“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
He squinted for a length of seconds, the glowing image of his lover assembling slowly into clearness.
“Ana, when I’m with you I feel nothing but happiness,” he said.
“And when I find time to indulge your fancies . . . well, it isn’t all bad really.” She shrugged and grinned coyly. “Sometimes.”
They shared a laugh. Music wrapped around them, pulling Dwyn onto the cushion of the gold plated settee as well. A firm hand fell onto Yshana’s knee. He began to gently massage her.
She glanced at his hand then stared attentively into his shaded orbs. “You were saying something about a paramour . . .”
“I pledge my love to you, but first we have to take care of my betrothed. Any suggestions on how to go about this business, my sweet?”
“How would you dispatch one of your enemies,” she asked.
“If I didn’t want my enemy to know their fate, perhaps poison would work best.”
“Poison?” Yshana’s face went wry, but even as she frowned her ancestry permitted only a slight wrinkle upon her elfin skin. “You’ve seen too many of Bratold’s dramas. On the stage a good poisoning might do the trick, but in the real world it’s much easier to prevent death by poisoning than it was a hundred years ago. Try again.”
“I’m not too bad with a blade. Maybe if I–”
He motioned a grip upon a phantom handle, then a quick stab through the air with an unseen sword.
“And risk being thrown into the gallows? I’ll not have it, Dwyn. Keep them coming.” She folded her arms, a malicious smile showing a singularly sharp tooth. Then she wiggled her leg. “I didn’t tell you stop.”
He palmed her knee again, plunging his mind into a fantasy of morbid schemes. He decided to keep the mood lighthearted. “How about the two of us lure my betrothed to a staircase, and we both push her down?"
“And if she survives the fall?”
“It’ll be a really big staircase,” Dwyn added.