Chapter 8 - His World

Le Cercle ran on candlelight, and whoever chose the candles knew exactly what they were doing: a specific, expensive amber that made every woman look a promise and every man look as if he could afford to keep it. It caught the gold leaf on the ceiling and the sweat on the neck of the dealer, a thin film of effort that I didn't share. My evening coat was heavy, the wool fine enough that I could feel the cool draft from the terrace through the weave. The chips in my hand were warm from the friction of my palm. I slid them forward without counting. It was a good weight, a solid click against the green baize.

"The Duke's luck is holding," Sandro said, leaning back. He was already three drinks into the evening, and his eyes were bright with the particular Seravalle glint that came before a bad decision.

"It isn't luck if the cards are just doing what they're told," I said. I didn't look at the cards. I looked at Kahina.

She was standing by the terrace rail, the Mediterranean night behind her a wall of black velvet. She was wearing the silks I had bought her, a deep teal that should have matched the water but was a theft against her skin. The bodice was too tight across her ribs. Before we left the boat, she had accused my dressmaker of treating her like a European doll. I told her she was just breathing too aggressively. She had shot back that the lack of oxygen would at least spare her from having to laugh at my terrible jokes.

But now, Théo was talking to her, and she was smiling.

I felt a sharp, hot needle under my ribs. I thought she couldn't breathe well enough to laugh. Yet here she was, her chin tilted, actually smiling at Théo’s frantic Valderran nonsense. Théo was laughing too, completely enchanted. I slid my chips forward without counting, the ivory clicking loudly against the green felt. Watching Théo lean in, watching him see how her mouth curved when she was about to say something cutting, made the room too close around my shoulders.

I stood up, leaving the chips on the table, and joined her at the rail. I leaned in close, my shoulder nearly touching hers. "I thought the lack of oxygen spared you from laughter," I murmured, pitching my voice low.

She didn't look at me, her eyes on the harbor. "Théo’s jokes are actually funny, Nico. That makes the lack of oxygen worth the effort."

"Ouch. That is a direct hit to my vanity," I said. "I am going to need a steep concession to recover from that."

She finally cut her eyes toward me, a spark of mischief in them. "Win this hand, Duke's son. Then we'll negotiate the recovery."

"I'll win the hand, princess," I murmured, "but I'm taking the deposit now."

Before she could answer, I caught her elbow and pulled her away from the rail, leading her past the heavy velvet drapes into the shadowed alcove at the far end of the balcony. The balcony was empty, the harbor lights of Seravalle a distant, glittering spread below, and the music from the salon came to us as a muted hum. The teal silk of her dress was incredibly tight, her breasts pushed high, her breathing rapid and tensed in the cool night. I pressed her back against the cool stone balustrade, my hands finding her tensed waist. She went still, her dark eyes flashing, her fingers gripping the lapels of my coat.

"You are jealous, Duke's son," she whispered, her voice a low, hot vibration. "It's a very unflattering look."

"I am furious," I said, my voice dropping, all the charm completely stripped away. "You let him stand too close. You laughed at his nonsense. I paid for a week of your time, Kahina, and I don't like sharing the view."

"You paid for my time, not my soul," she shot back, her head tilting with a proud, tensed defiance. "And certainly not my breath."

"I want a concession," I murmured, my face inches from hers, my thumb tracing the plunging neckline of the teal silk, sliding underneath to brush the warm, soft curve of her breast. I captured her hard nipple through the silk, pinching it gently, and pulled a sharp, wet gasp out of her. Her back arched against the stone rail, her knees going weak as I pressed my tensed, fully engorged groin firmly against her hips, letting her feel how hard and desperate I was.

She trembled in my grip, her dark eyes heavy with a sudden, hot wave of desire. "You... wouldn't dare."

"Try me," I whispered.

I gathered the heavy teal silk of her skirt in my fist, sliding my hand up the bare, smooth skin of her thigh until I found the warm, damp fabric of her silk panties. She was already slick and wet, her vulva hot under my touch. I slid my fingers under the silk, rubbing her sensitive bud in a tensed, fast rhythm, making her let out a muffled, breathless cry against my shoulder. She clamped her thighs around my hand, arching helplessly into my fingers as I drove her to a silent, toe-curling climax right there in the dark alcove, while the music and chatter of the casino played just thirty feet away.

When she shivered and went soft in my arms, I pulled my hand away, smoothing the silk over her hips. My own length was throbbing and desperate, but I stepped back, adjusting my cuffs with my classic, easy grin.

"A down payment accepted," I whispered against her ear. "Théo will have to find his own entertainment tonight."

