Your Heart Will Burn: The Absolutes, #2

By Chace Verity

Avarie Rudyard always knew she would become a queen, but she never expected to take her crown before she could graduate school. Fortunately, the people around her--her advisors, her betrothed, a mysterious group of guardians called the Absolutes--guide her every action. Avarie trusts everyone implicitly, but when a letter from her first love (and king of an enemy nation) arrives, she realizes the people closest to her might be her biggest threats.

As the king of a nation with a cratered economy and no allies, Jack Emerson's best friend is alcohol. He's more than happy to drown in his vices until an old flame returns to stir the dust in his heart. Sweet, gentle Avarie makes Jack want to become a better person, but he's not ready to face his weaknesses or messy family history.

When the Absolutes launch an assassination attempt, Avarie and Jack wind up in a world where magic exists. In this new realm, they discover abilities and family secrets they never knew they had. Jack and Avarie will have to figure out what kind of leaders they can be in order to go home--and to be together.

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Your Heart Will Burn is a complete, standalone novel in The Absolutes series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chace Verity
• Release date: Jun 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223809029

Book preview

Chapter One / Jack

Jack couldn’t find his left boot. Not that he ever cared much for shoes, but his gin-soaked brain had decided he needed to get them. It would have made more sense to panic over the fire currently engulfing Lord Belfry Welling’s yacht.

The round nobleman, dressed only in a satin sheet the color of spilled rosé wine, leaned against the wooden parapet of their rescuer’s ship and watched his summer home go up in flames. His laughter mixed with the smoky haze and the fog in Jack’s head. Servants and sailors ignored the pair as they passed by with their arms full of bundles, desperate to save as much as they could.

Jack threw his hands in the air. Belfry, where is my fucking boot?

The nobleman gestured to the lake. You tossed it in there.

Why would I do that?

You said it was unsinkable.

Jack squinted, scanning the water before him. Between the moonless sky and the wafts of black smoke trailing from the burning yacht’s masts, he could see nothing. Not having his glasses didn’t help either.

I think I was wrong, Jack muttered.

Belfry chuckled. I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes, my sweet Jackie.

With what money? Jack grumbled. Your father is going to cut you from the estate for wrecking the ship he gave you.

The nobleman’s laughter died at once. He stared into Jack’s eyes, the most serious he had been for days. I don’t remember talking to you about my father.

Shit.

Jack forgot Belfry didn’t know he was the king of Hale. Usually he clued his more trusted lovers in on his identity, but Belfry hadn’t shut up long enough for Jack to talk about himself. The nobleman had bragged on and on about his priceless sword collection, which an obvious ruse to get him in his private quarters for an inspection.

Not that Jack necessarily minded. This particular king was content with playing a pauper if he had plenty of alcohol and intimacy. Especially with someone as gorgeous as Belfry, who resembled a painting of a desert at night with amber skin, dark hair, and twinkling stars for eyes. He was so soft and incredible to cuddle with, too.

I guess I told you I’m the Treasurer’s son. Belfry shrugged. Oh! Celine, darling, can you rustle us up some more drinks and maybe a sandwich? We still have the honey ham, don’t we?

The startled servant pointed to the chaos behind her. My lord, our kitchen is ablaze.

Well, get the men to put the fire out. A yawn escaped Belfry. I’m starving.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. My lord, the ship is sinking.

Oh, fabulous.

The sight of the burning lake chateau stirred the dust in Jack’s chest. Something about the fire unsettled him. Like maybe it was his fault. Did he try to juggle candlesticks again?

He shivered, the pangs of sobering up hitting him hard. Jack disliked this part of drinking. It’d be preferable to stay drunk all the time, but his kingdom couldn’t function if he was sloshed every minute he breathed. His sister did what she could as the First Princess, but she was only thirteen. Hale depended on Jack to undo the mess his father had left them, a responsibility he never asked for.

Father. Left.

