My stomach turns at the memory. “It started out innocently enough. I visited gambling halls as a means of escape from my responsibilities. Soon I learned I could use my sense of smell to gain the upper hand, particularly during certain card games. Since I maintained seelie form at all times during those days, no one knew I was a bear shifter. They only knew I was fae, not that I had any magical means of smelling lies. It didn’t take long for me to reap financial benefits from my gambling activities, and that became a source of stability. Power. Control. I was able to recover financially, buy new crops, pay for countercurses to heal the damaged soil in the old plots. I was far from regaining the level of wealth Father had meant to leave me with, but I was getting there. Unfortunately, that’s when I fell in love.”
Astrid grimaces. “What happened?”
“Shannon Barrister happened.” Even her name puts a sour taste in my mouth. “I knew I needed a wife in order to fully step into the role Father left for me. By then, I understood the rules of society, and one of the primary expectations was marriage and securing an heir. I began courting Miss Barrister out of duty, but we quickly fell in love. There was only one thing standing in our way. Her parents wouldn’t approve of a marriage with anyone earning less than eighty thousand rounds per year. Davenport Estate was still recovering, so I wasn’t quite there, although I knew I would be soon. Had I been patient, I never would have made the mistake that cost me everything. Instead, I let greed guide me. I knew I could raise my wealth with a few risky bets. Miss Barrister encouraged me, expressing her eagerness to marry as soon as possible. She was the only person who knew about my keen sense of smell and how it helped me tell if people were lying. I never admitted to her that I used my magic to scent lies during card games, but she must have guessed as much.”
Astrid worries her bottom lip. “Did she…betray you?”
“Yes,” I say, though I hate to admit it. Hate to admit I was so blind. So stupidly confident. So pathetically infatuated that I didn’t think to smell if my lover was lying. “Miss Barrister encouraged me to play against one of the most notorious gamblers two cities over. Frank Host was famed for his risky bets. His occasional losses were massive, but his wins were greater. So great, that he was sitting on an unbelievably large fortune at the time. One ripe for the taking. He was just the opponent I needed. Someone reckless enough to play against an equally reckless wager. So long as we played a game of bluffs and lies, I could win.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. Miss Barrister told Mr. Host about my ability to sense lies. He used this knowledge to purposefully fluctuate his emotions during the game. I bet ten times the amount of money I had, and I lost. Shannon Barrister married Frank Host two months later.”
Astrid’s mouth falls open. “That’s…that’s despicable.”
I shrug.
She slumps into her seat and crosses her arms. “I hate Shannon Barrister, and I don’t even know her. No wonder you’re such a grump.”
I quirk a brow. “A grump?”
She doesn’t bother looking apologetic over the insult as she meets my gaze. “But you know that wasn’t love, Torben. She certainly didn’t love you and she took advantage of your feelings for her. I agree she treated you poorly, but I don’t think that experience should make you give up on love.”
“Are you some expert on the topic?”
She gives me a haughty look. “I’m a matchmaker.”
“Aside from helping other people fall in love. Do you know anything about it yourself?” My tone is meant to be teasing, and yet I can’t help but tense up as I await her answer. Why am I so desperate to know about her love life?
She shrinks down a little. “Well, no. I’ve sworn off love. I can hardly find romance when all anyone else sees in me is their own reflection.”
“Is that why you turned down Queen Tris’ nephew?”
Her scent turns sharp. “That’s precisely why. I could never love someone who has no clue as to who I really am. Which is everyone. That’s why I like animals better than people—” She slaps her hand over her mouth, and her scent flares with panic. “Oh no! The kittens! I didn’t even get to say goodbye. What are they going to do without me?”
I roll my eyes. I’m about to remind her that stray animals don’t need her feeding them prime cuts of salmon in an alley, but as tears begin to well in her eyes and her scent plummets into sorrow, I find myself shoving my harsher instincts aside. Instead, I reach for the small, blanket-covered crate on the bench next to me.
With a grumbling sigh, I place the crate beside her and remove the blanket.
She blinks at the barred crate and the five feline forms cuddled up asleep inside it. Her eyes glaze even further now as she faces me with a tremulous smile. “You brought them?”
“Because you wouldn’t shut up about them.” She’d complained about leaving the kittens behind several times last night, and again this morning when she briefly awoke before I carried her to the train station. Although, if she doesn’t remember most of our other conversations from the night before, then she probably doesn’t recall that one either. Nor does she appreciate how difficult it was to carry her sleeping body, a crate of kittens, and two suitcases across the city to Irridae Station.
Two of the kittens rouse from sleep, and Astrid opens the crate to let them crawl on her lap. Her scent brightens. The aroma is so heady, it does something funny to my heart.
I lift my broadsheets and return to reading. Now that she knows the kittens are here, she won’t need me for conversation. Why didn’t I just show her the damn creatures when she first awoke?
“You know, Torben,” Astrid says from the other side of my broadsheets. She leans forward and tugs down my paper until I give in and meet her eyes.
“What?” My breath catches as I see her true face looking back at me. I try not to let the surprise show in my expression.
Her coral lips lift into a teasing grin. “I think I’m starting to like you.”
With that, she releases the paper and turns her full attention to the kittens. I’m left watching her play with them, nuzzling their soft bodies against her cheeks, her words echoing in my head. I know they didn’t mean anything. She was teasing. Taunting. She doesn’t…likeme. Why would I care either way?
I return my gaze to my paper, blocking her from view once more. No matter how I try to focus on the words before my eyes, the ones ringing through my ears take precedence. Regardless, I’m grateful that the broadsheets create a barrier between us, if only to hide the traitorous grin that tugs my lips.
21
