Bride Behind the Mask

Chapter 14: The Real Feast (Part 1 of 2)

Dedicated to a random commenter @sarcastic_brownie - Thank you for reading and supporting this story. :)

Chapter 14: The Real Feast (Part 1 of 2)

In the days following the feast, the two young ladies were joined at the hip. For everyone else, a young and beautiful lady was pleasing to the eyes; two, was a sight to behold.

Only for Drake, it was both unreal and unacceptable. They were so inseparable to the point that they ate together at every meal, leaving him to eat and brood on his own on the dais, and wondering everyday how his friend and former lover joined the ranks of Amelia's pony as a contender for her time and attention. Especially after his ill-tempered wife stormed off and left him with no uncertainty that there was hell to pay.

The unfolding of these events challenged everything he thought he knew about how the world worked.

"Is that what people mean by 'no discord, no concord', I wonder," Henry mused and pulled up a seat beside Drake. "What happened with them?" he asked, pointing his chin at the girls who chattered non-stop throughout their noon meal.

"Wish I knew," Drake stuffed his mouth with roast and muttered.

"I overheard Bell teaching your wife how to make coloured paints for her eyes. For the next time she wants to dress as a clown, apparently."

Gods, he thought the clown days were over.

"She also told your wife about all the idiotic things you did as a youth—"

"What!"

"—like the time we blindfolded you amongst a group of girls and you grabbed the old woman passing by and kissed her."

Drake almost spat out his food. This was not happening. "Almost kissed. Almost. Can you please put your sister on a leash?" he implored with a tinge of desperation in his voice.

"You should know your wife is no better," Henry glanced at him with pity, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Just then she was teaching my sister how to brew aphrodisiacs and source materials for firecrackers. I send my prayers to their victims."

Drake choked. Isabella told him at the Winter Feast about the man she'd fallen for. He still couldn't believe she'd set her sights on the cold, unyielding second of the Assassins Guild. He only wished he could be there to see the masterful poison maker drugged by Isabella, if she ever succeeded. Drake nudged Henry in his side. "Can you at least overhear the aphrodisiac recipe for me?" So he could give his wife a dose of her own medicine and bind her to his bed.

Henry's brows shot up in surprise. "You mean you've lost your charms, and need to resort to drugging your wife?"

"Just get it!" Drake grumbled. He wasn't about to explain the fact that he'd yet to bed his wife.

Luckily, Henry did not press. "Ha, I can't understand half the names of herbs she rattled off." He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. "I doubt Bell could either, but I did see her scribbling notes on a handkerchief faster than I thought humanly possible."

'Tis scary what efforts girls will put into causing pain to men.

Drake's eyes bored into the back of Amelia's scalp throughout his meal, and when he was done, he decided he had to make an effort too.

So he descended the short steps of the dais and interrupted the girls, who were indeed scrawling and sketching a dozen unrecognisable things on a piece of linen.

"Amelia, shall we go for a walk?" he invited with the most charming smile he could plaster on his face.

"Begone, we are busy." Amelia barely glanced at him as she waved him away dismissively.