Right. That’s why he needed his boot. Before the fire broke, word had arrived from a supplies schooner about Sir Braun Coles’s passing. Jack needed to get back to the land palace and send his condolences to Rudyard’s new queen.

He wanted to write to her himself. Let her know how sorry he was for her loss. Tell her he knew how scary it was to be forced to wear a heavy crown at eighteen. Promise not to be a drunk ass at her coronation. Offer to become allies, even though Hale and Rudyard still hadn’t fully recovered from the Monolith Blitz forty years prior.

Jack was curious about the queen. Rudyard’s royal family sent their children to a boarding school in Tamora and kept them out of political events until they were twenty, so he had never met her before. Not at sporting tournaments, not at Archduchess Sarita’s spring retreats, not at his own coronation.

Lucky her.

Jack loosened his cravat as he thought about the inevitable stuffy affair in his near future. Anything involving a ball was the worst. He preferred to visit pubs in disguise and lose himself in alcohol and sex.

His sister complained daily of how King John Sapin Emerson XIV was the only twenty-year-old king in history with no offers of marriage. But Jack didn’t want to settle down anytime soon. A kingdom could thrive even with a child leading it, but no marriage could survive without all parties being adults.

Belfry, am I not wearing a shirt?

Jackie, you lost that two days ago.

A bitter grumble flew out of Jack. At least everything about the evening would make for an interesting story later.

I’ll buy you a shirt, don’t you worry. Belfry hiccuped and slumped to his knees. I have enough copper to buy you a whole new wardrobe. Everything will match your blue summer sky eyes.

Jack lowered himself to Belfry’s level and pressed a kiss to his companion’s cheek. That won’t be necessary.

Have it your way, Jackie.

Belfry’s slowed speech and non-stop nodding made it clear that the noble would pass out soon. Jack stood up, grabbed a passing sailor’s arm, and drew her close to him.

His chapped lips touched her warm ear as he spoke. Tell your captain to raise the blue and silver flags, won’t you?

Huh? The sailor pried Jack’s fingers off her. "What’s a louse like you want to go and stir trouble with The Unbounded for when there’s already pandemonium aboard?"

Truthfully, it made no sense that The Unbounded hadn’t already approached this ship. Jack’s lake palace rarely strayed out of sight when he partied aboard other vessels, ready to snatch him at the first sign of trouble. Trouble usually meaning too much alcohol.

"I own The Unbounded," he muttered.

Sure you do.

Jack laughed. It might have been the fuzzy brain talking, but he was drawn to this sailor. The way she glared at him had a familiarity to it.

You’re part of Lord Belfry’s company, so I’ll put in a request with the captain. The sailor gestured to Jack’s chest. But put a shirt on, for Charity’s sake.

What ship are we on? Jack asked the question mostly to keep her close to him for a second more. His vision was blurry, but he liked this tall, dark woman’s gleaming eyes.

Lady Maress’s yacht, she answered. "The Infinite Dream."

The flames in him extinguished.

Lady Clover Maress. The Executor. Nobody’s last will in Hale could be finalized until she burned her seal of approval on the parchment. She rarely ventured to the crisp waters of Lake Nasus, preferring to tend to her rolling acres of green meadows.

Of all the nights she picked to go sailing… It almost would have been preferable to sink than be rescued by her.

Jack needed more alcohol.

His next memory was the sight of Lady Maress’s cream-colored slippers. Jack had Belfry asleep in his lap, and a glass of gin had incredibly made its way into his hand. His eyes followed the trail from the slippers up the length of a fur-trimmed riding habit.

As long as he sat on the deck and the moon peeked out from the blanket of smoke, the petite and silver Lady Maress didn’t seem so short or old. Her pale, white skin glowed like in the night like a swan. She had no sense of naval attire, but Jack supposed his half-naked self couldn’t judge her.

Your Royal Majesty. Lady Maress bowed before the king. He brought his finger to his lips, not eager for everyone aboard to know his secret.

Are the flags raised? he asked.

