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“MY…face…feels…so…hot…”
During dinner, Emma politely excused herself. To the best of her ability, she walked out of the Eslan dining room and onto the attached terrace to cool herself off. Alone.
Everything was so delicious…and the meat stew looked particularly tempting, so I asked for a heaping portion…but how could I have known that was wine sauce and not fruit sauce?
Emma couldn’t handle her liquor. In her homeland of Reauxvil, once a citizen was old enough to enter the Magic Academy, they were also old enough to consume spirits. But she fundamentally lacked the constitution for alcohol, to the point she had gotten tipsy from the minute traces of wine in the dish she’d just had.
“I thought the Marquess was only bragging as a doting father would, but he was on the mark about you, Ian. You have grown into a splendid young man since I last saw you a bit over a year ago. And to think you would be in the same class as my darling Rashida!”
“Thank you very much, Your Grace…”
From behind her, Emma heard the others enjoying their conversations with their meals in the dining room. Goodness, to think I’m frittering away the duke’s generous offer to join them for dinner like this… How much more pathetic can I get? I want to at least recover enough for dessert!
The wine dulled her senses enough for her facade to waver as her real self bubbled to the surface. Even her thoughts were a mixture of politeness and unhingedness. She fanned her face frantically, trying vainly to cool down faster.
“Are you all right?”
Suddenly, Emma sensed the other half of the terrace’s ottoman dip under someone’s weight. Ack. The second she thought as much, a cold glass filled with water pressed against her cheek.
“Cold! It’s so cold! Th-Thank you, Glen.”
“Duke Eslan seemed in no hurry to release Ian from his company, so I figured I could help you in his stead.”
If only he had phrased his words a wee bit differently. She was disappointed to hear his logic. While idly thinking, she turned to look at Ian, trapped in the dining room by their host. Sensing her gaze on him, Ian gave her a slight nod, silently encouraging her to engage with Glen. When she saw that, Emma realized Glen’s words weren’t as unfeeling as she’d assumed.
“Earlier…” she began.
“Yes?”
“Earlier…in the garden, when you crossed swords with Ian.”
“Oh, were you watching us?”
Glen raised his glass to his lips. The tiny bubbles churning in the liquid reflected the light streaming through the window behind them, creating fantastical sparkles. His action was so practiced and elegant that Emma realized she wasn’t the only one who was nineteen on the inside.
“You know how Ian is always refreshingly calm and gentle?” she continued. “Well, today was the first time he challenged someone to a bout. Outdoors no less. Imagine my surprise to see him doing so after all the years I’ve known him.”
“Hm, I can understand why you would feel uneasy. Tell me this, then, Emma… Which one of us were you watching?”
Badump. Glen’s question jolted her. His deliberate pause and tone of voice indicated he asked light-heartedly. But when she responded, her voice came out much more shrill than she intended.
“I watched… Eugene. Yes, that’s right, Eugene.”
“Ah-ha. Can’t say I’m all that surprised considering…the complications for him and Lady Rashida.”
Emma fashioned her answer out of desperation, yet she still felt vexed by his nonchalant reaction. She conceded defeat and admitted he was better at this game than she would ever be.
“Emma. Have you sobered up?” Ian had finally freed himself from the duke’s conversational clutches. He made his way to them on the terrace ottoman.
“Not yet, but I think I should be fine soon enough.”
In reality, she still felt airy, like she would float away, but staying out here wasn’t an option for a number of reasons. The biggest one being right next to her. Spurred on by the potential dangers to her heart and ego, Emma moved to stand up smartly. Except her sense of equilibrium was on the fritz, so she tumbled instead.
“Mpf!”
Glen caught her just in time and kept her upright. The way his arms supported her shoulder so gently and carefully sent a delicious frisson of excitement through her whole body.
“You know… I think this one’s more inebriated than she’s letting on.”
Still holding her, his breath ruffled her hair when he spoke. She usually only got a vague, distant hint of his cologne, but now his unique scent was much stronger. Her face heated, and her breathing grew raspier. The alcohol. The alcohol was to blame. Yes, that’s right—the alcohol. She frantically tried to convince herself.
Keen eyes observing her, Ian spoke. “Glen. Would you do me the favor of escorting Emma home? I know I ought to… But I’d like to speak to Duke Eslan some more.”
“Ian,” Glen said. “I don’t think that’s a great idea… Besides, as you said, it is your job.”
Emma sensed unspoken undercurrents in their strange conversation. But drowning in embarrassment and half drunk, she lacked the brain power and energy to analyze it. Instead, she flared up angrily at them.
“So… You’re both trying to foist me off on the other because neither of you wants to take me home? Do I have the gist of it?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Blast!!!”
She had never heard Ian speak so casually and bluntly before. The muffled shriek expressed her surprise because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“…I jest. I jest.”
“I-Ian, why you…”
“Let’s just say that there may still be things left unsaid. Besides… You saw Glen’s skill with a sword earlier in the garden, didn’t you? Since he’s capable of protecting you, I’m confident in his abilities to escort you home.”
“I see… You’re right.”
Ian’s words finally made Emma realize why they jousted in the garden.