If she had had her way, she’d have stayed the fuck home, nursing whatever the fuck kind of sick that had come over her, and sleep until her damn stomach stopped revolting. It had been a while since she’d felt this bad, and she was blaming the damn food from the night before - that’d teach her to go grab something off a shady cart in the fucking RLD. But she hadn’t, as Cian had shown up on her doorstep (and the in her room when she resolutely refused to open the damn door) and told her in no uncertain terms to get the fuck up, princess.
So here she was, at Reinholdt’s estate - again - for a fucking party - again - in order to not piss off the Spymaster - again. “I came, I was seen, can I go home now?” That they’d barely been there an hour was irrelevant - the scent of the food was making her simultaneously nauseous and ravenous at the same damn time.
Not to mention the curious looks they were getting since she and Cian Wilde were holding hands. (Not out of a lovey-romantic interest; she was pretty fucking sure Ci thought if he let go of her hand, she’d disappear out the nearest exit. And fuck, she couldn’t even say he’d be wrong about that.)
“Sit down and drink some tea,” was Cian’s advice (her hand, for now, was remaining solidly in his grasp). “Isn’t that shit supposed to settle your stomach, anyway?”
He couldn’t deny that -- for once -- the excuse of illness seemed to be genuine. She’d bitched and moaned as she’d gotten dressed and applied cosmetics, but yeah, she was looking a bit pale under the paint, and he had no doubt she didn’t want to be here. Well, he didn’t want to be here, either, and he’d wager that this place was still more dangerous for him than for her, in a lot of ways. The less attention he could bring to himself, the better -- and having her show up like a good little lackey was exactly what would keep the Spymaster’s eyes elsewhere.
It blew, but that was how it was.
“Listen,” he said, his voice a bit less irritated now, “stick it out another hour, all right? I’ll take you home after. Just don’t need these people deciding we fucking slighted them.”
“It’s a fucking party for his damned engagement to Albrecht,” Ash muttered, grabbing a conveniently placed cup full of tea - the one good thing was that these fucking things were everywhere, so she didn’t need to hunt one down. “Isn’t it considered good manners to only invite the people you’d invite to the damn wedding to one of these things?”
Although, knowing Reinholdt, he would probably expect them to show up to the wedding and reception. Fuck it all.