Can’t you see them?

No, but he could see the smirk on her face. Lady Maress might have had the questionable beauty of a swan, but she was just as much of an asshole as one. She knew he was plastered and doubly useless without his spectacles. He knew she didn’t exalt him. Jack guzzled his drink and threw the glass overboard behind him.

It would have been preferable to throw the tumbler at her, but something stabbed his heart when he thought about it. Propriety, probably.

Fucking propriety.

Thank you for rescuing Lord Belfry and his crew, Jack said. Your presence on Lake Nasus is a gift to us all tonight from Charity herself.

Thank you for giving the lake your empty glass and sparing my servant a few seconds to clean the fine crystal.

I’ll buy you another set.

No need. As long as you are well. Something in her voice sounded like a lie. Shall I bring you some tea? Wine?

Both tasted like poison to him, honestly. Jack declined with a polite shake of his head. Or what he hoped passed for polite.

Say, uh, you will keep quiet about my presence aboard here, won’t you? Jack asked.

Jack didn’t worry so much about his own tarnished reputation as he did Belfry’s. Plus, Lord Welling would likely have a heart attack if he knew his son had gone to bed with him.

Two heart attacks if word got out about the delightful, kinky things the Treasurer’s son had done to the king of Hale.

Don’t worry. Lady Maress tapped her chin. It might cost me a fortune to bribe my sailors, but I will see to it no other soul hears of King John Emerson XIV taking part in a scandalous event aboard Lord Belfry’s yacht the night it went up in flames.

Jack groaned. The night was proving to be absurdly expensive. A king and a diamond mine owner might have deep pockets, but every pocket has a bottom. Glenna was going to murder him once he got home.

I will reimburse you, of course, Lady Maress.

He tilted his head back and prayed to the Sister of Charity.

If I must still be king in the morning, please spare me from a hangover.

Chapter Two / Avarie

Avarie stared at her collection of wigs as she ran her chewed-up nails along her bald scalp. Her last official act as princess was to pick which set of hair she would wear to her coronation. Tight ringlets of copper? Loose curls of earth? Plaits of mahogany plucked from her childhood roots?

People would talk for decades about her hair today. About the blue dress embroidered with yellow flowers. About the way her voice would be so weak and her crown so heavy as she pledged her life to her citizens.

Anxiety had robbed her light brown skin of its golden glow. Surely everyone knew how unfit she was to be queen. She was hardly an adult. A month ago she blissfully received failing marks for her decorum class while staying up late to reread the naughty parts of the Redde Byrd series.

How could she ask armies to fight for her honor? How could she fulfill the requests of ten million people? She couldn’t even decide on a wig, especially with her handmaidens staring at her with doubt in their puffy eyes.

Why did a quiet cough transform into a beast capable of consuming her father?

Should I select one for you, my queen? asked a fatigued attendant.

A bright glimmer from the corner caught Avarie’s attention. She shifted her gaze to the source and found someone had silently entered her room through her closet. Neither of her handmaidens seemed to notice the dark-haired man.

Sir Lorris was a peculiar habitant of the palace. He didn’t seem to actually do anything for the royal family, but he was familiar.

He always wore the same outfit. His black coat matched his modern cravat and boots, but he had a pair of tattered leather gauntlets that could have been relics from five centuries ago. The rare times he took his coat off, Avarie got to admire the gilded waistcoat with a blue rose stitched on the back.

His mannerisms were also strange. Sir Lorris had hardly left her side in the month since her father died, but he never made himself known to other people in the room. Shadows made more noise than Lorris did when he asked Avarie how she was doing. Frequently, she found him staring off at nothing.

But it had been nice to have him around in these dark hours, if unconventional. Sometimes Avarie would wake in the middle of the night and find him sketching in a book by the window. They would chat until dawn about her favorite lady pirate—Captain Redde Byrd from the eponymous novels.

