So I’ll sink in my tongue
And make her come.
Then I’ll do it all over again.
And again.
And again.”
He bows his head.
“Hmmm,” I say.
“I think you could be the next Poet Laureate,” Fly deadpans.
Dray yanks me even closer, burying his head in my neck and nuzzling his teeth against my skin. “Don’t lie to me, Little Kitten. You loved that. Maybe you’d like to show me how much you like it by–”
“Actually, what I’d really like to do,” I say, cutting him off before he can wind both of us up, “is eat some breakfast.”
“Yes, please!” Fly says.
Dray glances at his watch. “Breakfast? It’s practically lunchtime! How about some brunch!”
“Do you think we have time to grab some from somewhere before Beaufort returns and we have to go and see the Empress?”
“Beau’s going to be gone a while. We have time. But we don’t need to ‘go’ anywhere.” Dray scoffs. “We can get it brought here.”
He reaches over the arm of the sofa to a small table resting alongside and slams his fingers down on a little bell. It dings loudly and Dray rings it three more times in a row.
“Decide what you want,” he instructs us both and before I can reply, there’s a knock on the apartment door. Dray leaps up to answer it and there’s a man dressed in a uniform with an apron tied around his middle waiting on the other side.
“We’d like coffee, bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, beans, potatoes, and toast; lots of toast,” Dray turns his head to me, “anything else?” I shake my head and so does Fly. Dray’s eyes light up. “Ahhh, and pancakes with fruit and chocolate sauce. She loves chocolate sauce. She especially likes it when I smear it all over her body and lick it off,” he tells the man, winking. To his credit, the man maintains his professional persona and nods.
Dray closes the door.
“Are you sure there’ll be time for all that?” I ask. It sounds like a feast!
“Ahhh Kitten, this is the palace,” he says, right before there’s another knock at the door. This time when he opens it, the man is back with a trolley stacked full of food. Dray steps aside and the man wheels it inside, setting it all out on the formal table on one side of the grand room.
Dray strolls over, inspecting the food and checking everything he ordered is there. Then he’s beckoning us over and the man serves us each a plate of food before departing a second time.
“I can’t understand how they made everything so quickly,” I say, shaking my head.
“Magic,” Dray tells me with a mouth full of sausage. “The Empress finds the best shadow weaver for each job. Some are good at fighting demons,” he points at himself, ripping the head off another sausage with his teeth, “others at cooking and baking.”
We spend the next hour stuffing our faces – because we’re heading to the demon realm and who knows if there’ll be any food – while Dray entertains us by making up ever more ridiculous lines of poetry.
I can’t help giggling, something I stop abruptly when I notice Beaufort has returned and is standing over us, with anything but amusement decorating his face. Behind him, Thorne is lurking by the far wall, looking like someone who just went for a leisurely stroll and not a full-combat work-out.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Beaufort.
“Nothing. We have a private audience with the Empress scheduled for the end of the week.”
“An audience?” I say, frowning.
“It’s palace talk,” Thorne explains. “It means we’ll be seeing her then.”
“Right. But not until the end of the week?” I ask Beaufort.
