“It’s cake.” And it’s a sight to behold. Three layers coated in pillowy white icing, complete with blue accents.
“I did not request cake,” he says, lethally quiet.
Oh, he is not happy. That only serves to heighten my delight. “But I did. Silas was happy to make it.”
As I push away my dinner plate and tug the confection closer, the Frost King says, “Silas?”
“Your cook. You do know his name,” I say, fork poised over the sponge, “don’t you?”
“Of course I know his name,” he growls.
I’m not entirely sure I believe him, but the sweet drags my attention back to the matter at hand. Sinking my fork into the moist sponge, I bring a piece to my lips. The moment the chocolate touches my tongue, I am transported. The second bite is even richer than the first. I’m nearly a quarter of the way through when I remember my dinner companion, whose glare is so cold I would not be surprised to discover frostbite manifesting where his gaze falls.
“Yes?” I say mid-chew.
“Are you going to consume that entire dessert on your own?”
“Well, I did ask Silas to bake it for me.”
“You just ate three plates of food.”
“Is it a slice you’re asking for?” I might even give it to him.
“I don’t like cake.”
My forks clatters against the dish. “What? Who doesn’t like cake?” I mean, really.
Grabbing a knife, I shave off the thinnest slice of cake possible—the width of a twig, if that—and place the miniscule serving in front of him. The Frost King glowers at his meager portion. Then I return to my seat and continue to inhale the rest of the cake.
Every smack of my lips makes him flinch in repulsion. Every smear of icing tightens his jaw. I go one step further and groan as the sugary euphoria takes me far from this dreary room, this unbearable dinner companion.
“You are an animal,” he snarls.
Yes, and he has no idea what I’m capable of when cornered.
But I can be civil. In fact, it would be in my best interest, if only to coax out the information I need. Which, at the moment, is everything. “You have three brothers, yes?”
He nods stiffly. I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. “And their names are…?”
“You’ve met Zephyrus.” The name holds a bitter ring. “There is also Notus and Eurus.”
“The South and East Winds.”
Another shallow nod.
Pushing aside the empty dish, I fold my arms atop the table. This stifled reaction has revealed more emotion than anything that has come before it. “You are not close with them.”
“I have seen neither in centuries.”
His fingers twitch against his glass. What bothers him? That he has not seen his brothers in hundreds of years, or that I pry into his life?
“What are they like?” I ask, curious despite myself. Zephyrus is the Bringer of Spring. Notus, the South Wind, is said to reign overthe hot desert winds. And the East Wind, Eurus… Whatever power he controls, it must be immense.
He leans back to allow the servants to clear his place setting. “Notus was always rather quiet. Eurus has a temper.”
“And they live in different realms?”
“Yes.”
