“Well played, my daughter.Well played.”
While Father and I waited, I roamed the space, perhaps snooping behind the elven registration desk. Father allowed me to do as I pleased…even when I slipped behind the gorgon’s registration desk—the forms there were all terribly boring.
King Athon stormed out of the central door, a scowl on his face. He stalked toward my father, his dark brows puckering and his white hair flying out behind him. He snarled, “Where did your heir go? If she is out—”
“Trixie,” Father barked, effectively shutting him up. “Get back over here!”
I peeked far from behind the roof-wall covering the gorgon’s registration desk—caught.
King Athon’s black eyes narrowed to ominous slits. He muttered under his breath, “Good fuck, she is like a damned babe playing with a pack of rabid wolves.”
Father snapped his fingers at me. “Come on.”
I cleared my throat and lifted my chin. I walked at a sedate pace, not giving in and sprinting like I wanted to. I grumbled, “There was nothing back there of importance, anyway.”
King Traevon leaned toward me, whispering, “Let’s not tell King Elon you were back there.”
“Of course not.” I sniffed.
King Athon growled softly, bending far down to stare directly into my face. “What else aren’t you telling us about the Blood Forest, Princess Trixie?”
“I have already stated what was told to me.” I shrugged. “If you don’t believe that, I don’t particularly give a damn.”
King Athon continued to stare into my eyes, not moving away. “King Traevon, I might just strangle your heir.”
“King Athon, I might just chop off your head,” Father responded. “Get away from her at once. I won’t repeat myself.”
“All right. I’ll get away from her.” King Athon’s lips curved into a wicked sneer. “I don’t apologize for this. I just wanted you to know that, Princess Trixie.”
I snorted. “Apologize for what—”
The strap of my bag was off my shoulder before I even realized he had moved.
King Athon stood five feet away from us. My bag was in the crook of one of his arms while he untied it with his other hand. He muttered, “If either of you wants this badly enough, come and get it.”
I snapped my mouth shut and mumbled in disbelief, “He just took my bag, Father.”
“That he did.” King Traevon crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there anything in there worth fighting him for?”
I thought hard about that. Then I shook my head. “Nothing worth a king dying over.”
King Athon rifled through my bag with one brusque hand, ruining my precious packing job. He shook his head, rumbling, “How many pairs of socks does a person need? Holy fucking Fae, this is bizarre. Even for a royal.”
“I don’t like wet feet,” I mumbled in my defense.
His head cocked to the side in thought, and then he started going slower, squeezing each of the socks I had rolled up.
“Fuck,” I breathed quietly.
Father peeked at me from the corner of his eye.
King Athon stopped on a red pair of socks and gripped them harder. He didn’t say a word but brought them up to his nose and inhaled deeply. A moment later, he tossed them back in and kept searching.
Thank the Fae.That was my new bottle of drugs.
I didn’t change my posture, even as relief rained down.
Father tensed. “What was that? What did you find?”
