CHAPTER 217: FALL OF VALTAIR [13]

"Where is she now?"

Alaric wove between clusters of guests. His eyes scanning. Looking for brown hair and a gold mask.

He angled toward the refreshment area.

Then—

Stopped.

There.

Delphine stood near the wine table. Her posture... loose. Too loose.

She swayed ever so slightly. One hand wrapped around a goblet that tilted at a dangerous angle.

Her brown hair had come partially undone from its pins. A few rebellious strands framing her flushed face.

And beside her, leaning in with that particular predatory amusement, stood a young man.

Blue and silver mask. Expensive clothes. Noble or wealthy merchant. Hard to tell.

His hand hovered near Delphine’s elbow. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that the intention was crystal clear.

Delphine laughed at something he said. Too loud. Unguarded. Nearly sloshed wine over the rim of her goblet.

The young man’s smile widened. Satisfied.

Alaric’s jaw tightened beneath his mask.

How much did she drink?

His feet moved before he’d consciously decided.

The young man said something else. Low. Intimate. Too close to her ear.

Delphine laughed again. Swayed more this time.

The man’s hand moved.

Ready to catch her. To use the stumble as an excuse to... but—

"Careful."

Alaric’s hand shot out. Grabbed Delphine’s arm. Pulled her upright with firm precision.

She stumbled backward instead. Into him rather than the stranger.

What the hell were you doing?

His eyes locked onto the young man.

Good thing I came early. Hope you didn’t open your mouth about anything important.

The young man straightened. His posture shifting from predatory to defensive in an instant as he frowned behind his mask.

"What are you doing?" His voice carried irritation. "We were just talking."

Before Alaric could respond—

"So you came back." Delphine slurred.

She leaned into Alaric. Grabbed his coat with both hands.

Her fingers found his collar. Adjusted it. Tugged at it with uncoordinated movements.

"Had your little fun, husband?"

The word came out pointed. Sharp despite the slur, though there was an edge underneath. Something that wasn’t quite anger. Not quite hurt. But close to both.

Her purple eyes found his. Unfocused. Glassy.

"Dancing with all those pretty ladies. Charming everyone. While I just... stood here. Waiting."

The young man shifted. Uncertain now.

"Husband?" He looked between them.

Alaric’s arm came around Delphine’s waist. Steadying her.

"Yes she’s my wife." His voice came flat. "So you can go."

The dismissal was absolute. No room for negotiation.

The young man’s jaw tightened. Pride warring with self-preservation.

"I didn’t realize—"

"Now you do." Alaric’s tone didn’t change. Just... heavier. Carrying weight that suggested pushing further would be unwise.

The young man’s hands raised slightly. Placating. "Of course. My apologies."

He bowed. Stiff. Unhappy.

Then headed back into the crowd.

Leaving Alaric holding up an increasingly unstable Delphine.

She was still tugging at his collar. Her face pressed against his chest now.

"You left me." The words came out muffled. "Just left. And I waited. And waited."

Her grip tightened on his coat.

"So I drank. Because waiting is boring. And wine makes boring less boring."

Her logic was impeccable. For a drunk person.

Alaric sighed.

How much did she actually drink?

"Come on." His arm tightened around her waist. Started guiding her away from the wine table. "Let’s get you somewhere you can sit down."

"Don’t wanna sit." But she let him lead her anyway. Stumbling along. "Wanna dance. You danced with everyone else."

"You’re drunk."

"So? Drunk people can dance." She looked up at him. Those purple eyes were wide and earnest. "Dance with me, husband."

The last word came out with that same edge. Mocking but wanting it to be real at the same time.

Alaric navigated them through the crowd. Looking for somewhere quieter. Somewhere she could sober up before making an even bigger scene.

Her fingers were still tangled in his coat like she was afraid he’d disappear again if she let go.

Alaric sighed.

I’ve done almost everything I came here to do.

He looked down at Delphine. Still clinging to his coat. Still swaying. Still looking up at him with those glassy purple eyes.

I can give her that much.

"Fine." His voice came resigned. "One dance."

Her face lit up.

"Really?"

"One." He emphasized. "Then we’re leaving."

"Yes! Okay! One dance!"

He guided her toward the dance floor.

The music swelled.

His hand found her waist. Her hand came to his shoulder. Gripped tight. Like she was afraid of floating away.

Then they began moving. Swaying more than dancing. But it worked.

For about thirty seconds they remained silent.

Then—

"Why did you stop me?"

Her voice came quiet. Slurred but serious.

Alaric blinked. Kept the rhythm. "Stop you from what?"

"From drinking with that man." Her eyes found his. Accusatory.

"He was nice. Funny. And you just... grabbed me. Pulled me away."

"You were drunk. He was taking advantage."

"So?" She frowned. "You left me alone for an hour. What was I supposed to do? Just stand there?"

Her tone carried hurt underneath the alcohol.

"Delphine—"

"Were you jealous?"

"Huh?"

"Jealous." She repeated. Louder. "You kept dancing and flirting with other women. Smiling at them. Touching them."

Her grip on his shoulder tightened. Almost painful.

"And when one man approaches me... you got jealous and—"

"Stop with this, girl." Alaric’s voice came firm.

But Delphine didn’t stop. The alcohol had burned away whatever filter normally kept her thoughts contained.

"So what?" Her voice rose. "What will you do? Imprison me? Execute me? My lord?"

She hissed.

Then laughed.

"My ass. ’Lord.’ You just need an excuse to—"

"Just shut up, Delphine."

"I won’t!" She pulled closer. Her face inches from his. "I’m your wife. You can’t do this to me. Can’t just... use me when it’s convenient and ignore me when—"

She kept mumbling.

Alaric just stared at her.

What the hell happened to her?

She was still talking. Still swaying against him. Her voice getting more emotional.

"And you smile at them but never at me. And I-I know it’s fake. I know it’s just a job. But it still—"

Her eyes were getting glassy. Not from alcohol. From tears threatening to form.

"It still hurts."

Fuck.

Then she moved, rose up on her toes. Her face tilting up toward his.

Aiming for his lips.

But...

Alaric’s hand shot up. Covered her mouth. Stopped her inches before contact.

Her eyes went wide. Confused. Hurt.

He leaned in. His voice dropping to something cold.

"Don’t. Push. Your. Luck."