The truth slid between my ribs like a stiletto. Delicate. Precise. The move of a queen.
“Cruor, Dad!” Sebastian said. “When Ko hears you threatened his beloved, he’ll carve your tongue out through your throat.”
“Call or text or even write letters,” she leaned closer to whisper. “Send birthday presents they’ll pretend to hate. Keep showing up, and they eventually believe you mean it. And I’ll help, too, because I’d like you to be my papa-in-law.”
The world tilted. How many years had passed since Koa last called me Dad instead of nothing? Or Zane’s ‘Pops’ without his sharp sarcasm? Even Casimir’s frosty ‘Father’ was voiced with duress. And yet ‘papa-in-law’ rolled off this little witch’s lips as easily as a sigh.
“Noted,” I managed, voice suspiciously thick.
“So, what delights has Mrs. Wentzel prepared for us today?” Sebastian picked up his pace to walk alongside her.
“Mrs.Who?” Her head cocked slightly to the left.
“Your chef, silly goose.” He tapped her nose with his forefinger. “Haven’t you met your own staff yet?”
“I haven’t really had the opportunity. Well, Ididmeet the estate manager, but Simmy fired him the same day,” she admitted.
Storms, Gregory. 32. Unmarried. Already installed at Evermere when I purchased it. Wore Arabesque’s belladonna perfume within a week of the sale. Rather than eliminate the problem, Sebastian had counseled patience, suggesting Mr. Storms might unwittingly provide useful information.
“I knew he wouldn’t last long,” Sebastian chuckled, “although I believe terminated is a more appropriate term in this case.”
As her forehead wrinkled in confusion, I glanced at Sebastian.
Terminated, indeed. That very night by Zane, whose unorthodox use of a spoon had made me proud.
Such a pity the late Mr. Storms hadn’t been able to share anything we didn’t already know. I would have dearly loved to discover the name of the mole in my court. Still, it was only a matter of time before Sebastian or I discovered our leak.
“Idorecognize the boy who brings the dishes from the kitchen.” Apparently, Seri was either oblivious to the murderous undercurrent or ignoring it. “I meant to introduce myself, but my husbands hog all my attention at meal times. Well, atalltimes, really.”
As Sebastian tipped his head back and laughed at that, my mind brought up a snapshot of another employee dossier: Wentzel, Addison Guzman. 14. Newly orphaned. His custody was Mrs. Wentzel’s price to come out of retirement and command the kitchen here, and it was one I’d been more than happy to pay.
A top-of-her-class graduate of both culinary schoolanda prestigious bodyguard academy wasn’t easy to find, after all.
“Do you leave the meal planning up to my brothers, or do you simply eat whatever Mrs. Wentzel makes?” Sebastian asked, his eyes still glittering with humor.
“I don’t know who makes the menu, but today we’re having pierogi!” she chirped happily as if she’d announced Almas caviar.
“Pierogi?” Unable to hide my surprise, I exchanged raised eyebrows with Sebastian.
“I had never had them before I came here, but we did for lunch the other day. They were so delicious that I asked if I could have them again with my special guests today, and Simmy said yes!” Her grin faded as her face fell. “Wait. Do you not like them?”
“My dear sister! We’reconnoisseursof pierogi, right, Dad?”
Although my face remained blank, I laughed quietly to myself. To my knowledge, Sebastian had never eaten anything so humble as pierogi in his life. Yet here he was, ready to dive in with gusto, all for the sake of making Seri feel at ease. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen in a long time.
Sure enough, the dining room smelled of browned butter and rebellion against haute cuisine. The half-moon dumplings glistened on their platters, a peasant dish on Spode china. One bite, however, and they proved themselves more than worthy of Seri’s praise: Crisp golden parcels bursting with rich goat cheese and fresh thyme.
With unholy amusement, I watched as Sebastian tentatively speared one. He bit into it, paused, then demolished the plate with the fervor of a werewolf at a steakhouse.
“Does your beloved make the menu at your palace?” Seri asked, smiling again to see his enthusiastic gorging. “Zane explained that Queen Kaori is a nephilim, not a vampire.”
Grinning, Sebastian launched into a tale of Kaori smuggling takoyaki into a state banquet. As he described octopus tentacles rolling under a diplomat’s chair, Seri’s laughter chimed silver-bright until a thunder of paws shook the chandelier.
A dire wolf pup skidded into view, fur matted with leaves, a decimated leather boot hanging from his knife-long teeth. My fangs pierced my gums before conscious thought.
“Stand back!” Sebastian barked, shoving Seri behind us.
“Bad boy, Brummy!” She slipped through our guard like mist. “You’ll choke on the laces!”
