“So who?!”
“You didn’t hear about the conscription yesterday?”
I heard it, yet I chose to ignore it. My body tenses. “What have you done?”
“Oh, darling, it should be me asking.”
“Do you want to march troops into the halflings’ land?” I press. He can’t do that.
“I thought you quit politics,” he says, caressing my arm with lazy strokes.
“I still need to know,” I reply, and against my better judgment, I happen to relax under his touch.
One eyebrow rises, a sideways smile tugging at his cheek, revealing a dimple. He looks so boyish that way. How amazing that so much cunning, responsibilities and straight-out wisdom is lurking under his shell. The contradictions make him even more attractive. Why I pined over Dante, when I had him close all this time, is beneath me.
“You can sit on it,” he shrugs.
I blink.
Strategy meetings are usually strictly guarded from prying ears. Not for commoners, there’s no access without a high security clearance.
You aren’t exactly a commoner,Aidon says sleepily, a note of something sharp in his mental tone.
I turn to find him… scowling?
Your thoughts are too loud,he accuses, before elegantly jumping to the floor and leaving the gardens. Does he mean I woke him?
Rude jackass.
“Do you want to?” Jestin shakes me away from my thoughts, and I glance at him, finding him… wary? What’s with the strange expressions?
What the fuck have I missed?
“Sure,” I shrug. What bad is going to happen if I listen to the news?
???
Entering the war room, I am struck by how different it is from the rest of the palace. The walls are painted in whit, and an oval table dominates the centre, surrounded by eight massive armchairs.
“See you at the meeting?” I throw Nulok’s earliest spill-on right back at him as I take the seat opposite.
He shrugs, beaming at me. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I gave you a hint, didn’t I?”
I laugh. “Next time I just need to pay more attention to what you are saying.”
“Exactly.” He smiles, then shoots a warning look to the older male with silver beard braided with tiny bells, as if to tell him not to say something he will regret.
The door opens, and I straighten so fast it feels like I have a stick shoved up my spine.
The deity from the party. My would-be tutor.
He steps in and acknowledges me with a precise bow, every movement measured and flawless. His etiquette is as impeccable as I remembered, cold, distant, and devastatingly composed. Not a single word about last night passes his lips.
My pulse trips over itself. I clasp my hands in my lap to stop them from fidgeting and resist the urge to bite my cuticles. He would hardly find that attractive.
Did I imagine it? That spark between us, the way the world seemed to tilt when he looked at me? Gods, it would be humiliating if I were the only fool who felt it.
Bloody Fae wine, maybe I should consider some moderation.
