Koshin is standing by the door, ready to leave. He looks me over once, head to toe, and something in his expression shifts. Settles. I don't want to know what that means.
"I'm going into the city," he says. "You're—"
"Wait, wait, wait." I hold up a hand. "I've got this one."
I square my shoulders. Drop my chin. Let my voice go flat and commanding, the way his does when he's being particularly insufferable.
"'You're coming with me,Iowyn. Because I said so. Because I'm a god and I do what I want. Don't argue. It's boring when you argue.'"
I even add the head tilt. The one that makes him look like he's considering eating someone.
Koshin goes still.
For a second I think I've actually pissed him off—which, fine, maybe worth it—but then his mouth curves. Slow. Dangerous.
"That was terrible," he says.
"That was perfect."
"You forgot the part where I tell you what happens if you try to run."
"I was getting to that. There's a whole second act."
He crosses the room. I hold my ground, because fuck him, I'm not backing up just because he's looking at me like that.
He stops close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"Do it again," he says. Low. "The voice."
"Absolutely not."
"Coward." He’s smiling now.
"Fuck off."
He laughs. The sound scrapes through me, warm and rough, and I hate that I like it.
Arkenhold hits me the moment we step outside—noise and light and too many bodies after days in the dim quiet of his chambers.
The streets are packed. Mortals and lesser divine, merchants and servants and faces I don't recognize but who all seem to recognize him. They stare. Step aside. Create a path through the chaos without being asked, and I watch it happen, watch the crowd part around him like water around a stone.
Discord's territory. Discord's god. Discord's... what? What am I? Pet? Prisoner? The woman stupid enough to mouth off at breakfast?
A few gazes linger too long on me, taking in my face, my clothes, the careful distance I'm trying to maintain between us. A distance Koshin keeps closing. Every time I drift left, he drifts left. Every time I slow down, he's right there, shoulder brushing mine.
He's doing it on purpose. He has to be.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"To eat."
"I already ate."
"To eat more." He sounds almost amused. "You need to rebuild your strength."
"Is this concern or are you fattening me up for later?"
He laughs, and the sound catches me off guard—rough and real.
