He finally turns his attention back to me. “No.”
“How long will you be staying, Fallon?” Dante calls out, his gravelly voice skipping along the liquid expanse separating us.
“Does my visit need to have an expiration date, Maezza?”
Even from where I stand, I don’t miss the nerve feathering Dante’s temple.
“I hear felicitations are in order.” I hold the blue stare that used to enchant me. “Alyona must be bitterly disappointed.”
“She was, but her father found her a consolation prize.”
Smoke begins to billow off Lorcan’s iron pauldrons.
“Am I allowed to share the wonderful news with Signorina Rossi, Ríhbiadh?”
I frown, glancing between the two men, wondering why Dante is asking Lore for permission.
Lore shrugs. “By all means, Regio.”
The sky-blue hue of Dante’s irises turns as frosty as chips of ice. “The Crow King has kindly offered to wed the Glacin princess and make her his—what is it you shifters call it again . . .?”
As Lorcan congenially supplies the term, my stomach bottoms out, and my mouth goes as dry as the arid planes of Selvati.
Twenty
“You’re—” I try to school the hurt and surprise off my features, but according to Syb, I’ve the most pitiful poker face. “You’re betrothed?”
Lore watches my expression, studying the effect of the news.
“Since when?” My voice is as thin and brittle as the sweet almond wafers Nonna would bake for Yuletide.
“We signed the agreement last night.”
Last night?He and I had dinner last night! When exactly did he fly off to Glace to negotiate a betrothal? Before or after his great big spiel about how Crows mate for life?
The pale oval of Alyona’s face, the silver of her eyes, and the waist-long shock of her white-blonde hair brighten my lids, washing away Lorcan’s darkness.
It’s silly, utterly silly, but the news of his impending nuptials feels like a punch to the heart.
Lorcan’s chin dips into his neck as he keeps regarding me. “This alliance is a great step toward peace.”
“I bet.” My throat feels as though it’s been rubbed raw against a washboard, along with the rest of my organs. “Imogen must be disappointed.”
“Why would she be?”
Instead of stating the obvious, I ask, “So, will you be moving to Glace or will your fiancée be moving into the Sky Kingdom?”
I picture her in the room I vacated, fingering the soft fabric of the clothes Lorcan had sewn for me with her softer fingertips. From what I remember of her body, they’ll fit. Will he tell her that they were cut and sewn just forher?
Jealousy rears its petty head, and I suddenly regret not stripping every hanger and bringing the clothes with me. Even that atrocious, black feathered gown.
A gentle smile plays on the edges of Lorcan’s mouth. He’s surely daydreaming of his little princess since my thoughts are anything but amusing. “Alyona will remain in Glace for the time being.”
So, she’d returned to her homeland. .. The unrest must’ve fueled her departure from Luce. Unless it was a broken heart that chartered her course back north. After all, she seemed to care a whole lot for Dante. I wonder if she’s excited for her impending nuptials or horrified to be marrying a shifter with appendages that could cut her tremendously long Fae life short.
“I need—I need—”
What is it you need, Behach Éan?
