“He must’ve been devastated.”
“Not when I explained the reason behind my request.”
“Color me intrigued. Whatisthe reason behind your request?”
A nerve in his jaw twitches against the stand-up collar of his velour frock coat. He fists his loose hair in his freshly-tattooed palm and shoves it off his shoulder, the hollows in his cheeks dipping before filling and dipping again.
A little late to be having cold feet, Your Highness,I tease him, trying to snap him out of his attack of nerves.
How incongruous that he still becomes nervous around me.
How sweet.
He gives his head a brisk shake, then pounds over my new white rug to eclipse the distance between us. “I amnothaving cold feet. You, Isla Ríhbiadh, are the single best thing to have ever happened to me.”
“Second best,” I say, smoothing my own inked hand—the same one that glitters with my ring—down the silver motifs printed on the blue velour. “You forget your new power.”
“I forget nothing.” His voice cracks like ice against my rib cage, blazing straight through the curved bones before colliding with the soft organ beneath and inflaming it. “Being your mate will always be my favorite supernatural gift. The reason I’m uneasy is because I positively loathe gift-giving. Especially after the calamitous birthday presents I got you.”
“I loved both.”
Skepticism shadows his expression. “I offered you a dagger that made you think of my niece’s murder?—”
“But which—even you have to admit—came in handy in the train.”
He cants one eyebrow. “I gifted you a blade of death and a ride in a glorified coffin.”
My mood darkens—not from his pitch but from the memory of what we endured at the hands of greedy Fae.
“You gifted me an instrument of justice and a chance at seeing my new kingdom.” I sneak my hand to his tense nape and clasp it. “As soon as the refurbished royal trolley is delivered, we’re going to take that birthday ride—withallour family andallour friends—becausewewon;theydidn’t.”
The reminder relaxes his shoulders, but only for a brief moment. “Let’s hope this present isn’t fated to become a bloodstained relic like the other two.”
He pushes the varnished wooden box into my free hand, his gaze lowering to the toecaps of his cavalier boots and his fingers knotting behind his back.
“Konstantin Korol, can you please stop doubting yourself?” I try to capture his stare.
When he stubbornly keeps it from me, I concentrate on the box, which I flick open. My silence drags on for so long that he finally peeks up.
“It’s not some fancy manacle. Or a leash,” he mumbles.
My cheeks tuck up. “A leash? Why in the world would you assume I’d jump tothatconclusion?” I caress the wide silver choker, from which dangles graduated strands of diamonds. There are so many that I could probably wear it as a top.
“Because that’s the conclusion I reached when the jeweler unveiled the piece. I’d asked him for something edgy and unique that hugged your neck—like that sparkly choker you wore at the Lodge the first night we met.”
It takes me a moment to recall the necklace in question.
He sucks in his cheeks, then frees his fingers from behind his back to rake them through his hair—again. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.”
I delicately lift the work of art out of the box. Like tethered stars, the diamond strands shimmer as they unspool and dance. Their luminous weight makes me blink, then blink again, because on the interior band, I discover an inscription that is far too lengthy and conspicuous to be a shop’s brand.
Not only that, but the recessed etchings are half-filled with black enamel, which makes each letter pop in a way that reminds me of Shoshair’s writing. Well, the writing she uses for me.
I unlatch the barrel clasp and part the choker. And then I begin to read.
“Till…the…stars…”I stumble on the next word, sounding it out underneath my breath.
I must be sounding it out wrong because Konstantin murmurs, “Forget.”
