My stare becomes withering.
“Does that work?” I ask, not bothering to mask the biting, bitter edge of my tone. “Does your veneer-thin facade of confidence win you trust and smiles and batted lashes?”
“Oh, Ves, I’ll argue you’ll find nothingthinabout me,” he retorts without hesitation, a wicked smirk curling his lips.
“Fenryn,” Ryc groans in a sigh as he levels an unamused glare in the fae’s direction.
I remain silent, confused.
“Lilith keeps no secrets,” Fenryn adds with a wink.
What does Lilith have to do with—
Breakfast, the flowers, Lilith’s mortification at my question—she told him. She told him what I wondered.
“You cannot be—” I stop myself short, the heat of anger mixed with the rush of embarrassment flooding me. “If you do not consider using yourthickhead the next time you open your mouth—”
“Ah, Ves, it’s all in good fun,” Fenryn teases as he rises from his seat, his eyes gleaming. He sets a small bejeweled box upon the desk as he says, “Keep your claws, demon. You’ll need them come tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to use my thick head for other purposes.”
Before I can respond, the damn fae vanishes in a tight swirl of raging water. Of course the royal family of Sol would be given the water innate. Their entire country is a desert.
Ryc chuckles.
And I turn my less than enthused glare to him.
“I’m glad you can laugh,” I drawl and his chuckling grows into laughter.
“You have to admit,” he says, grinning. “It was a well-placed jab.”
“Yes,” I near snarl with sarcasm. “Utterly divine.”
Ryc laughs harder. “If you’re concerned about causing offense, know he found it amusing and unsurprising a demon would dare ask.”
“He mentioned tomorrow,” I say, choosing to move past the debacle. “What’s tomorrow?”
Ryc’s smile fades to a much softer version. “The council meeting, little love,” he answers.
Has a week passed already?
Dread settles into my bones.
Heaving a sigh, I rub at my brow. “Are we ready for it?” I ask.
“We’re as ready as we’re going to be,” he answers, pivoting to sit on the corner of the desk. He clasps his hands in his lap. “We have Rowen, Fenryn, Darin, and myself in support. I’ve offered Liran, but he hesitates.”
“Why?”
Ryc shrugs. “I’m unsure.”
That doesn’t help.
“We need Liran for majority,” Ryc continues. He glances at the desk before returning his eyes to me.
The desk is littered with letters, many still unopened. Likely questions and requests for appearances from the dozens of Olloran lords.
“But you didn’t come here to discuss tomorrow. Something else is on your mind,” he says. “Share it?”
“The crystal,” I reply and his eyes narrow.