Redde Byrd could talk or fight her way out of any problem. She was also proudly transgender and bisexual. Her queerness had helped Avarie figure out her own sexuality; her wits had inspired Avarie to find ways to cheat on her homework.

Most people considered the books trashy. Sir Lorris was the only person Avarie knew who had read the entire Redde Byrd series.

Except for her father. He had had a love for the series, though he scarcely got any time to read them. What fractions of minutes her father could steal for reading, he did so out of the public eye. Most adults didn’t find the books to be literary enough.

Oh, Charity. I’m supposed to be an adult now, too.

The entire nation would expect her to act like one. Avarie had to leave for the pavilion soon to accept her fate. Her advisors had already gone ahead of her, trusting her to select the best outfit so she would shine like a jewel before her people.

Avarie kept her eyes locked on Sir Lorris. At least he would be with her, even if no one else knew they had an unusual bond.

She had known Sir Lorris forever, but she didn’t know much about him. Still, Avarie enjoyed his company in the carriage. He had been the one to escort her from Pious Martina’s Academy after her father had passed. It seemed fitting that the man who told the princess she had to become a queen was now ushering her to the ceremony.

Avarie wished she could marry Sir Lorris instead. He was here with her, unlike her betrothed.

Lord Wyatt Garrison couldn’t find the time to make it to her father’s funeral, and now he couldn’t make it to her coronation. Too far for him to journey past the mountains, though his letter had made its way to Avarie’s desk with no trouble. It’d be a wonder if he showed up to their wedding in three months.

Maybe Sir Lorris would duel Lord Garrison for her hand in marriage. If she had to have an older man for a spouse, she’d rather have the handsome, broody figure next to her. Time had not cracked his light skin in the least. He didn’t look a day over twenty-five, though surely he was close to forty.

Lord Garrison’s oil portrait had not been so enjoyable to look at.

She scolded herself for thinking so ill of the man her father had decided on for her. He knew what was best for her. She couldn’t even decide on a wig—the handmaidens picked one with ringlets and dusted it with blue glitter. How could Avarie trust herself to pick a husband? To run a queendom?

Her betrothed was a nobleman from Hutchins with a decade of experience as a council leader for the capital of his nation. They would be a perfect match.

Your Majesty, are you all right? Sir Lorris asked.

As fine as I can be.

He nodded and knocked on the carriage’s door, almost like a signal.

Avarie tilted her head to the side. What’s that for?

Nothing for you to trouble yourself with, Your Majesty.

Her eyes flicked to his lap. A sword with a gilded handle adorned with pearls and a matching scabbard rested across his black breeches. The first she had seen such a weapon. She liked it better when he had a pencil in his hand.

Am I in danger? she asked.

A pause, brief but alarmingly contemplative, filled the air before Sir Lorris responded. Doubtful, but have faith I will protect you if something unknown comes our way.

Her teeth sunk into her painted lips. Avarie had no idea what sort of trouble could cross their path. No whirs of assassinations or civilian uprisings had been called to her attention.

Let’s discuss the ball, Sir Lorris said.

Oh?

Allow me to use this time to brief you on your visitors. Tonight is when you meet your allies, you know.

Will they all be my allies? Avarie asked.

Another pause, this one somehow more alarming. Sir Lorris ran his finger along the four silver hoops in his left ear. Not all of your allies will be there.

Are they with Lord Garrison? Avarie couldn’t hide the touch of bitterness in her voice.

He cleared his throat. Let’s not dwell on someone who isn’t here. We should stick to cheerier thoughts.

He doesn’t like Lord Garrison either. Maybe Sir Lorris cares for me?

I’ll start with the more minor nobles, Sir Lorris continued. Count Valentin Liston is officially a Rudyard man, but he spends most of his time in Hale. His wife passed away six years ago after giving birth to their child.

Avarie listened to her unusual companion prattle on about the luminous dignitaries, and she tried to commit every word to memory. But her curiosity about Sir Lorris himself distracted her. Was he a spy? Is that why he had a grimoire in his head of the world’s aristocrats? How could he remember so many people without a list before him? Why did he keep knocking on the door?

