“And you, my lord?”
Boreas glares. The man flinches, retreating a step, and scampers away as if the king shot ice from his fingertips.
I shove the first pastry into my mouth. “You’re incorrigible. Why is it so hard for you to enjoy yourself? You agreed to the party.”
“And I regret that decision.”
That is apparent. “Why?” For perhaps the first time ever, the people of Neumovos do not regard their king as their enemy. How can they when he has granted them refuge from the darkwalkers?
Before he can answer, a group of townsfolk approach us. Boreas tenses beside me. We stand quite close, and the heat of his body warmsmy side. I remember how that body moved against my hand, the helpless sounds he made when I brought him to climax.
“My lord.” The tallest man steps forward and bows low, first to my husband, then to me with a softly uttered, “My lady.”
I smile at him. Boreas does not.
A sharp elbow to his ribs has him uttering a low curse.
“Don’t be rude,” I murmur.
He grumbles, but manages a smile that is only half as vicious as I expected. We will have to work on that.
“Thank you for opening up your home to us.” The gentleman’s eyes glow with rare warmth toward the Frost King. “I admit, we were surprised by your desire to begin healing the wounds between us.”
“That’s because it wasn’t my idea—”
I slam my heel against the toe of his boot. He grunts, teeth clicking shut, and glowers at me. My smile is as serene as the most placid of lakes, but my eyes spark with a warning.Don’t cross me.
“Please, enjoy the party,” I tell the group, before pulling my husband over to a secluded corner.
“Drink,” I say, plucking a glass of grape juice from the tray of a passing server and shoving it into his hand. He examines it as though it is poisoned.
“Boreas.” I sigh. “For once, just… let go. Eat, dance, enjoy the festivities. Tonight, you are not a king. You are a man—”
“God,” he corrects me, sipping from his glass.
“God,” I relent, watching the liquid sheen his upper lip. “You can let go of control for one night.”
“They will vandalize my property.”
I burst out laughing, mostly because I know he’s serious. “What do you think these people are? Vermin?” Their spirit forms flicker between various shades of opacity as they dance and flirt and mingle, but I imagine Boreas will always see them as the mortals they once were. “No one is going to vandalize anything. I promise.”
“See that woman?” He points. She is elderly, hunched, and currentlystokes the fire in one of the fireplaces. He studies her as if her existence is a personal affront. “She will burn down my home.”
The woman is barely strong enough to lift the poker and is far more likely to accidentally stab someone with it. “Perhaps you should go talk to her.”
“No, thank you.” I hear the unspoken words:I would rather be hung up by my bleeding entrails.
I sigh, set my glass on a nearby table, and rest a hand against his lower back.
Boreas stiffens. “What are you doing?” The words emerge strangled.
“Distracting you.” I toss him a sly smile and shift lower to where his backside curves. My heart thunders, but I keep my hand where it is, as though I have every right to touch him in any way I wish. “Is it working?”
His fingers twitch around the stem of his glass. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.
“Ask me to dance,” I urge.
Something in his expression softens. Then his hand, rough and wide of palm, curves around my nape, his thumb gently tipping up my chin. “Will you step on my toes like last time?”
