I shake my head. My voice rises. "No, Brax. Because I would have told you I cut your precious Blue!"
Anger flies across his expression. He warns, "Don't ever use those three words together like that again."
Our stares lock. The air pulls tight, charged with that dangerous thread we dance too close to. My pulse stutters, and his gaze flicks down my body before snapping back up.
He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, then shakes his head. "We're not doing this."
"We're already doing it."
He steps closer. "What do you want from me, Minx?"
I stay quiet.
He lowers his voice and slides his palm on my chin. "Want me to say I'm sorry I asked?"
My voice wavers. "You didn't just ask. You asked again after I told you no."
His face hardens. He inhales slowly, then exhales even slower. "Okay. I should have only asked once."
I shake my head. "No. You should have known I would have told you an important detail like that."
"You're right. I'm sorry, Minx."
The apology hits like a punch I wasn't ready for. My chest warms, then aches, then wants too much. I'm tongue-tied, unable to put any coherent thoughts together.
"So are we going to fix this little problem of ours or turn enemies?" he asks, running his thumb over my jaw.
I look away before my expression betrays me.
He exhales through his nose. "Can we forget about Blue and deal with an actual problem?"
I look back at him, fretting, "What problem?"
"Royal Council meeting is tonight."
I blink. "Yes. I'm aware."
"I don't like you going without me."
The words hit differently. My stomach knots in a way that isn't anger, or logic, or anything I want to inspect too closely. His protective instincts always hit me sideways, mostly because I'm used to surviving without anyone taking my safety personally.
"I'll be fine," I insist.
"You're going with Kirill and Fiona."
I freeze, arching my eyebrows.
"I set it up. They'll pick you up at nine."
Confusion, heat, and something else twist through me. "So you made arrangements behind my back."
"Yes," he challenges.
I should argue. I should snap something cruel or defensive. Instead, all that leaves my mouth is a quiet, "Thank you."
His eyes darken, and the tension between us shifts. His mouth curves. "You want your gift?"
"My what?"
