He nods.
Imogen crouches in front of Sofiya, who recoils so fast, she ass-plants. “Do you think Alyona Korol’s killing was fair?”
“Of course it was! Vladimir was my brother-in-law. He made my sister happy.” Sofiya glances at Konstantin as though to check whether her answer has softened him.
It hasn’t.
“So, you hated Alyona?” Imogen asks.
“Yes.”
“And you love Konstantin?”
“Yes.”
Her affirmation shouldn’t bother me, but it does. “Is this truly necessary?”
“List all the things you love about him,” Imogen continues.
“His crown. His looks.”
Even though I wasn’t looking forward to the question, I wait with bated breath for Sofiya to bolster her superficial list with another trait, like his intelligence, his shrewdness, his…
“You don’t like my sense of humor?” Konstantin asks.
Sofiya says nothing. Either the salt has worn off or she doesn’t actually have an opinion on the matter.
Imogen looks over her shoulder at Konstantin. “You have one?”
Konstantin’s answering smile is as wicked as my own.
“His wit isn’t for everyone,” I say. “Much like your humor, Immy.”
Her brown eyes sparkle. “Vance enjoys my humor.”
“Ah…the beauty of mating bonds,” I muse. “Being endeared to your partner’s inherent flaws.”
Konstantin raises my hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss over my knuckles. “Is that why you find me so appealing, Miss Ríhbiadh?”
My cheeks warm, because we both know a mating bond has nothing to do with how appealing we find each other. Not to mention that I didn’t always find him appealing.Or did I?My stomach swoops as I realize that, even though he’s frustrated me often, I was still undeniably attracted to him.
“Last question before we let you go rest in your cell…” Imogen holds the moment in suspense.
“A cell?” Sofiya’s strident pitch carries Konstantin’s probing stare off mine.
“Actually, Imogen, I’ve changed my mind about keeping her in a cell.” He lets go of me and approaches Sofiya as Imogen backs up. “Stand.”
She totters to her feet like a toddler who’s just learned to walk.
“Before you go…” His neck bends, and he murmurs something to Sofiya that has her clumped lashes reeling. And then he swivels on his heel and traps my hand once again.
“I spoke with Aodhan a few minutes ago. He’s on his way home from Voshna,” Imogen says.
“Tell him to come find me the minute he lands.” And then Konstantin’s leading me down the stairs to his Throne Room, which is empty of tables tonight, but full of ornate pew benches upholstered in the same shade of azure as the spill of fabric behind the throne.
“What did you tell Sofiya that had her looking so frightened?” I ask him as we circumvent the fabric backdrop of the dais and trek toward a set of double-doors.
“I’ve magically tasked her to report—directly to me—all she sees or hears that concerns my family.”
