Even now, aware of his fondness for me, I can’t help but wonder about his intentions. After all, he’s made it clear in the past that a stronger alliance with shifters would help solve his kingdom’s unrest.
Not the time to dwell on this, Isla…I give my head a small shake just as Imogen materializes out of thin air.
“Whatwereyou doing?” she queries in Crow.
“None of your business, Immy,” I murmur.
“Hmm.” Her dark eyes trawl over Konstantin’s unkempt appearance, over the smudges of black on the tip of his nose and apex of his jaw.
At least he’s zipped himself up, even though a tell-tale dampness darkens the fabric at his crotch that is—thankfully—partially hidden behind his untucked shirt front.
“Be careful,” is all Imogen adds, after examining my state.
I want to remind her that I’m not a child, that I’m a hundred percent in control of this situation, but I suppose that proving my maturity to a six-century-old woman is futile. In her eyes, like in my family’s, I’ll remain a little girl forever. Besides, her concern comes from a place of love.
“I will,” I end up saying—not only to appease her, but because my heart cannot afford to tangle around a man who isn’t my mate. The knots of such deep affection would weave into an impossible snarl that would be excruciating to snip.
Sofiya palms blood, diluted by tears, off her cheek, revealing a shallow gash. One that will never heal because my talons are made of iron and she’s Fae. It won’t kill her, though.
As Konstantin interrogates the whimpering Faerie, she whines, “Call for a healer. Itburns.”
How she’d squealed when I’d snatched her midrun. The guards had drawn their swords, but not in her direction.
In mine.
Which is definitely a point I want to bring up with Konstantin later. Shouldn’t one of them have tried to bar Sofiya’s path? Theywerepatrolling.
Granted, they hadn’t barred me the evening I tumbled down Konstantin’s skylight…
“Not until you answer all my fucking questions,” Konstantin growls.
“I’ll be scarred forever, Kostya. Have mercy.”
“Depending on your explanation, you might not have to fret about scars.” A cruel smile—one I’ve not seen on his handsome face before—warps his expression. “And please, do call me Vizosh. Now, what were you doing on my rooftop?”
She licks her lips. “I wanted to apologize to Isla for my earlier behavior. Since my promenade took me to her window, I went to check if she was still in Glace and perhaps still awake. I was about to knock when—” She grimaces. “When I realized she wasn’t alone.”
Konstantin turns to his soldiers. “Since when do you allow promenades on the roof of the castle?” he thunders.
I miss their murmured replies, because Imogen hisses, “Is that blood?”
I nod, assuming she means on Sofiya’s cheek, but then she’s plucking my arm and twisting it this way and that. It’s only then that I notice that my leather sleeve has been sliced open and that I am, in fact, bleeding.
“She lashed me with a vine,” I murmur in Serpent, preferring Konstantin not hear. Though I strongly dislike Sofiya, I alsodon’t wish her to be put to death for the sin of jealousy. As long as that’s the true reason she was up there.
Konstantin must have the same idea, for he’s having one of his guards sprinkle Sofiya’s tongue with salt. “What were you really doing on my rooftop, Sofiya Patchenkov?”
Tears are dribbling down her face now, pinkening when they trip over the gash.
“I wanted to—” Her throat clenches. “Apo—” She lowers her eyes to the boot tread blunting the snow next to her knees. “Apo—lo—” She grits her teeth.
“The word you’re seeking is evidentlynotapologize,” Konstantin says.
Her lashes, caked with mascara, close over tear-glossed green. “Father asked me to check if she was gone.”
“Why?” Konstantin snaps.
“I don’t know why. I don’t question my father. He just told me to make myself useful while he chatted with Salom.”