And then there’s His Royal Majesty, King John Emerson XIV from Hale.

His name caught Avarie’s attention. The king had sent her a letter of condolences. Distant, flowery promises tugged at her memory.

Lorris continued. He’s only about two years older than you, you know. He’ll be the easiest to spot since—

The king wants to be my ally, Avarie interrupted. Lorris arched an eyebrow. He writes eloquently, but his words ring hollow. How could someone from Hale want to befriend me with our nations’ histories? His grandfather burned down our libraries and churches.

Sir Lorris’s frown mirrored her own. What really ails you, Your Majesty? You can’t possibly be so distressed at this moment over books.

Does anyone really want to be my ally? Her voice dropped to a whisper. They haven’t even met me.

Most of the guests tonight are your father’s allies. I regret to inform you your uncle won’t be able to make it, but he will have his men there. Lord Elifalet was your mother’s most trusted ally.

But not mine. Avarie bit her lip. "No one there is my ally."

Sir Lorris agreed with a slow nod. If you will it, I will find out who is loyal to you.

A glimmer of an idea formed in her head. Captain Redde Byrd always had her own way of finding out who was loyal to her. Avarie smiled and ran her tongue along her teeth.

You’re so good to me, Sir Lorris. I would prefer you over Lord Garrison as my consort, if I could will that.

His eyes widened. He exhaled sharply, almost laughing, and cocked a half-grin. This was the most relaxed she had ever seen him.

You would be disappointed in me, he said. I am a better companion for a king than I am a queen, you know.

Heat seared through her, an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and disappointment. Her ephemeral crush on Sir Lorris was already ending. But the idea in her head had not gone away yet.

What are you to me, Sir Lorris? You are not my advisor, suitor, or jester.

"I am your family’s ally. I am your ally."

An ally with an affinity for shadows, apparently. At least she had one.

I will find out who your other allies are tonight, he continued.

Oh, but couldn’t I?

You could. As the queen of honor, you will be expected to talk to everyone.

But they will not be so genuine, will they? Her lips quirked, a fiber of something magical setting her blood racing. Not to the queen.

Sir Lorris’s expression hardened. I suppose not.

What if I was someone else?

He stared at her incredulously to the point that his black eyes penetrated her soul. Avarie couldn’t help smiling.

Sir Lorris knocked on the door without breaking his gaze. What is percolating in your brain, Your Majesty?

Redde Byrd did it in book four. She wore a wig and applied makeup to give her nose a smaller appearance. Then she went to her crew’s offshore party to see if they were planning a mutiny against her.

You want to go incognito and spy on the nobles when you are supposed to be the center of attention?

Only for a couple of hours. I can switch outfits quickly. No one would think ill of the queen’s delay. I’m in mourning. I can be late to my own ball.

Sir Lorris knocked on the door again. This time, something knocked back.

We’re almost at the pavilion, he announced. "You really want to be someone else?"

Just long enough to hear what’s being whispered about me.

What if you’re discovered? There aren’t many young nobles who will be present, you know.

One problem at a time. Redde Byrd’s motto.

Avarie gazed at him with what she hoped was the most pathetic plea ever to be expressed. Sir Lorris’s eyelashes fluttered while he grumbled, but he eventually nodded.

We’ll work on a cover for you on the way back. A sigh floated out of Sir Lorris. For now, go accept your crown.

The carriage came to a halt, and the driver opened the door. An ocean of excitement from the crowd outside beckoned for Avarie’s attention. She noted the driver had a golden waistcoat peeking out from under his coat. It looked exactly like Sir Lorris’s.

The two men exchanged a few words before Avarie’s advisors came rushing to her side. Marcel juggled a bundle of scrolls in his arms while Winifred held a blue velvet box in her hands.

Your Majesty! Marcel wheezed. You’re late! We only have a few minutes to go over your pledge.

