Sofiya twitters, apparently fully recovered from her unpleasant betrothal discussion. “Do you slop around leftovers in the Sky Kingdom?”
“We don’t like to waste food,” I say.
Her twitter firms into a grating smile. “We give our leftovers to the less fortunate here in Glace, not to our king. Can we have a second round of this most delicious soup?”
For some reason, it’s only at that moment that I take note of the color of her frock—Glacin-blue. The dye must’ve seeped into her veins and gone to her head.
The clink of porcelain draws my attention away from her outfit and onto the soup bowl Konstantin has removed from in front of me and piled atop his. He dips his spoon inside and proceeds to consume my portion. By the time he’s offered seconds—or thirds in his case—he dismisses the attendant with a politethank youand pats his lips on his napkin.
Oh, how Sofiya is affronted…
I’d rejoice if I weren’t so confused. I conclude he must’ve done it for appearance’s sake.
After the soup course is cleared, Konstantin leans back in his chair. “Though tonight’s first item on my agenda was introducing you to Isla, I do have a second item to discuss with all of you. One that concerns the new edicts.”
As he explains how he’d like them to ease the integration of shifters and humans into their provinces, I excuse myself. Tiana must have the same urge to visit the ladies’ room, because an attendant scoots back her chair at the very same time. I catch her flicker of hesitation. Even though I don’t regret the whole sacrificial chatter, I do regret the fear it’s cast over the halfling.I decide that if she dares trail me into the powder room, I’ll debunk Aodhan’s fabricated tale. She dares.
“Don’t tell the others, though,” I tell her as I wash my hands in the sink, “for I want to see how long it takes them to seek out the truth.”
Tiana smiles, then nods with a renewed sparkle to her countenance. “I won’t, but would you mind if I tell Yuri, so that he can field questions in West Sheva—in case queries are made?”
“By all means.”
She pulls open the door. Before letting herself out, she says, with a smile that eats at my insides, “For what it’s worth, Princess, I sense you will be a great queen. The queen Glacins need.”
“Isla.” Guilt drags my gaze to the stone sink. “Not Princess.”
“Isla,” she repeats.
After she leaves, I work the soap on my fingers into a thick, white lather that does nothing to cleanse me of guilt.
I’m drying my hands on a rolled towel when the bathroom door opens and Sofiya clip-clops inside, head held so high her neck resembles a wooden post. To think that the night of my engagement, I’d felt empathy for this woman and had even considered encouraging Konstantin to woo her once my job here was completed. Glace deserves better.
Sofiya plucks lipstick from a tiny handbag sewn from the same material as her dress and drifts toward the mirror. As she refreshes the still heavy-coating of color, I sidestep her to chuck my towel into the linen bin.
“You may have many fooled”—she smacks her lips to evenly distribute the rouge—“but not me.”
I shouldn’t encourage her but cannot help myself from asking, “Fooled? About?”
She pops the cap back in place. “You and Konstantin aren’t mates,” she says as she sweeps her fingers around her mouth to blot any overspill.
“I realize it would be more convenient for you if we weren’t?—”
“It has nothing to do withmypreference and everything to do with my clear-sightedness. I had a front-row seat to Aodhan and Izolda’s passion. There are more sparks in a dying ember than between you and Kostya. Also, I’d be willing to wager the tips of my ears on the fact that you cannot mind-speak.”
“Jealousy’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
Her crimson lips smoosh, resembling a weeping gash. “Again, this has nothing to do with my feelings toward you and your kind. I’m actually fine about your kind, though I would suggest you all apply less goop to your faces in order to blend in.”
“Wonderful insight. However, our stripes are deeply rooted in our culture. Much like the tips of your ears.” I make a point of observing them.
She backs up, the vein at the base of her throat going absolutely wild.
“Relax. I’m not about to shorten them to help youblend in.” Because Icanbe a bitch when the situation calls for it, I add a menacing, “But keep coming onto my mate, and I just might.”
I lean toward the mirror and make a show of readjusting my botched stripes before returning to the door. I’m about to reach for the handle when a better idea slots into my mind, and I prick my finger on my earring.
I don’t miss the hitch in Sofiya’s breathing when I adorn the wood with the key sigil. I slip through the wood, then dally on the other side, waiting for Sofiya to burst out. When she does, her complexion is as milky as her enlarged eyes.
