I’m studying the one next to it when Roark hands me a glass. “Water. Drink.”
“Thank you.” I’m taking a sip when Roark grabs the side of the panel and holds it out straight for me to see the whole thing. He doesn’t say anything. This panel of the castle on the side of the mountain isn’t as large. But there are dragons in the sky. “What does it mean?”
Roark drops the panel. “Just nice pictures,” he lies, sinking into the chair to the right of the fireplace. I don’t know why he’s lying but I know he is.
“Oh.” I sip some water and sit on the edge of the sofa. “Is Evander okay?”
Roark laughs. “Oh, he’ll be more than okay. He hasn’t had a good chase in a long time.”
“Chase?”
“Yes, I imagine the Firested dragons and Evander are somewhere over Italy by now.”
“Italy. Shouldn’t you go get him?”
“No.” Roark puts his glass down on the marble-topped sofa table. “I wouldn’t want to spoil all his fun. And we have a very loose treaty. He’ll be fine.”
I take another small sip. “They will really keep it? Even if the Firested clan are enemies of yours?”
“Crest Wing,” he corrects.
“Of Crest Wing . . . Evander will be okay?”
“Yes, Evander will be okay. Tired but okay. We can’t have them hanging around our territory. Just the way that, when I’m in theirs, I expect to be chased out.”
“So there are territories? That makes sense. Like, you have Switzerland.”
Roark shakes his head. “Yes, but our boundaries aren’t defined by human countries.”
I’m still watching the swinging curtain behind him when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Roark’s eyebrows shoot up. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
I pull it out. When I see it’s not Wren, I toss it on the sofa beside me. She’s right. I’ve been living my life too much by what others need of me and less of what I need for myself. Roark smiles at me parting from my phone.
There’s a knock on the door, and Leo enters with a tray full of grilled cheese sandwiches. The smell knocks me back into the sofa before I bound to my feet.
“Grilled cheese!” Roark takes a golden crispy sandwich.
“They’re my favorite.” I clasp my hand over my heart.
Leo’s unloading plates and napkins.
My eyes go wide. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A vanilla malted milk? I believe you would call it a milkshake?” Leo answers.
“I would call it a masterpiece! Thank you. How did you know this is the perfect snack after a night out?”
“I aim for perfection, Miss Fischer.”
“Well, you’ve got it,” I say, shoving the sandwich into my mouth in a not-so-ladylike way. I moan. It’s better than it looks. Multiple cheeses ooze from the middle. And the milkshake, which I pride myself on being an expert on, is the perfect thickness. Leo smiles, inclines his head, and leaves.
“How do you do that?” Roark asks.
“Do what?” I say, but it’s not super clear because my mouth is full.
“Make us all smile?”
