“Oh, look,” he said, sounding a little worse for wear. “It’s the little witch. Happy birthday, little witch.”
She looked at him coolly. “Thank you, milord.” He was tall, though not as tall as Cameron, solidly built in a way that suggested it was starting to run to fat rather than muscle, brown haired. A white scar slashed through the very tip of his left eyebrow. She tried to place his face, but couldn’t bring a name to mind. In fact, she didn’t think she had ever seen him before. He wore a burgundy jacket, though. Burgundy was one of the Farkeep colors. Maybe he had come to court with the new Lord Farkeep.
“Heard things about royal witches,” he continued, smiling at her. There was a definite slur in the way he said “witches.” Drunk, then.
Sophie straightened. Drunk she could deal with. “Have you, milord? How fascinating. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my husband is waiting for me.” She stepped forward and around him. He shot out a hand and grabbed her.
She froze, shocked. He definitely had to be new to court. No one with any experience of court protocol would lay a hand on a royal witch uninvited. “Let me go,” she said fiercely. She kept her voice low, not wanting a scene if she could avoid it. Drunk was one thing. Stupid was another.
“That’s not very friendly, little witch. Thought witches were meant to be hot little things. How about you show me?”
“I think not,” she said. She jerked her arm, but he didn’t let go. Instead his grip tightened, and she felt a sudden flicker of fear, followed by a flare of anger. She was a royal witch, goddess damn him, and she had put up with far too much lately to have any patience left for drunken imbeciles.
She put her free hand on his chest and shoved, jerking her arm at the same time. He knocked her hand away, and without thinking, she sent a flare of power toward him and shoved with that, feeling a blow to her torso as she did so. He rocked backward several steps, face registering shock as the hand around her wrist came free. Then, before she could even work out what had happened, he rocked back another few steps, hand flying to his jaw, and Cameron was at her side, his face like thunder.
“Do not,” he said, his voice like ice, “make me hit you a third time. I won’t be so restrained.”
The man stared at him and then at Sophie. “She—”
“I don’t know who you are,” Cameron said. “But I don’t tolerate anyone laying hands on my wife. As I said, don’t make me hit you a third time. In fact, I think you should leave the ball before I am forced to explain to the queen that I found you harassing a royal witch. You’ll find her tolerance for that behavior is quite low. Nonexistent, in fact.”
The man’s face went white, and he dropped his hand. There was a patch of rapidly reddening skin on his cheek, as though someone had actually hit him. But before Sophie could figure out why, the man turned and fled through the door out into the garden.
Cameron glanced around them. She did the same. No one seemed to have noticed anything amiss. No one was staring or whispering.
“I think we should go for a walk, milady,” Cameron said. He took her hand and steered her rapidly through the crowd, not stopping until he reached another of the garden doors some distance away from the one her mystery assailant had exited. They went through the door and down the closest path at speed, not stopping until they were definitely alone in a part of the garden she wasn’t familiar with. Though judging by the strong herb and manure scent in the air, it was likely the palace kitchen’s garden.
“What in the name of the goddess?” she started to say when Cameron let go of her hand, but he interrupted her.
“How did you do that?” he demanded.
“Do what?”
He threw up his hands. “You used blood magic on him. You pushed him away with blood magic. I saw you.”
“I did—wait, what? How? I don’t know blood magic.” Her skin went a little cold at the thought.
“I know,” he said. “That’s what is concerning me. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that he wouldn’t let me go.”
“All you had to do was yell. Any man in the court would have decked him for you. You’re a bloody royal witch, Sophie.”
“I know,” she retorted. “Everybody keeps reminding me of that fact every few minutes.”
“Perhaps you should start paying attention. Thank the goddess I saw you. And I hit him hard enough to rattle his brains.”
“Hit him? You mean that was you? The second time. Using blood magic?”
“Yes,” Cameron said, sounding exasperated. “Hopefully, I convinced him it was me both times. And I don’t think anyone else saw.”
“I don’t understand,” Sophie said, still rattled.
“I do,” Cameron said. “Lord Sylvain was right. You can do blood magic as well as earth. Which means trouble if anyone else discovers it. Lots of trouble. Promise me you won’t do that again unless someone is trying to kill you.”
“I didn’t mean to do it this time,” she said. Her head was spinning. She’d done blood magic? Fear crept up her spine as she remembered what Lord Sylvain had said. That the Domina wouldn’t tolerate an earth witch who broke the rules and used two magics. “Goddess. What are we going to do?”
Cameron shook his head. “Right now we’re going to go back into that ballroom and pretend that nothing has happened. We’ll discuss it later. Come up with a strategy. All right?”
“Yes,” she agreed, though she wasn’t all right at all.
“Good,” he said. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her thoroughly.
“What was that for?” she asked when he finally let her go. Both of them were breathing heavily.
“Making you look like we’ve been out here doing something other than talking about you being able to do things you shouldn’t.” He studied her a moment, then reached out and deliberately tugged a few of the curls piled up on her head loose at the back of the arrangement. “There. That should do.”