Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [66]
Their captain inclined his head. "My lord de Mereliot," he said in a curt voice. "Pray tell me your doorman misspoke."
Raphael folded his arms. "He did not."
The captain took a step toward him, one hand hovering above his sword-hilt. I wished I had my bow. "Then I would hear it from your lips, my lord," he said with acid politeness. "So I might assure her majesty there was no mistake. Is it your intention to deny the Queen of Terre d'Ange entry?"
"Is it a crime?" Raphael gave a pointed glance at the captain's sword. "The last I recall, the Queen was not an Empress, and D'Angeline citizens still enjoyed certain rights. Or is there a state of emergency? Are the Skaldi on our doorstep? Does her majesty require refuge?"
The other man's face darkened. "Just answer, damn you!"
"Very well." He executed a crisp bow. "Yes. It is unequivocally my intention to deny the Queen of Terre d'Ange entry to my private domicile. Does that suffice?"
"You play a foolish game, my lord," the captain muttered.
"I?" A muscle along Raphael's jawline twitched. "Jehanne has seen fit to punish me for three weeks for missing a single, insignificant engagement. She was angry—well and good. I made my apology, but she didn't see fit to accept it. It was a foolish game. She carried it too far and now I am angry. You may tell her you heard it from my own lips."
Unexpectedly, the captain sighed. "Oh, fine. She'll be hell to live with."
Raphael smiled. "I know."
The men in livery took their leave. I turned to steal back to the dining hall and found my way blocked by a gauntlet of curious servants who had come to see the confrontation. With a sigh of my own, I turned back to Raphael and let go the twilight. The silvery candle flames turned golden and the foyer took on a warm, pinkish hue. Behind me, a shocked murmur arose. Raphael regarded me.
"Moirin." He didn't sound surprised.
"Aye." I shrugged in apology.
"Sly and uncanny, is it? Ah, well, I suppose I'd have done the same in your shoes." Raphael extended his arm. "Shall we finish our dinner? I believe I was on the verge of imparting some rather important information to you."
I took his arm gratefully, happy that he wasn't angry at me. He rearranged my hand, showing me how to rest my fingertips lightly on his forearm. Members of his household stared and whispered. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my hair, feel the warmth of his body inches from mine. It set the doves to fluttering in my belly.
The Queen's favorite courtier, her lover.
"Do you love her?" I murmured without looking at him.
"Yes," he said in a low voice. I did look up, then, gazing into his storm-grey eyes. Raphael caressed my cheek. "But it doesn't mean she's my destiny, does it? And after all, this is Terre d'Ange. I'm not bound to love one and one alone."
There before his entire household, he kissed me again, and this time it was slow and languorous and deliberate. Once again—I could feel the heat and rising energy coiling between us. But when I wound my arms around his neck, Raphael laughed deep in his chest and peeled me off him.
"Ah, no." He settled my hand on his arm. "You've healing to do, my lady. Come."
Over cold meat and mashed tubers, congealed sauce, and a salad of limp greens, he told me that he'd learned that Due Gautier de Barthelme, who was in fact a descendant of House Courcel, had attended Lord Tiernan's coronation, and that if there was a Priest of Naamah in attendance, it was almost surely Phanuel Demarre, the companion of his youth.
"It's an old custom," Raphael explained. "To assign a priest- or priestess-in-training to a scion of the royal family. Often, lasting friendships are formed."
I toyed with a forkful of tubers. "Do you know where he is?"
He shook his head. "No, but I reckon your mother's right about the Temple. On the morrow, I can—"
"No."
"No?" he echoed.
I stirred my mashed tubers, thinking of the bright lady's smile and the mystery that had called my unknown father to my unlikely mother. "What if he's