Flame in the Palace

15. Honor

Myria's face and neck flush with a stifling heat that has nothing to do with the flames crackling in the hearth and all to do with the Nocturnus duchess's unsettling smirk. With no other recourse, she sips the rare currant wine in a thin attempt to settle her nerves, but it does nothing except exacerbate the warmth spreading throughout her body. Cressida's eyes watch her relentlessly as if any reaction elicited from Myria can be used for her own advantage.

As they wait for the steward's return, Myria trains her gaze elsewhere, schooling the panic that bubbles in her chest. She does not understand why she feels panic; the only answer she can imagine is Emiri seeing her with Cressida. Or worse—that he lied to her. She wonders at the source of the deception, but her mind fails her in this respect.

In a paradoxical fashion that is too soon yet not soon enough, a knock at the duchess's chambers ends the agonizing wait. As Cressida bids the visitor come in, Myria is careful not to turn her head and look since her seat keeps her back facing the door.

Cressida does not rise to greet them, which would have been signal enough for her opinion on the newcomer without the wolfish grin that stretches across her face. "Ah, dearest Sir Emiri, how lovely for you to join us."

Slow, heavy footsteps thud behind, and when Cressida's grin falters, Myria hides a smile, clearly imagining enough how Emiri does not bow for her.

His suspicious and agitated voice confirms his identity. "Believe you me when I do not share your opinion of loveliness. Your steward offered me no choice in the matter as I was quite forcibly escorted from my room."

Cressida's mouth twitches, but this time, Myria cannot determine if it's from annoyance or humor. "Please, do not hide your true feelings on my account. We are among—friends." Her sharp eyes flicker to Myria's face on the last word, lilting in a way that makes Myria's stomach plummet.

Emiri misses the intent behind Cressida's tone shift, and as he steps closer, his voice rises in anger. "Of course, I should not be surprised how a Nocturnus feels at ease to force their will upon anyone—"

His rebuke stalls suddenly, and Myria already knows why before she finally turns to see him standing next to her, mouth agape at her presence. Her lips tighten into a thin line that does not do enough to convey her guilt over her complicity.

"Lady Myria," he greets in a strangled voice, belatedly bowing to her.

"Emiri," she replies quietly, her eyes wide with an unspoken apology she hopes he can read.

Cressida studies them for a moment, leaning back in her chair as she considers the pair through steepled fingers. The predatory grin returns as she motions to her steward. "Set the table for a third guest. Sir Emiri, I must insist that you dine with us."

Myria casts an anxious look in the duchess's direction. At the same time, Emiri's expression hardens with his apparent preference to do no such thing. "My lady," he issues through a clenched jaw. "I would never ask you to trouble yourself." His voice is thick with the forced civility that lacks his sincerity.

Cressida shrugs a single shoulder, a gesture that indicates she will brook no refusal. "The pleasure is all mine. After all, Lady Myria is the one who insists I become more inclusive to you at dinner."

Emiri's head snaps to Myria with an accusatory jerk, but his eyebrows knit together in confusion. She suddenly examines the craftsmanship on the wine goblet with rapt curiosity to avoid his gaze. When his place is set, Emiri slowly sinks into the third chair, sitting in the middle of them. He does not touch the goat leg on his plate, only shifting his gaze between the ladies as he considers the reasoning behind his summons. Occasionally, Myria peeks from beneath her eyelashes to see Cressida watching her intently and Emiri glaring at his food to express his disgust.