He folded his arms across his impressive chest. “I’m pretty certain this is my palace.”
Kadeesha swiped a hand at the small amount of distance he’d left between them. “And I’m entirely certain this is my personal space.”
His eyebrows crept higher. “Last I checked, you enjoy me in your space. You frequentlybegfor it, actually.”
Liquid heat shot straight to her sex, because apparently that region didn’t get the memo that things between her and Malachi had just gotten thornier. She’d already told herself that even after she ended the pregnancy, he wasn’t touching her again. Ever. Not when the cursed Markings screwed with her fertilitywindows. She’d just have to find a different way to go about making him easier to kill. “I’ll take care not to do so again, since you’re so haughty about it,” she shot back.
He grunted. Stepped closer. His stare sharpened. She held her breath for the bomb to detonate. But all he said was “You haven’t answered my question.”
She blinked. “About what?”
He pointed to the leather volume she was clutching so hard her fingers groaned. “I asked about your apparent attraction to Lornian’s love sonnets. You don’t seem the … sappy type.” He saidsappylike it was a horrendous trait. Kadeesha shook with laughter; she couldn’t help herself.
“I think we both know I am no such thing,” she returned. “I don’t actually like much poetry at all. But Samira loves it, and the Aetherfolk believe literature—”
“Touches the soul. So you’re reading to her in case it’ll help rouse her quicker,” finished Malachi. He didn’t remark on it scathingly, like the healer who’d passed through moments ago and had been one tongue cluck away from missing his tongue altogether. Rather, Malachi stated it matter-of-factly. Then, he turned and barked to a passing healer, “You—come here.”
The short, sturdily built male hurried over to his king, bowing low. “Yes, Your Grace?”
Malachi pointed to Zayvier’s sleeping form across the infirmary. Zayvier’s hair was spread out around his shoulders in a mass of shiny night-black curls. His nose was wide and proud. Regal. His cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass. Malachi might’ve been the king, but his friend, Zayvier, looked every bit the royal himself. The male was hauntingly beautiful even while locked in the darkest depths of sleep. “He enjoys books about adventuring, treasure hunting, quests, all shit like that,”Malachi bellowed to the healer who stood before him in a slight panic. “Make sure he’s read to daily.”
The healer’s features pinched together. His brown gaze traveled to Kadeesha with the book in her lap; his lips pressed into a snide line. “Your Grace, Apollyon healers practice more evolved—”
“I’m sorry,” Malachi cut in, “it sounds like you were about to provide a rebuttal to a direct order from your king. But you’re not a moron who values their life that little, right?”
The healer paled. He shook his head furiously and stammered, “N-no … Your Grace. I’ll … I’ll see it done.”
“Make sure that you do. Begin now with Lord Girard and keep it up throughout the day and night. Also, assign someone to do the same for Lady Samira.”
The healer bowed and hastened away.
Kadeesha might have felt bad for the male if he hadn’t cut her the disdainful look, like it had been her order or idea. Malachi stalked away then, and the great Celestials must have been granting Kadeesha a boon. But she relaxed too quickly. A moment later, he was dragging a chair beside hers and plopping down in it, hooking one ankle over the opposite knee.What the fuck is he doing?
“Don’t you have more nobles to question and torture or further war plans to make?” she casually asked. The chuckle that reverberated around her was as dark as the skies under a new moon, yet it carried an entwined levity. The contrasting energies in Malachi’s laugh produced the effect of making his chuckle curl around Kadeesha. It invaded every sense of her being. She clenched her jaw, then relaxed it. “I don’t believe I said anything humorous,” she told Malachi calmly.
He plucked the book out of her hand and started thumbingthrough its pages. Another demand to leave was on the tip of her tongue when he stilled on a page and tapped his index finger to it. “Samira might like some variety, and Lornian’s pastoral sonnets are masterful works of art,” he announced. Then, he started reading one about the first snowfall of a new winter. His voice took on a melodic quality that wasn’t … unpleasant. Okay, that wasn’t even remotely fair.
It wassublime.
Even she, who never had a particular affinity or ear for poetry, could surmise that. Malachi’s smooth, rich voice was crisp and clear and bright and stunning, exactly like the blankets of undisturbed, pristine snow he was reading about. By the time he finished, Kadeesha found herself stuck. She knew she looked absurd, but she couldn’t do anything except gape. He’d read the stanzas like a master poet himself, nailing cadences and rhythms and the pensive, reverent tone of the lines perfectly. He winked at her as he handed over the book. “I am a king of many talents.”
Like always, the supreme arrogance he had to infuse into every situation helped her shake off the stupor. “When, precisely, did hauling that huge-ass ego around start?” she inquired. “I’m curious: Did it begin in your formative years or did adulthood bring it on?”
His lips twitched. “My ego isn’t the only huge-ass package I haul—”
She groaned. “You’re not serious. You sound like a juvenile.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” He had leaned closer into her side to murmur the taunt … and that’s when she could hear a sharp intake of breath through his nose. He pulled back, nostrils flaring, and her heart thundered against her chest as she watched him continue to sample the air through his noseuntil finally he startled in his seat. Malachi, the fearsome, ruthless king of the Apollyon court, literally jumped as if spooked.
“Why do you smell that way?” he rumbled. “What the fuck is going on? You aren’t in a fertility window; IknowI didn’t scent that before.”
She pushed her shoulders back. Was he accusingherof some crime? The full brunt of every tumultuous emotion that she’d been holding back since she peed on the thistleweeds broke free like a dam had shattered. She slapped the Marking at the base of her neck. “According to my mother,this—you—are the reason!” she snarled. “Apparently, one more reason these infernal things are obsolete is that they fuck with fertility cycles.”
Malachi went still as death. The light snuffed out of his brown eyes, leaving them that icy, pitiless shade of unforgiving black that made him all the more terrifying. “How long have you known?” he asked quietly.
“Since this morning,” she said stiffly.
“And your plans?” His pitch was still toneless—neither malevolent nor threatening, but frigid nonetheless.
