Why did I have to think about moss?
“Focá,” I mutter while he gapes down at the springy plants carpeting his torso. I try to recover my sigil to transform the moss back into fabric, but at my frenzied touch, the dirt holding the clumped green plants crumbles.
Konstantin peers at his bared chest, which now gleams only with his medallion, while I curl my fingers into my palm and rage at myself.
He stretches his arms over his head, then rolls his shoulders and neck. “Much better.”
I seethe too hard to appreciate his light-heartedness.
“Isla?” His fingers lock around my wrist, probably to propel my fist as far away from his body as possible.
Oh, how he must regret having asked me to alter his clothing…
I snap out of my funk, yank my hand out of his lax grip, then unbutton my shirt.
“Here.” I peel it off my arms. “The fabric is stretchy so it should cover most of you.” Actually, it’ll leave his midriff exposed, but at least his shoulders and pecs will stay warm.
I dangle the shirt between us. He doesn’t take it. Of course… It isn’t as though he can see it. I slap it over one of his sharp shoulders. It’s only as I relinquish my hold on the fabric that I realize the shirt was visiblebeforeI let go.
I blink down at myself, then back up at Konstantin, who’s looking everywhere but at my chest. At least I’m wearing a brassiere this time. Granted, it’s incredibly skimpy and slightly sheer, but still…there’s fabric.
He clears his throat. “The shirt… Please put it back on.”
“I’ll shift and fly right above the tree line. Right above you. I promise that I won’t swing by Lev’s?—”
An owl releases a panicked hoot and shoots away from a nearby tree. My ribs clench, for it must’ve heard something I missed.
When my nape prickles with the force of someone’s glower, I realize we’re no longer alone in the woods.
14
ISLA
“Put your hands where we can see them!” a man yells. “Any use of magic against us is a use of magic against the Crown.”
“Iamthe Crown,” Konstantin rumbles.
“Yes, and I’m the Queen of Nebba,” the man says. “Now, put your hands where we can see them, and step away from each other.”
“Do not step away from me. And do not turn,” Konstantin hisses.
I imagine the second bit is in regard to my state of undress. I peer over my shoulder, which widens the stares of the three Glacin soldiers standing behind me, swords at the ready. A twig snaps to my right. Two more soldiers, haloed by a few sprites, creep toward us.
“Avert your eyes!” With a muttered curse, Konstantin bands an arm around my waist and scoots me into his bare chest. “And fetch me a coat.”
I wish I were frightened—if only to distract me from the unfortunate peaks my nipples have become, pressed as they are against the king’s smooth, warm skin.
“Soldiers, stand your ground until we understand what we’re dealing with,” barks the head honcho of the twig brigade.
“You’re dealing with an increasingly angry monarch. Toss me a coat. NOW.” The rumble of Konstantin’s voice vibrates my chest, stiffening my nipples some more.
I try to put a sliver of distance between my very tender breasts and his very solid abdominal muscles when a black streak bangs into the forest floor. As much as I didn’t mind being found by a bunch of Glacin soldiers, I do mind being found by a Crow—especially if that Crow turns out to be related to me.
When the shadows morph into flesh, relief washes over me.
“Who knew red would suit you so well, Kostya?” Aodhan quips, wearing a shit-eating grin that dwindles at the sight of me. “…Isla?”
“Hi.” I lift one hand and wiggle my fingers.
