CHAPTER 138: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTY EIGHT

Damn it!

Derek thought to himself. He knew had to fix this slip up. Immediately.

He let out a yelp. He stumbled, turning the graceful dodge into a clumsy trip. He grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself, looking breathless and terrified.

"Whoa!" Derek shouted, his voice high. "Your Highness! Please!"

He panted, putting a hand over his heart.

"You almost skewered me!" Derek cried. "I... I just tripped! I got lucky!"

He stood up, brushing off his shirt, trying to look like a man who had accidentally avoided death by stumbling over his own feet.

He looked at Liam, forcing a shaky smile onto his face.

"Calm yourself down, Your Highness," Derek said, trying to diffuse the tension with humor. "If you kill me, who will pay your taxes?"

He walked to the table where the wine sat. He needed to occupy his hands. He needed to change the subject.

"You seem tense," Derek said. "Is the burden of the state weighing on you?"

He picked up the bottle of wine. It was a fine vintage. He poured the red liquid into two crystal glasses. His hand was steady, despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"I recently acquired new dancers," Derek said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, ’man-to-man’ tone. "From the eastern region. They are exquisite performers. Very flexible. Very... talented."

He picked up the glasses. He walked over to Liam, who was still sitting, watching him with that hawk-like gaze.

"I will arrange them for you," Derek offered, holding out a glass. "A private show. Just for the Crown Prince. To help you relax."

He was offering vice. He was offering distraction. He was playing the pimp to hide the general.

Liam looked at the wine glass. He looked at Derek’s face.

He had seen the dodge. He knew it wasn’t a stumble. But Derek was playing the game well. He was offering submission. He was offering service.

If Liam pushed now, if he accused him openly, Derek would just deny it. Liam needed more proof. He needed to catch him in the act of treason, not just dodging a knife.

Liam reached out. He took the glass from Derek’s hand.

"Dancers from the East," Liam mused. "You always did know how to find... talent."

He took a sip of the wine. He didn’t break eye contact.

"Very well then," Liam said.

He lowered the glass.

"Arrange it," Liam commanded. "But Derek..."

He leaned in closer, invading Derek’s personal space.

"If I find out that you are hiding anything else in that establishment," Liam whispered, his voice cold as the grave. "If I find out that you are ’dancing’ with the wrong people..."

He let the threat hang there.

Derek swallowed. He kept his smile fixed in place.

"I have nothing to hide, cousin," Derek lied. "Only wine and women."

Liam stared at him for a second longer. Then he turned away, dismissing him.

"Go," Liam said. " Get them here."

Derek bowed. "Thank you, Your Highness."

He backed out of the room. He didn’t turn his back until he was through the door.

He closed the door. He stood in the hallway for a moment, letting the mask drop. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

His heart was pounding. That was too close. Liam suspected him. Liam knew he was more than he seemed.

In just a few minutes, the heavy wooden door creaked open.

Three women glided into the room. They were dressed in vibrant, flowing silks of crimson and gold, fabrics that shimmered in the dim light. Two of them were dancers, their movements graceful and practiced. The third was a harpist, carrying a small, portable harp.

They bowed low to the Crown Prince and the Grand Duke.

"Begin," Derek commanded, waving his hand loosely. He was slouching in his chair, his top button undone, looking every bit the man who cared only for the next hour of pleasure.

The harpist sat in the corner. She began to strum. The melody was slow and haunting, a stark contrast to the dangerous political game being played at the table.

The two dancers began to move. They twirled, their skirts blooming like flowers. They moved around the table, their eyes cast down, their bodies swaying to the rhythm.

Derek laughed. It was a loud, boisterous sound that echoed off the walls.

"More wine!" Derek announced to no one in particular.

He grabbed the bottle. His hand shook slightly—a feigned tremor of intoxication. He poured wine into his glass, filling it to the brim until a little spilled over onto his hand. He didn’t wipe it off. He just licked his thumb, grinning foolishly.

Prince Liam sat opposite him. He held his own wine glass, but he didn’t drink. He watched the dancers with cold, bored eyes. Then, his gaze shifted to Derek.

Liam watched his cousin closely. He looked for the tension in Derek’s shoulders. He looked for the sharpness in his eyes. But all he saw was a sloppy, happy fool.

"Such magnificent dancing," Liam spoke, his voice smooth. "No wonder the Duke lingers here daily. It is a very... distracting display."

He looked at Derek, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"It must take a lot of time," Liam said. "Time that could be spent on... other things."

Derek laughed again. He leaned back, resting his boots on the edge of a stool.

"As you know, Your Highness," Derek said, slurring his words just a fraction. "I have no interest in warfare. I have no interest in the boring matters of the court. Budgets? Borders? Treaties?"

He waved his hand dismissively, as if swatting away a fly.

"That is so exhausting," Derek groaned. "Why would I want to worry about cold nights and hard saddles?"

He gestured to the dancers, his eyes following their movements with a lecherous gleam.

"Only beauties in my arms and wine in my belly," Derek declared. "That is the life. I am content and carefree. Why ask for more?"