“No worry, Fallon.” I smile up at my Glacin companion. “Konstantin pleasant male.”
A stunned chortle escapes the Faerie, lending his silver eyes the same glimmer as the cut stones running up the shell of his ears. “Why thank you, Rajka. I try.” With a wink, he adds, “Sometimes.”
I arch a brow. “Sometimes?”
He leans over to murmur conspiratorially, “I prefer to let most people believe I’m…how do you say it in Shabbin again?” He purses his lips that are as angular as his jawline.
“Churlish?” I suggest.
“Yes. Keeps them from coming too near. You’ll find that being a royal is more of a burden than an advantage.”
The male may be young but he seems wise beyond his years. To think Kanti is around the same age yet acts like Konstantin’s decades younger twin sisters. I don’t think the three of them—yes…Kanti was there when we arrived—have stopped gossiping or giggling since our two families sat down in the flower-covered stone veranda, around a table overflowing with Lucin delicacies.
Not even when an uncomfortable silence settled between father and son following the discussion of the railway system that links all sides of Glace. Though Fallon had translated the conversation, she’d left out the query that Konstantin uttered, which had led to the cold front.
I’m tempted to ask him about it, but considering how it had spiked his mood, I decide to reserve my question for Fallon. “Excited for nuptials, Konstantin?”
His eyebrows, that are as black as his hair is white, quirk. “They were quite exciting. Though admittedly, the serpents—and I mean the animals, not you—seemed the most excited of the bunch, didn’t they?”
I frown. Why would the serpents be excited about his marriage to Kanti? “Kanti tell serpents?”
This time, Konstantin is the one to frown. “What?”
It strikes me that we mustn’t be speaking of the same nuptials. “I talk ofyouand Kanti.” I point to him to make sure he understands.
A choking sound reverberates up his throat. “I’m sorry.” He wheezes, pounding a fist against his chest to ease his sudden bout of coughing. “Me and Kanti?”
“Apparently King of Glace want Shabbin mate for son. You not hear?”
“No.” Konstantin’s silver eyes taper on his father’s white plait that swings like a clock’s pendulum across the back of his sky-blue jacket.
I don’t understand how he hasn’t peeled the fabric off his shoulders, what with the stifling Lucin heat. “Good for peace.”
One of Konstantin’s eyes twitches. “Treaties of non-invasion are good for peace. Nuptials are overrated.”
“You no want mate?”
That does away with his residual cough. “I’d prefer not to get tied down.” Under his breath, he adds, “Especially to someone of my father’s choosing.”
“Do you have lover?”
He turns his stare toward me. “I’m not lonely, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“No. I wonder if you already have lover you want marry.”
“No.” With a sigh, he adds, “The longer I can avoid it, the better. What about you, Rajka? Any…mates?”
A hand winds around my waist and tugs me against a body that feels wrought from metal. “Yes.Me.”
I glance up at my possessive Crow just as Phoebus, Sybille, and Fallon trundle over to us.
Phoebus has his palm pressed to his chest and says something that makes Sybille and Fallon snort. “Zendaya of Shabbe, you look…” His eyes skim my body.
He says something in Lucin that has Fallon rolling her eyes. “Yes, it’s one of my dresses. As for reforming Crow fashion, have at it, Pheebs.” Mirth brims in her eyes. “Can’t wait to see the new uniforms you’ll cook up for the Siorkahd.”
Phoebus grins, and I can tell he’s already designing new suits for my mate’s people.
Sybille asks for a translation, since she isn’t as fluent in Shabbin as Phoebus. After hearing all of it, she laughs, head tossed back, palms splayed on her belly. I stare at her babe-filled abdomen, my chest clenching. My daughter must pick up on my envy, because the shimmer has snuffed out of her violet irises. She’s staring between me, Sybille’s stomach, and her father, who still holds me tight.
