Precautions

“You should not go. Silas is not to be trusted.” Despite her assertions, Mary continued to present Malcolm with sartorial suggestions.

“I’m well aware.” He shook his head. “Not blue. Silas hates it.”

“And you, but that seems to matter not.”

“On my honor, I accepted his invitation. I will feast.”

“On your blood, so might he.” She helped him shrug into a coat of deepest green.

“I go well protected. You’ve seen to that with charms and incantations.”

“You’d be better served if you believed in the old gods.”

He draped a thick gold chain around his neck. “I’d be best served if you believed me capable of handling myself against enemies.”

“Caution is not lack of faith.”

He kissed her cheek. “I swear to be on my best behavior, and if your rotten brother does not keep true the forms of host and guest, I will slide a sword through his guts and secure the future of your yet to be conceived sons.”

“What a lovely image. Do try not to mention my name. He has not forgiven me for defecting.”

“And you have not told me why you did.”

“In good time, my lord. Go, the hour grows late.”

The retreat of hooves played a merry cadence for the ritual to ensure only one man left the dinner alive. ‘Twas unfortunate she could not specify which one, but with her most recent missive to Silas, she’d guaranteed herself a privileged place regardless of the outcome.

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Written for Thursday Threads challenge