Chapter 4: Tea and Too Many Biscuits
Elaine had survived many things since waking up at the end of a novel and living it backward—duels, balls, unsolicited matchmaking attempts by overzealous duchesses—but nothing could have prepared her for this:
Afternoon tea with the Empress Dowager.
"I look like a velvet cupcake," she muttered, staring at her reflection.
"You look edible," Lior said from her windowsill, where he perched like an extremely smug cat. "They love desserts at court."
She turned to him, scandalized. "You're not even supposed to be here. How did you get in?"
"Your footman owes me a favor."
"That is not reassuring."
Lior stood, adjusted his cuffs, and added, "I'm escorting you as part of a protective detail. Officially, there was a security concern."
Elaine narrowed her eyes. "Did you file the concern?"
He gave her an infuriatingly innocent look. "Maybe."
"You just want to watch me suffer."
"And," he added, stepping closer, "I'm here to collect."
Elaine blinked. "Collect?"
"Your favor. From the bet. Ring any bells?"
Her stomach dipped. "You said you'd 'save it for later.'"
"This is later. I'm invoking it now."
Elaine gaped. "Your favor is tagging along to my execution by teacup?"
He smiled like a wolf wearing court shoes. "Correct."
---
The Empress Dowager's salon was aggressively pink. Elaine perched stiffly on a settee shaped like a swan and tried not to look like a woman being judged by both furniture and royalty.
Across from her, the Empress Dowager stirred her unnaturally violet tea like it owed her money.
"So," said Her Grace, eyeing her over a china cup, "you are the Lady Elaine?"
"I am, Your Grace."
"The one who called Lord Fenrick's poetry 'a tragic misuse of ink'?"
Elaine coughed. "Allegedly."
The Empress blinked slowly. "I like you."
Elaine didn't breathe for five full seconds. "Pardon?"
"You have the eyes of a girl who would stab someone with a cake fork and claim self-defense."
Elaine laughed. "How did you know, your Grace? I thought of it only once."
The Empress cackled. "Delightful!"
From the corner, Lior pretended to cough, but she saw the laughter in his shoulders.
Tea passed in a whirlwind of scandal, veiled insults, and one very passionate monologue about wigs and whether they counted as pets.
Elaine held her ground admirably—until:
"So," said the Empress, cutting into a scone with surgical precision, "is it true you're courting the Commander?"
Elaine inhaled a crumb and nearly died.
Lior, from the sidelines, choked.
"We're not—I'm not—he's not—!" she sputtered.
The Empress raised a regal brow. "Pity. You'd make an excellent power couple. Possibly a terrifying one."
Elaine stared at her plate, cheeks glowing.
Lior, very suddenly, became fascinated by the pattern on the wall.
When tea ended and they escaped into the corridor, Elaine practically stomped.
"She thinks we're together!" she hissed.
"We could be," Lior said far too casually.
She turned on him. "What?!"
He shrugged. "Just until the rumors die down."
"You're leveraging your bet for this?"
He smiled like a man winning two games at once. "It's the favor I want."
Elaine sputtered. "You're serious."
"You owe me," he reminded her gently.
"And if I say no?"
He leaned closer. "Then I'll tell the Empress you proposed to me."
She gaped. "You wouldn't."
He gave her a wink that made her stomach do dangerous things. "Wouldn't I?"
She didn't answer. Mostly because her heart had gone full traitor again and was thudding somewhere near her ears.