So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)(90)

Rupert had brought quite a bit of gold with him from the island, so he plunked down a bag filled with gold coins.

Argus’s eyes had lit up when he’d counted out the gold. “Excellent.” He slid a paper across the desk. “Sign here that you have agreed to abide by our rules, which are subject to change at any moment.”

Rupert had suppressed a snort. So he was agreeing to be executed if he lost a round? He signed as Umberto Vintello, Baron Suffield.

“Excellent.” Lord Argus retrieved the paper. “You will be given quarters inside the palace for you and one servant. The rest of your entourage will have to stay at an inn. At your expense.”

That meant they wanted to separate him from his soldiers and make it difficult for him to escape. No doubt they also wanted to separate him from more of his gold. “I understand.”

“There will be a feast tonight where you will meet His Majesty and the other contestants. Oh, and the princess will be there, too.” Argus had waved a hand to dismiss him. “My servant will show you to your quarters.”

Now that Rupert was resting in the small room, his thoughts turned once again to Brigitta. Hopefully she had been treated well. If not, he might have to kill her bastard brother before the competition even got started.

Stefan paced back and forth, frowning. “I wonder how Fallyn is doing.”

Rupert stretched out on the bed. “Go fetch some food from the kitchens.”

Stefan snorted. “You want to eat now? You get to go to a feast in a few hours. Was I invited? No. I have to play the lowly servant.”

“Bring back food for yourself. And while you’re there, see if you can find out where the princess has her room.”

“Oh, right. That’s where Fallyn would be.” Stefan hurried out the door.

He returned later with a huge basket filled with food and wine. “They were extra generous when I gave them a few gold coins. And very talkative. The princess has a whole suite of rooms one floor up on the east wing. She even has a large balcony overlooking the Loure River.”

Rupert smiled. Before making his invention that swept him up to the crow’s nest, he’d spent years climbing to it. A balcony one floor up would not present a problem.

An hour later, he had washed, shaved, and dressed in expensive clothes he’d received from King Leofric. A servant led him up some stairs and through a curtained-off doorway. Immediately his surroundings changed. Now he walked on gleaming marble floors, surrounded by gilded mirrors, long windows, thick marble columns, and enormous portraits. A high ceiling arched over him, covered with paintings of naked women lounging about on a green pasture, eating grapes. If women actually did that, he’d somehow missed it.

No doubt, the luxurious décor was intended to leave him in a state of awe, but it did the opposite. It had taken him two days to ride to Lourdon, and he’d seen how the average people in Tourin lived. Half starved and crowded into mud huts. It hadn’t been like that when he was young and his father had ruled. All those years when he’d been hiding or living at sea, his countrymen had suffered. And now that he saw proof that the bastard Gunther had been spending all the country’s wealth on himself, he was filled with rage.

Instantly, his gift of wind power merged with the sudden surge of emotion, feeding off the excess energy to grow stronger. A gust of air burst down the hallway, stirring the gold brocade curtains and rattling the portraits. Candles snuffed out, causing the hallway to darken. The servant stumbled as his cape swirled around him and his cap blew off his head.

“What the hell?” He grabbed the cap off the floor and cast a wary look down the dim hallway. “Did someone leave a window open? I don’t see one.”

Rupert tamped down on his power. Control. This was not the time to unleash his fury. “Perhaps the palace has ghosts.”

The servant’s eyes widened as his face went pale. He ran to a door and with trembling hands, jerked it open. “You’re supposed to wait here until the feast is served.”

As Rupert approached the room, he noted it was dark, lit only by a fire in a hearth. Dark paneling lined the walls, and three well-dressed men were inside.

The servant closed the door after him, and his pounding footsteps sounded as he ran away. Rupert turned to face the other three men.

One of them, who looked Tourinian with his blond hair and blue eyes, gave him a wry smile. “Welcome to the losers’ club.”

“You must be number Seven,” a dark-haired young man said with a slight accent.

Rupert bowed. “Baron Suffield at your service.”

“You can forget about having a name here,” the blond one muttered. “We’re just numbers to them. I’m Five.”

“Four.” The dark-haired one raised a hand.

“I’m Six,” the shy-looking one mumbled.

Rupert frowned. “I would prefer to know you as real people.”

Four snorted. “What’s the point? We might as well be numbers. Our days are certainly numbered.”

At the sideboard, Five began filling cups with wine. “At least tonight, we have a reason to celebrate. I heard they’re going to wait till the end of the competition to execute us, instead of killing us one by one.”

Four retrieved a filled cup and raised it in the air. “Thank the Light for small favors.”

With a sad look, Six took a cup.