Vesryn tensed, drawing in a sharp breath. His eyes flashed murder before Serenna placed her palm on his.
She winced, but nodded in encouragement.
Exhaling slowly, the prince sank back into the nest of pillows, scowling at the ceiling. “Fine.”
Fenn brushed away Vesryn’s hair as he leaned closer, baring the column of the prince’s throat. “Ask nicely,” he crooned.
“Lieutenant!” Lykor snarled. Fenn’s grin vanished as his spine snapped straight. “Skip the foreplay and stop fucking around. Just get it over with.”
Crossing his arms, Lykor fixed his attention on the luminous threads weaving around Vesryn’s shredded calf, stitching muscle back together over exposed bone. He sensed Jassyn glancing at him, but he pivoted toward the chamber’s entrance, unwilling to acknowledge it.
While he’d been busy imposing order, a new stream of palace servants had slunk back into the quarters, burdened with offerings. More food, more nectared wine, more frivolous indulgences. The druids had hardly left them alone for minutes before returning, hovering at the edges of the room.
Lykor’s eyes sharpened as he caught the pattern, something he should have noticed earlier. The way they seemed to gravitate toward Serenna first—presenting her with the initial choice.
They deferred to her with subtle bows, a slight quiver in their wings as they dipped their trays, a quiet reverence he wasn’t sure she’d even registered yet.
An idea began to take shape—one he could twist to his advantage. But for now, there were more immediate concerns.
A male drifted toward Serenna, a tray laden with an array of delicacies balanced in his claws. Lykor warped, thrusting his arm out to intercept the servant’s approach.
“Where’s our armor?” he demanded. “I want our weapons. Supplies. Now.”
The servant’s wings tightened against his spine, the claw-tipped peaks curling inward as he lowered his gaze. “Your belongings have been placed in the sleeping chambers on the upper level,” he said quickly. “But your armor is—is being cleaned,” he stammered. “The artisans are crafting new gear, suited for—”
“I didn’taskfor new gear,” Lykor hissed, nearly flipping the tray out of his grip. “I asked forourarmor.”
The servant flinched.
“Fenn!” Lykor barked over his shoulder.
More steady now, Fenn sauntered over, having finished with the prince.
Lykor jabbed a finger at the druid. “Don’t let this one out of your sight until he sees our armor returned.”
Fenn shrugged, his attention already on the platter. “Easiest watch you’ve assigned.”
The servant’s wings twitched, crimson eyes flitting between Fenn and Lykor. Fenn’s talons skimmed the air over the spread of diced fruits, spiced meats, and snowy blossoms that were aswide as his palms. Tilting his head, he plucked one of the white flowers.
The druid shifted his weight and found his voice. “The nectar from mistpetals is a gift from the desert,” he explained. “More hydrating than water.”
Fenn’s eyes glowed with interest before he popped the entire bloom into his mouth.
The servant choked on a gasp, the clawed tips of his wings seizing. Eyes bulging out of his skull, his gaze flew to Serenna—as if she had any knowledge of their sacred decorum.
“Lykor, have you tried these?” Fenn asked, clapping the druid on the shoulder as he reached for another flower.
Lykor rolled his eyes, leaving the lieutenant to his sacrilegious feast. He couldn’t bring himself to care if Fenn’s antics dismantled their diplomatic standing.
But he took note of the druid’s scandalized reaction. Useful.
Lykor stalked back toward Serenna, who still hovered near Jassyn as he mended the prince. Thinking better of physically dragging her to the terrace in front of theirgracioushosts, Lykor jerked his head to the patio when she glanced up.
Serenna pursed her lips before squeezing Vesryn’s palm, peeling herself away from his side. Her slippers whisked against the marble floor as she glided out onto the balcony without a word.
Eyes glazed and distant, the prince frowned at the hand she’d released, slowly trying to count his fingers like he’d forgotten how many he possessed.
“You’re supposed to have six,” Lykor muttered under his breath as he passed.
