He must feel my stare, because his face pivots my way. The ambient chatter dims as we boldly take the measure of the other.
What sort of king are you, Konstantin Korol? One whose heart can be manipulated?
Dádhi likes to remind me to love wisely, for misguided adoration can doom not only the lover but the entire world. When I was younger, I assumed he said this to keep me from falling in love with someone other than my mate. But then I grew up and learned about Dante Regio, and I understood the reason for the recurring warning.
Naeva winds her arm through mine. “I can’t decide whether I’m more shocked by the fact that you did that to Konstantin’s lip, or by the fact that he hasn’t had it healed.”
“He’s probably too proud to have a healer tend to his injuries.”
“You think?”
“What other reason would he have?”
“Perhaps he wants everyone to get an eyeful of what a Crow has done in case he decides to retaliate.”
When I balk, she shrugs.
“Faeries are cunning. Especially royals.” As we trail the boys, who are intent on locating libations and canapés, she says, “I doubt he’d dare retaliate. After all, most Faeries now prefer to have shifters as allies than as enemies.”
We not only gather stares as we move about the room, but also rib-crushing hugs from Phoeppa and Zia Syb. Those work wonders on quelling my Konstantin-deliberations and refocusing my attention on revelers. There are so many that soon my lids and ears begin to ache.
After refreshing my glass of Faerie wine, I leave my friends’ side and escape onto the wrap-around porch for a few minutes of silence before the dinner commences. The snowfall is so dense that the air is opaque, but at least, there’s no wind. Or perhaps, there is and the overhanging ceiling has been magicked to keep it at bay?
I sidle up to the log balustrade and stretch out my fingers—no wind.
“I wasn’t lying about the weather.”
I startle, not having anticipated to run into anyone else out here.
Especially not the star of this evening’s celebrations.
8
ISLA
Konstantin stands with his back pressed against the wall, one polished boot propped against it. The high color of his cheeks leads me to think he’s been out here a while.
“We have fur stoles—syntheticfur—at our guests’ disposal. Would you care for one?”
I curl my fingers around my fistful of trapped flakes, feeling them liquefy almost instantly. “Generous, but my dress has been spelled to keep my skin toasty.”
“Nothing quite like Shabbin magic.”
I lean back against the railing. “Shouldn’t you be inside, schmoozing?”
He rolls his neck. “I have two more days of this. Not to mention a lengthy supper to sit through.”
“Why organize a Jubilee if you find hosting it tedious?”
His silver eyes return to the blizzard-bleached landscape.
“Because I’m incapable of refusing my sister anything.” With a sigh, he lowers his boot from the wall and straightens. “What Izolda wants, Izolda gets.”
“Does this apply toallyour sisters?” Like Taytah would say, I don’t beat around the Amkhuti.
In my defense, the Ice King gave me theperfectsegue to plunge into his family dynamics.
His pupils tighten. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Ksenia that I haven’t already done for Izolda.”
