“You ended up in your parents’ quarters?”
“Worse.”
“Inmyparents’?”
“How would that be worse?”
“Fair.” She joggles her head from side to side. “So where did you—” She sucks in a breath. “Don’t tell me you entered through the very last window?”
“I entered through the very last window.”
“Holy fucking shit.” Her lips move over the swear words as though they were a Shabbin incantation.
“Yep.”
“Did you hit something on your way down from the ceiling?”
“The King’s bed. It’s very fluffy.”
“If it’s fluffy, then how did you get a bruise on your neck?”
“Ah, that.” I sweep my hair to the side. “That is courtesy of Konstantin’s arm when he tried to strangle me.”
My cousin’s forever-placid demeanor sharpens as though she were readying herself for warfare.
“He mistook me for an assassin.”
“How could he mistakeyoufor an assassin?”
“I could be an assassin if I wanted to,” I grumble.
Correction: Iwillbe one someday.I flick the thought away before it can bleed off my tongue.
“I wasn’t slighting your cunning or lethality, Isles. I’ve been on the receiving end of my fair share of your blows during training. What I meant was, you’re the Crow Princess. Sure, you’re not the only shifter with black hair and violet eyes, but… Actually, youarethe only person with violet eyes.”
“I may have taken someone else’s face.”
She hums. “That makes more sense. But regardless, the king’s got all these wards up around his private quarters that makes it essentially impossible to enter with magic. Not to mention the medallion that Mimi gifted him the day of his coronation blocksallmagic—including the effect of iron.”
That explains his shock. It also sparks a theory—could it have blocked the effect of the iron blade he used on his sister?
“My Crow magic didn’t work, but I could spellcast. On myself. I didn’t manage to paint any sigil on him. I tried, though.” And now, I wish I’d succeeded. I’m oddly curious in that way. I like to knowhowandifthings work.
Note to self: ask Mimi about the medallion.
Second note to self: ask Mimi why the Cauldron let Konstantin keep it, if he’s not a noble king.
“Want me to heal your neck?” Naeva raises her hand to the gold shark tooth she wears on a thin chain.
I roll my lips and nod, then hold still as she paints the sigil I’ve never managed to reproduce properly. Once my bruise has been dealt with, she presents me with two options for the soiree, both rather skimpy considering the climate.
“They’re spelled to keep your body temperature warm,” she explains.
“Even in the areas they don’t cover? Because there seems to be quite a lot of those.”
She smiles. “I’ve got cloaks. You’ll definitely want to wear one, since supper’s up at the Lodge. There’s a sleigh ride to get us up there. Unless you prefer flying?”
“No flying for me. My arms and shoulders are dead. Besides, a sleigh ride sounds exciting.”
