Ever so slowly, Bel shook his head. “No. My origin of birth is not in S’Kir.”
Exasperated, I grumbled, “Well, then, where the hell is Ota’ano? Because it doesn’t exist in history. And Iknowyou wouldn’t have lied at your crowning.”
His fingers ran in soothing circles against my back. “I’m sorry, Gwen, but I’m not ready to talk about where I was born yet.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
I huffed. “Will you ever tell me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I grumbled sarcastically. “Fine, keep your secrets for now.”
“I will.” No apology whatsoever in his tone.
Not. An. Easy. Lover.
I sighed, then closed my eyes, and lay my palm flat over his chest. His heart beat like any other vampire. That was reassuring, at least.
Done with this day, I yawned wide and snuggled further against him, getting as close as I could to his scrumptious body and warmth. “Good night, Bel.”
He squeezed me carefully, gifting me a small hug. “Good night, Gwen.”
IN THE WEE MORNINGHOURS,IWALKEDinto my father’s royal bedchambers for the first time ever. The secret meeting with the Overlords was already underway, and Lord Belshazzar and I were close to a half an hour late. The room we stood in was Lord Cato’s parlor from all appearances, dark navy blue couches and chairs filling the space, the lighting pleasant—not too bright. But the lone portrait hanging on his wall above a small shelf held all of my attention, even with the four other lords who turned to glare at our late arrival.
It was my mother. Beautiful and stunning.
My lips pinched. Lord Pippin had been correct.
Lord Cato really did have it hanging in his room.
Along with a small hair clasp sitting on the tiny shelf under her painting, the hair clasp she wore in the portrait.
I cleared my throat and blinked a few times against the wetness that burned my eyes. I hadn’t seen a painting of her since I’d lived as a youth with my late grandfather. My throat constricted in pain, so I kept clearing my throat and jerked my gaze to the side, no longer staring at the love shining out through her eyes—the artist incredibly talented.
Lord Belshazzar placed his left palm against the small of my back and gently persuaded me further into the room toward an empty loveseat. He pulled me down next to him and wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders, tugging me closer to him, but his attention was on the other lords.
He stated, “Our apologies. We overslept.”
Lord Otto snorted, eyeing our apparel. “Cute pajamas. You know, to a meeting about the fate of our people.”
“Fuck off,” Lord Belshazzar grumbled. “We would have been even later if we’d gotten ready.”
Lord Pippin waggled a pointed finger at our heads. “Maybe brushing your hair would have sufficed?”
I quickly patted at my long black hair. It was, indeed, bed rumpled, sticking out everywhere. I looked up at Lord Belshazzar. He was swiftly running his fingers through his own long black hair, which was in the same state as mine—possibly worse since he’d had his up in a wet bun all night.
I didn’t bother with mine right now.
The damage was done.
I swung my attention back to the other lords, and apologized, “Sorry. We saw what time it was and just left his room as quickly as we could.”
Lord Cato’s chin was trembling with restrained humor at our horrible appearances—while they all wore tailored suits—but he stated evenly, “It’s perfectly fine, your majesty. Just…maybe…set more than one alarm clock in the morning from now on when we meet this early.”
“Understood, my lord.” I lifted my right hand at the portrait. “Whoever the artist, they captured her likeness extremely well.”