Kahina leaned against the stone rail, her chest heaving, a flush of pure pleasure on her cheeks. She looked at me, her dark eyes tensed: "You are a monster, Nico."

"A very satisfied monster, princess," I said. "Now let's go win that hand."

We stepped back into the light of the salon. Before we could even reach the table, Felix was at my elbow, precise and flat. He smelled like ink and the cold sea air. "I found the name. The manifest from the Isabella, the one with the unreconciled weights."

"Not now, Felix," I said, though my heart did a slow, heavy roll.

"Captain Moret," Felix continued, ignoring me. "He's been on the Vellier routes for ten years. The manifests say he’s carrying spice and textiles, and the weights say he's carrying lead, or people."

The coin turned over in the back of my head, landing on the wrong side. Across the room, Armand Vellier was watching us. He was leaning against a marble pillar, a glass of something dark in his hand. He caught my eye and smiled. It was the smile of a man who knew a joke I hadn't heard yet. He pushed off the pillar and started walking toward us, his movements smooth and predatory in his perfectly tailored suit.

The evening was perfect. Then Armand started walking toward us, and the air went cold.

---

The air in Le Cercle was thick with the smell of roasted coffee and the heavy, sweet rot of too much money. It stuck to the back of my throat, dry dust. I stood by the terrace rail and let the Mediterranean wind pull at the silk of my dress, the teal fabric too tight across my chest. Every breath was a negotiation. I had told Nico his dressmaker had designed it for a lifeless European doll, and he had dryly suggested I was just breathing too aggressively. I had promised him the lack of oxygen would at least save me from having to laugh at his jokes.

But Théo was kind, and his frantic story about a Valderran vineyard was actually entertaining. I let myself smile, just to watch Nico's jaw tighten from across the room. He thought he was hiding his territorial streak, but the heat coming off him was louder than the casino chips.

Nico abandoned the table and joined us, leaning in. "I thought the lack of oxygen spared you from laughter," he murmured, his shoulder brushing mine.

I kept my eyes on the harbor. "Théo’s jokes are actually funny, Nico. That makes the lack of oxygen worth the effort."

"Ouch. That is a direct hit to my vanity," he said, his voice a low, warm vibration. "I'm going to need a steep concession to recover from that."

I finally cut my eyes to him, letting a spark of mischief show. "Win this hand, Duke's son. Then we'll negotiate the recovery."

He won, but before we could trade another word, Felix approached the table. He leaned into Nico, his voice a low murmur that I had to strain to hear, mentioning a name, Captain Moret, and the weights on the Isabella.

The name Felix spoke joined the scrap of paper in my hem and the mark I had seen on Armand's cuff. It did not give me the whole map. It gave me the shape of a coast in fog. Nico's hand hesitated over the chips. He knew, or at least he was starting to know, and he hated it.

Armand started moving.

He walked toward us with the smooth, silent gait of a man who owned the floor he was standing on. When he reached us, he bowed to me, a shallow, mocking tilt of the head.

"Nico," Armand said, his voice a smooth purr. "You’ve done wonders with her. The change is quite remarkable."

"She isn't a project, Armand," Nico said. His voice was raw, the jokes finally stripped away. He stepped closer to me, his arm shielding me from the room.

Armand smiled. "Of course not. She is a masterpiece. Nico is a charming boy, Kahina, but boys grow bored of their toys."

"I find Nico's lack of permanence quite refreshing, Monsieur Vellier," I said, letting my voice carry the warm charm of the princess I had been. I moved my shoulder just enough to break the visual line. "It allows for a certain clarity."

Armand’s eyes sharpened. "Clarity is expensive. I'm hosting a small gathering tomorrow night at Le Sanctuaire, just the inner circle, a celebration of successful ventures."

Nico tensed. I could feel the vibration in his shoulder. He was going to refuse, trying to keep me safe on his boat.

"We'll be there," I said.

I let a smile spread across my face, letting Armand see the warmth he thought he had earned. I reached out and touched the sleeve of his coat, the fabric expensive and dead. "I’ve heard so much about your hospitality."

Armand’s eyes sharpened. He hadn't expected the warmth. "Splendid. I shall look forward to it. Tomorrow, then."

He walked away, the smell of his tobacco lingering, a stain. Nico turned to me, his face pale in the candlelight.

"What are you doing?" he whispered. His hand found my arm, his grip too tight, his fingers biting into the silk.

"You told me the view is better when you don't look for the cracks, Nico," I said, pulling my arm away, the silk rustling. I looked back at the black Mediterranean. "But I am going to the cellar. That is where the key is."

The night was cold now. I had tomorrow night. I had the target. And I had the knife I had stolen from the galley hidden in the hem of this European dress.