They dragged her away from the men in matching outfits, hashing over the ceremony’s itinerary. Avarie kept her eyes on the men for as long as she could, even more curious about who Sir Lorris really was.

Chapter Three/ Jack

Rudyard spared no expense in serving alcohol at the coronation ball. Jack gnawed on his tongue every time a young woman in a beige waistcoat offered him a cerulean cocktail. He regretted the promises he made to the new queen and himself. It would be a long night with horrible iced tea, being a sunset-to-sunrise ball, but he had to persevere.

Jack’s only hope at forging an alliance with Rudyard depended on his sobriety. Hale had no allies left after his father pissed away any goodwill left toward the kingdom during his tenure.

Flimsy dresses and sharp suits spiraled into a flurry of colors on the dance floor. Jack recognized everyone who stood to inherit a crown, yacht, or parchment of paper that mysteriously made one important. If he didn’t know someone’s face, the medals draped around their neck or pinned to their chest usually filled in the gaps.

Jack had more medals than anyone in the room. He had been bequeathed a kingdom from his father, a slew of mines from his mother, and a meaningless position from the Sister of Charity. He could be heard traipsing from anywhere in the enormous ballroom. Maybe the noise kept everybody but his bodyguards from socializing with him. Probably not.

At least it kept Lady Maress away.

Everyone here seemed so mature. Wise. Old. In a few hours, the alcohol would turn some guests into children, but for now, Jack worried over his obvious youth and inexperience.

When men with velvet coats and women with diamond necklaces cast their sights on him, did they whisper of his naivety? Chide him for his reckless behavior? Pity him and Glenna for losing their parents so young? All the above?

He needed a stronger drink.

A burst of onyx caught Jack’s eye. He grinned. The evening had just gotten better.

Belfry!

Jack abandoned his bodyguards, passing his iced tea to one of them, and meandered over to the man he hadn’t seen since the fire. Belfry was a bit younger than the other nobles present at the tender age of thirty, but not by much. Belfry was also handsomer without booze clouding Jack’s judgment.

The reason Jack had initially been drawn to Belfry was because the nobleman stood out. The anxious man had shown up in the rundown shack of dirty sailors wearing his finest clothes, looking for intimacy in a place he had never been to.

Belfry stood out in the ball, too, unable to hide the apprehension in his face among a city of confident nobles. The sight caused Jack’s heart to skip a beat. It might have been silly to have a crush on Belfry, but they’d had a pleasant time.

Hadn’t they? Tough to remember.

Jackie! I didn’t know you wore spectacles.

Belfry raised his arms as if to hug him, but he froze as he drank in the abundance of medallions draped around Jack’s cyan jacket.

Right. Forgot to tell him who I was.

A faint shade of crimson gave Belfry’s amber skin a new glow. Heh. No doubt Belfry had just recalled the way he had had Jack on his knees and—

Forgive me, Your Royal Majesty. I should not have been so familiar.

Jack’s heart sank quicker than a certain yacht had. Belfry, I…

He let his words die. It was no use. Whatever fun he had had with the nobleman would stay in the past. Jackie might have been a worthwhile lover, but no respectable person would associate themself with the childish king of Hale.

A woman with rosy skin and platinum blonde hair in a plum gown sidled up to Belfry with two drinks in her hand and a frown on her pointed face.

The nobleman wrapped his arm around her waist and took a flute of champagne. Your Royal Majesty, allow me to introduce you to my betrothed—

When did that happen? Jack pursed his lips together and pretended to care about Lady Whoever. He had half a mind to snatch Belfry’s drink out of his hand and guzzle it.

—and we are at your disposal if you need us.

To shove your cock up my ass again?

Thank you. Jack made no attempt to hide the sourness in his voice. By the way, I heard about your yacht catching fire.

Belfry’s lips flapped about, though no words actually came out of his mouth. Over Belfry’s shoulder, Jack spied a pair of eyes boring holes into him.

