What they did not know was who was financing Enger. Until now.
Hernod Grieg was a merchant who traded out of Sudvic, as Drakkar did. Drakkar knew of him, had met him and didn’t like him. Grieg didn’t consider himself wronged by the crown in so much as he disliked paying taxes to it for he preferred his coin in his coffers.
Why he would participate in a treasonous plot, Drakkar did not know. But both Quincy and Balthazar were already riding to Sudvic to find out.
With Viola out of the room, Atticus pulled himself together and not for the first time Drakkar thought this was one characteristic every king should have that Atticus of the House of Wilde did not.
He didn’t have the stomach for the dirty work of politics.
It was a weakness.
“I’ve heard of this Grieg,” Atticus stated.
“And what do you know?” Drakkar asked.
“Not much,” Atticus shook his head. “He’s a merchant in Sudvic. He attended the Solar Hunt last year, invited by a member of a House but he did not go to the Gales. I met him very briefly. I can’t even say for certain I recall what he looked like,” Atticus answered.
“Which House?” Drakkar pushed.
Atticus shook his head again. “That, as well, I can’t recall.
Drakkar studied his king then he whispered, “Try.”
Atticus held his eyes then replied, “Ravenscroft or Lazarus, maybe Sinclair or Njord but saying any at this juncture is slander for, indeed, Drakkar, this meeting was insignificant and I truly cannot recall.”
Drakkar’s eyes went to Annar who was standing, hands on hips, in the corner. “Get to Ravenscroft, Lazarus, Njord and Sinclair. They’re all here. I’ll need to speak to them before I go.”
Annar lifted a chin and left the room.
Drakkar looked to Aurora.
“And you?” he queried.
“I’ve never heard of him before,” she replied instantly, her eyes blank but active, though not, Drakkar sensed, from an attempt to hide something.
Drakkar turned his head to Franka. “And you?”
She lifted a fluttering hand to her wide, garish expanse of cleavage. “Me?” she drawled.
Drakkar turned his whole body to face his cousin.
Then he said softly, “I know you fancy yourself a cat who isn’t content unless she’s got herself a mouse to play with but do not mistake me for a mouse, Franka. A mouse cannot yank a cat’s throat out with his fist.”
He knew she knew his threat was not idle when she lost some color in her face.
“What do you know of Hernod Grieg?” Drakkar pressed.
“I live in Fleuridia, Frey, as you know. And even there, I don’t consort with merchants,” she said her last with disdain and not a small amount of folly for she was speaking to one.
Drakkar moved to stand two feet in front of her.
“You called the maid to you, Franka, I noted it. There were two glasses of champagne on that tray, I noted that too. You took your glass first,” Drakkar remarked.”
“It’s touching to see how much attention you pay your new bride, Drakkar,” she purred.
Frey didn’t allow his expression to change but he lifted his hand and touched his index finger lightly on her throat, watching her body tense as she pulled in a breath.
“You cannot forget mere seconds ago, Franka, when I told you I was no mouse,” he whispered, she looked deep in his eyes, read them correctly and swallowed.
Drakkar dropped his hand.
Franka she spoke.
“I cannot say I recall how the tray was offered, Frey, but I simply took the glass closest to me. And your unfortunate wench,” she waved a hand low to where Viola had been lying, “left quickly therefore did not wait to see if her endeavors were successful. What I can say was that the girl was hovering, that I noted prior to arriving at your fair princess. But that is all I can say.”
“Is it possible for you to assure me in a way that would actually convince me you’ve had no hand in tonight’s events?” Drakkar asked and Franka’s eyes narrowed.
“Now why, my brawny, handsome cousin, would I, Franka Drakkar of the House of Drakkar, poison our beautiful Winter Princess when she’d just been telling me how happy she was with you, and all your nuptial activities, activities which would seat a Drakkar on the throne of Lunwyn for the first time in seven hundred and fifty years?” Franka asked back.
“Why does a Drakkar do anything?” Drakkar returned.
“Indeed,” she replied, slightly inclining her head to accede the point, “however, this Drakkar quite likes the idea of the House being restored to its former glory. So this Drakkar would do naught to stop that from happening. Further this Drakkar would not be so stupid as to stand next to her victim whilst she was being poisoned. And lastly, this Drakkar, unfortunately, has to rely on her House to keep herself in her apartments in Fleuridia that she greatly enjoys, her Fleuridian gowns she also enjoys and if she would participate in such foolhardiness, other Drakkars, of which there are many, my cousin, including you, who wish to see our House again rule Lunwyn, would not be too happy if she were to scheme against that future event. Therefore, this Drakkar is not likely to do something so foolhardy as to lose her the lifestyle she enjoys, not to mention,” she paused and held his eyes, “a throat she likes perfectly well right where it is.”
Drakkar returned her gaze and also sensed she was not hiding anything.
“This is good,” Drakkar said quietly, “But I suggest you guard that throat, Franka.”
“I always do,” she returned smoothly.
Drakkar wasn’t finished. “And, if you enjoy your lifestyle, as you advance through Lunwyn or Fleuridia in your constant play, you’ll be certain to inform me should you hear anything I may wish to learn.”
Her face grew smug before she asked, “Are you suggesting you can sway my brother into severing my funds?”
When the gods dispensed attributes between Franka and her brother Kristian, unfortunately, Franka received more than her fair share of them including looks and wits. That said, Kristian, being the male child, inherited their dead father’s fortune so he held the family purse.
Nevertheless, Kristian was Franka’s favorite mouse and she played with him often.
“I’m not suggesting anything, Franka. If I discover you know something you didn’t share, Kristian will be given his own choice about the state of his throat. He may be a puppet on your strings, cousin, but one thing I’m certain he was born with and that is a sense of self-preservation.” Her mouth got tight but Drakkar wasn’t finished. “And something else he has born, a son who would inherit his purse should something befall him, a son whose age would mean his mother would control his funds for some years. In your vicious play, have you been clever enough to spare his wife?”
He knew the answer to that as well because she lost her poise and glared at her cousin.
Then, instead of answering his question, she asked sharply, “Am I free to leave or will I be treated to some of the same I witnessed your man meting out to that poor woman?”
“That poor woman was a traitor and nearly murdered my wife, Franka, so she’s lucky to leave here breathing, if not fully intact. But you will not be treated to the same for you would enjoy it,” Drakkar retorted.
Her glare melted away, her eyes heated and she smiled languorously at the thought.
“Too true,” she murmured.
Drakkar stared at his cousin with disgust wondering if he did actually have Drakkar blood in his veins or if he was a changeling.
“You may leave,” he muttered, dismissing her by turning away and back to Atticus and Aurora who both had been watching.
Atticus again didn’t hide his reaction to Franka and stared after her with distaste as she exited. Aurora didn’t move her eyes from Drakkar.
Max walked in and Drakkar’s looked to his man.
“The princess,” Max said and Drakkar lifted his chin.
“Find Thad, send him to her. Have him tell her she needs to change. Then have Tyr brought around. Finnie
