My insides twist.
Behind him, four Fae with generals’ emblems on their uniforms.
Dante appraises my companions, then turns his attention to me.
“My Lady,” he bows at the waist before continuing. “Quite the welcoming committee.” His tone is like hot lava cooled by water, controlled, but still dangerous.
Then he frowns, jaw tightening, as his eyes land on Riven. “Pity. I told my father you are a disloyal rat, but he was determined to trust you.”
“I am loyal.” Riven shrugs. “As each male in my army.”
“We will see about that,” Dante dismisses him with a wicked smile, then turns his gaze to Jestin. “On the other hand, your presence doesn’t surprise me at all. You were always pining after my betrothed, Juice.”
I scowl. I’ve always hated that stupid nickname. Dante started using it after—during our betrothal—we visited Jestin and he answered the door with some woman’s juice still smeared across his damned face. That woman later found herself shipped off tothe Halfling lands as a Berigander’s courtesy. I’m not proud of it. But I don’t regret it either.
Jestin just smiles, smug as ever. “I am nothing if not persistent.”
“I need to remember that nickname for later,” Aidon smirks.
Bane, standing closest to him, lets out a small giggle. “It is a little funny.”
Their banter grates on me. My scowl deepens before I can stop it, a tight pull of annoyance I try and fail to smooth away. I can feel the heat of my irritation simmering just beneath my skin.
Dante studies them for a moment, then answers Jestin. “I guess you are, Juice. I guess you are.”
The nickname lands like a pebble in my stomach, small but enough to sour everything.
Finally, he turns that chocolate gaze to me. “I missed you so much, Sellie,” he says, a huge grin spreading across his face, as if the last time I saw him, he hadn’t quite managed to wreck my heart completely.
“Of course he has a nickname for you,” Aidon mutters with irritation while positioning himself casually before me.
I only glare at my ex-fiancé, my fists twitching with the effort to keep still.
Many times, when I thought about that incident, I wanted to let myself blame him for my behaviour. It would be so much easier to blame someone else. My life would get some colours, even if still on the grey spectrum. But it would be a lie.
I could have done a million things better. If only I had known.
Yet, even with my exceptional self-awareness, I yearn to put a heel into his throat.
I inhale deeply and try to keep that need in check. Yet, my fingers tremble, so I put my hands into my pockets, aiming fora nonchalant, bored look, squeezing my fists to help my self-control.
“Sentiment not reciprocated,” I say coolly.
“Come on, don’t give me that cold shoulder treatment,” he scowls, getting closer to us.
I don’t know what I want more now, to take one step closer, or one step back, but I force my spine straight, refusing to waver.
Honestly, I don’t know what to reply, so I continue to stare. Sometimes silence is the best offence.
“It is a good time to establish who is going to be on top.” Aidon leans in, whispering theatrically into my ear as his hand brushes my hip. I shoot a glance at Dante in time to see an ugly scowl twisting his face.
Then Jestin spreads his arms wide and smiles with condescension. “I wanted to say I missed your ugly face, but gentlemen don’t cheat.”
Score!
Dante ignores his comment and heads straight to me, but before he can reach me, Riven growls, snapping his wings. “Not. A. Step. Closer.”
“I only want to talk,” Dante says in a way he always used to handle me after my outbursts. As if I was the dramatic one, when in reality he was the one who was wrong.
