Free The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare by April Leonie Lindevald Page B

gracious diplomacy was her best approach.
    “My sincere apologies for keeping you waiting, Lord Drogue. Vital affairs of state detained me. No disrespect was intended. My attention is now all yours. How may I serve you?”
    Drogue stopped in mid-stride, turned to face her, bowed, and smiled. He was impeccably and expensively dressed all in black, which was not altogether inappropriate, as the official royal mourning period had only just ended. Jorelial recalled that black was Drogue’s usual preferred color in any case. He was well-groomed and somewhat too liberally scented, but nevertheless a respected man of wealth and property, keen intelligence, and perfect manners. Jorelial could not put her finger on exactly why she disliked him so. Descended from one of the oldest noble families in the realm, Drogue might be considered a handsome man. Tall and trim, with a regal bearing, his high cheekbones and chiseled features spoke of pedigree, and his black hair and mustache, black eyes under perfectly curved brows, and the pale skin of privilege attracted many a longing glance from the eligible maids of the kingdom. Was it her imagination, though, or did the elegant face lose its charm under closer scrutiny? Eyes a bit closer together than aesthetics might wish, and rimmed with dark circles; lines around the mouth, demarcating a haughty, sour expression rarely interrupted by true laughter; fingers that refused to be still, but always seemed to be grasping, roaming, reaching for more. Perhaps it was his remarkable lack of humor and warmth, or the uneasy feeling that he was never quite saying exactly what he really meant that put her on her guard. But none of those qualities were crimes, and she had no concrete reason to treat him rudely. Still, her father had taught her to heed her gut impressions, so it seemed prudent to be cautious, at least. Besides, Tashroth had no use for the man, and a dragon’s instincts should never be dismissed. Drogue addressed her, his voice cultured, and his words chosen with care.
    “My esteemed Lady Rey, no offense taken, as I am aware of the great responsibilities resting on your slim shoulders. It is precisely that about which I have come to speak with you. Perhaps it is I who may serve you.”
    “Oh? Go on, please.” She eschewed the grand throne on its raised dais, and instead took a seat at a long conference table on the floor, and motioned for Drogue to sit as well. He did.
    “Lady Rey, while others of your tender years are out enjoying the pleasures of youth and the lovely spring sunshine, I have perceived you are here at Theriole day and night in musty chambers, meeting with dull old ministers, poring over documents, and attending to the multitude of endless details involved in running a kingdom. Your father, a great man, and such a tragic loss for all of us (she nodded at this homage), has trained you well to step into his very large shoes, and we are all fortunate to be the beneficiaries of his foresight and your devotion to duty…”
    “Perhaps you could come a little more quickly to your point, sir, though your kind words are noted. Time is precious, as you are aware. Are you about to question my ability to carry out those duties?”
    Drogue started backward with a theatrical gesture, his hands flying to his breast, “No, no – of course, not a bit! Rather, I question the appropriateness of placing so great a burden on so young, and, might I say, lovely, a personage. Forgive my concern, my lady, but you are pale and weary, and are grown serious. You do not laugh and caper like the other youth of the court, and it is well past time for you to be considering an appropriate union…”
    Jorelial was struggling to maintain her composure, but at this last she cleared her throat. The man was one word away from overstepping the bounds of propriety. If she hadn’t been amused at his blatant strategizing, she might have been incensed. Drogue responded to her prompt.
    “My sincere