Jace had settled into an easy rhythm of conversation, weaving charm with casual remarks, his grin never quite leaving his face. He looked relaxed, maybe even smug, as though he'd already won a private game only he understood.
Lila who seated across from him, responded with soft smiles and measured words, her tone warm but guarded. She had always been adept at concealing her thoughts, but tonight her gaze lingered on him more intently than usual, watching for the faintest shift.
And she caught it.
The fork slipped from his fingers with a sharp clink against the plate, tumbling onto the tablecloth. Jace blinked down at it, bemused, as though surprised by his own hand.
"Clumsy of me," he muttered lightly, reaching for it again. His fingers fumbled once, twice, before he finally pinched the handle. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Haven't even finished the wine yet."
Lila's brow lifted, but she said nothing.
He speared a piece of meat, lifted it halfway, then paused, squinting. For the briefest second, he tilted his head as though the plate beneath him had shifted. The meat slid off, plopping back onto the sauce with a soft splash.
Jace stared at it, blinking, then gave a small laugh. "I could swear the plate moved."
Now she leaned forward, her smile fading into a look of polite concern. "Are you well?"
He looked up, meeting her eyes. His own were steady, but faintly lidded, his shoulders sinking slightly into the chair. "I'm fine," he said, voice low, almost weary. "Just… tired. Long day, you know?" He waved a hand loosely, dismissing it.
Her expression flickered—just enough for him to notice. Surprise, calculation, then composure. She nodded once. "Then perhaps it's best you retire early."
"Perhaps." He offered another grin, faint, almost lazy, and returned to the plate.
The conversation dwindled after that. Jace picked at his food with deliberate sluggishness, his fork clinking now and again against the edge of the plate as if his aim was slightly off. A faint hum escaped him, tuneless, like a man slipping into the edge of a drunken haze.
Lila watched closely, her lips pressing together in thought. The draught worked faster than she had expected. Much faster.
Finally, she set down her glass and signaled subtly to her maid. "Prepare the guest chamber. We'll escort him shortly."
The maid bowed and moved quickly.
When Lila rose, Jace pushed back his chair a bit too forcefully, the legs scraping loud against the floor. He staggered a fraction as he stood, his hand catching the edge of the table to steady himself. His grin widened, sloppy but oddly boyish.
"Forgive me," he said, voice dipping with an exaggerated slur. "These floors… slippery things. Can't trust them."
Her composure almost cracked. Almost. "We'll see you safely to a room. Come."
The maid slipped to his side, sliding an arm under his shoulder. Jace leaned into her with a weight that made her stumble. His head lolled toward her, eyes half-shut. "Ahh, steady hands," he murmured, "like… like a sailor in a storm."
Her cheeks flushed crimson. "Sir, please—just walk."
"Walk?" He gasped, stumbling forward in theatrical shock. "On these legs? Ha! They've betrayed me already." He slapped his thigh clumsily, nearly losing balance again until the maid hauled him upright.
Lila turned ahead, refusing to let his antics show on her face, "do not dawdle. Bring him carefully."
"Yes, my lady," the maid muttered, though Jace's bulk made the words sound like a quiet curse.
They started down the corridor, the soft glow of wall-mounted lamps stretching shadows along the stone walls. Jace trailed his free hand along the wall, dragging his fingers with deliberate exaggeration. He paused at a tapestry, squinting at the gold-stitched scene of horses and riders.
"Why," he whispered loudly, leaning closer, "are the horses staring at me? Judging me, aren't they?" He poked a stitched muzzle with one finger, scowling. "Don't look at me like that. I know what you're up to."
The maid groaned under her breath, dragging him forward.
By the time they reached the oak-carved door of the guest chamber, Lila's patience was thin, though her face betrayed little. She pushed the door open, revealing a chamber of polished wood and silken sheets, lavender drifting softly from a burning oil lamp.
"In here," she said curtly.
Jace stumbled in with reluctance, peering down at the rug. His eyes widened dramatically. "Careful," he hissed. "It's a trap. Rugs swallow men whole. My uncle… my poor uncle…" He trailed off, shaking his head mournfully. "Never saw him again."
The maid nearly dropped him in exasperation. "Sir, please!"
But Jace broke into a lazy grin as she half-shoved him onto the bed. He sprawled back against the silks, arms spread wide, sighing deeply. "Ahh… captured by silk. A soft prison."
The maid backed away immediately, brushing her sleeves as though ridding herself of him.
Lila stepped closer, regarding him carefully. His posture was slack, his words loose, his gaze glassy. Yes. This was more like it.
"Rest," she said softly, her voice carrying the faintest edge of satisfaction. "You've done enough for today."
Jace rolled his head lazily toward her, smiling. "Did you know, Lady Lila… you've got three faces right now? All very serious. Beautiful too, but… serious." His hand lifted clumsily, wavering in the air before flopping back onto the bed. "Don't worry. I'll keep your secret. No one will know."
Lila's lips pressed into a firm line, though her eyes flickered briefly. "That will be all," she said to the maid, who bowed and hurried out.
Jace sank deeper into the mattress, humming softly, the perfect picture of a man overcome by drink. But inside, his thoughts remained sharp, every detail of her reaction carefully tucked away.