A smirk graced Jack’s lips as he noted the contrast of the sleeveless honey dress against the young woman’s tawny skin. She wasn’t a disgusted lover—he would have remembered a pair of dark, expressive eyes like hers. The person lacked medallions, but she also dressed nothing like a servant.

She was curious.

I heard you received a new lake home from a mysterious benefactor, Jack said, deciding it’d be more fun to investigate the girl. How generous! Have a good evening, Lord Belfry.

Jack turned from the couple and approached the dancing woman and her partner, the elderly Count Liston. The short, pale man with a head full of silver curls came to the palace with Lady Maress frequently. Count Liston always caused trouble, breaking something valuable or forcing a useless trinket into Jack’s hands he promised would bring good luck.

Jack and Glenna tolerated him for two reasons. First, the count owned a factory dedicated to making glass bottles, and Hale’s major source of income came from exported gin. Second, their mother had been close to the man, and anyone the late queen trusted couldn’t have been all bad.

Count Liston paused in place, his fingers lingering on the young woman’s arms. Your Royal Majesty.

A pleasure to see you again, Count Liston.

The honor is mine.

You’re King Emerson? asked the stranger.

Commoner for sure. Jack liked her already. He studied the long curls spilling past her waist. They glistened under the chandeliers, a bit unnaturally.

Count Liston gestured to the woman. May I introduce to you—

Alice Hawthorne.

The young woman bowed as she introduced herself. Count Liston bit his lip and glanced away. Jack knew he should have been affronted, but honestly, it was nice to be near someone his age.

Just Alice Hawthorne? Jack asked.

Just Alice Hawthorne. Oh, but I have an invitation to be here! If that’s what you were insinuating.

A flash of panic crossed Alice’s face, and she wrung her hands nervously. Her gloves were emerald green, like the ribbon tied around her neck and shoes. Her style didn’t match the popular fashions of the nations south of the Narayan mountain range. Did she come from Hutchins? Somewhere even further north? Her accent was all Rudyard, though.

May I have a dance or two? Jack asked. You can tell me more about yourself. I won’t offend your escort, will I?

She is a free woman, Count Liston said. Not my date.

Oh?

The elderly man’s forehead bloomed into a mess of wrinkles as he glared warningly at Jack, causing Jack to step back defensively. It was a rather uncommon expression from Count Liston. The gentle man had more softness to him than anyone else in the world.

Let’s go, Alice said cheerfully. Thank you, Count Liston. Tell me more about your daughter next time.

Of course, he said.

Alice grabbed Jack by the arm and dragged him out to the center of floor, and his medals clinked obnoxiously with their footsteps. This display of force intrigued him in more ways than he cared to admit.

He rested his hand on the small of her back, and she rested one hand on his shoulder. Jack shivered when their free fingers found each other. A spark of desire spread through his body and washed away the craving for alcohol.

They began to waltz with the next song. Alice’s smile had disappeared with the music. Her feet shuffled across the floor, and he had to look down frequently to make sure he wouldn’t step on her.

Cute girl. Lousy dancer.

Have you met the queen yet? Alice asked.

Her arms trembled when she spoke. Was she nervous to be so close to royalty? Did she find a man like Jack to be attractive? His heart fluttered with the possibility.

No, he replied.

Several men in gilded waistcoats and black coats danced close to them. They paid more attention to the couple than their own partners. The symbols on their medals indicated they were in the banking industry.

They should piss off if they’re going to be nosy.

Alice cleared her throat. It seems not many people here have met the queen.

Have you?

I go to school with her. Er, I went.

You’re her friend?

Oh, uh, no. Not really. Alice swallowed. I’m her tutor’s daughter. The queen didn’t finish her education before her father died, so my mother and I moved here to complete the courses.

Does education ever end? Jack rolled his eyes. "I’ve always wondered why this royal family sends their children away. It’s popular among so many noble families, isn’t it? I was schooled at home. That