A Beast's Tale: Act 1 (His Maid)

Chapter 83

The stench of blood hit me as soon as I flung open the door. Gilbert stood next to his bureau, pulling on a clean shirt, and he glanced in my direction. I spotted a series of bruises extending along his inner forearm before he slid his left arm into its sleeve. A pile of discarded clothing lay at his feet, and that was the main source of the distinctive metallic odor. The black fabric hid the bloodstains well. Across the room, cool night air scented with copper drifted in from the balcony, where a hooded figure moved in the darkness. I shut the door behind me and leaned back against it, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm afraid I'm in no mood for a friendly chat, Chevalier," Gilbert said, buttoning his cuffs without a trace of his characteristic smile. "I found a couple of visitors here to greet me. It's almost as though they were waiting for the right opportunity to slip past the guards undetected. A certain baron creating a scene in a public location would have served as a nice distraction."

"He said you gave him that order."

Gilbert snorted with laughter and moved on to buttoning his shirtfront. "What a fool."

"Have you been in contact with him?"

He shrugged. "Certain emotions are especially volatile and easy to direct with just a little nudge. Grief, for example. Who would think a grieving man could consider allying himself with the very nation responsible for his family's death? But anger is a single step away from grief, and if he already blamed his commanding officer for that tragedy..." A wry smile touched his lips. "It's amazing what humans can justify in their pursuit of revenge."

Roderic entered the room and picked up the bloody clothes. "Will there be anything else, Your Highness?"

Gilbert's eye shifted to his right-hand man. "Don't worry about the rest of them. This is Rhodolite." He looked at me again. "You can handle a few third-rate assassins, can't you, Chevalier?"

Roderic bowed and left via the balcony, shutting the door behind him and melting into the shadows, while Gilbert sat on the sofa with a sigh. He reached for a bottle of brandy on the side table and sloshed a generous helping of the dark amber liquid into two glasses, then slumped against the backrest and lifted one to his lips.

I held my position by the door. "I thought you weren't in the mood for a 'friendly chat.'"

He swallowed and grimaced, furrowing his brow and glaring at the brandy swirling within the glass. "Too sweet. No, I'm not, but since you haven't drawn your sword on me yet, I assume you're allowing reason to rule over emotions—a tricky thing where the little dove is concerned, even for you. And it's rude to drink in front of you without offering you a drink. I may be a beast, but I have my manners." He took another sip and sighed. "No, I did not arrange that attack in the hallway, although I can't say it surprised me. You and I both know Flandre's performance was not the main event. I'd hoped the little dove and I had spent enough time in the kitchen for your guards to exterminate any vermin that slipped in... No such luck."

"You threw her into a wall."

His eye snapped to me and narrowed. "She jumped in front of a dagger. I got her out of the way. If I scared her in the process, all the better. The woman has no sense of self-preservation. I don't understand how she's survived this long." He frowned. "Why would she do that? Why would she try to protect me, of all people?"

"Don't be so conceited. She would have done the same for anybody else."

"I know, and that makes it even worse. What is wrong with her? How can she be so naïve?" He downed the rest of the glass in one swallow and then held the empty glass before his eyes, tilting it and studying the candlelight's reflection as he changed the angle. "That was not how I wanted to end the night with her," he muttered.