have been riding all day and it’s late. It truly was a pleasure to meet you.”

Serefin escaped to the second floor of the inn. He let out a groan as soon as they were in the hallway.

“It is so disconcerting to watch you play the nobleman,” Kacper said.

“I’m the prince,” Serefin replied. “I’m not supposed to be playing at anything.”

But Kacper shot him a dry look, to which he waved a dismissive hand. He leaned back against the wall.

“How old do you suppose Felicíja is?”

“Seventeen or so,” Ostyia suggested.

“There’s no chance she’ll last very long, not amongst anyone actually raised at court.”

“No.”

Serefin winced. He wanted to say more, but Ostyia gently pushed him toward the door to his room.

“Go to bed, Serefin. We have to wake up early enough to leave before Krywicki notices, and you’re going to have a hangover tomorrow.”

“I’m really not ready to begin dealing with the nobility again,” Serefin mused, frowning, as she pushed