A beat of glacial silence slithers between us as he finally looks up.
A slow grind of his teeth later, he says, “My hallway is full of guards.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He shifts his attention back to his covert correspondence. After running his glowing palm over the ink to dry it, he folds the sheet into thirds and seizes a pale-blue wax stick, which he warms over a stocky candle.
“You ought not to roam about in your undergarments,” he says as he presses his signet ring into the coin-sized puddle now blighting the seam of his letter.
I peer down at my bare legs, fake gasping. “Undergarments? This is my gala outfit!” Oh, how I relish the uncertainty that flashes across his face. “So…Svyato’s daughter? Is she at the castle? Is she your niece?”
“If Mestyla has pointed ears, then she isn’t Svyato’s daughter.”
I counter, “I heard it’s rare, but there have been cases of children born to half-bloods and pure-bloods with broad ears. Maybe Mestyla is one of them? Svyato would have answers. Are he and Mestyla at the castle?”
“No. Salom didn’t find them.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Our visit must’ve spooked them.”
“Or Salom didn’t do a good job of looking,” I mutter, preferring to lay the blame on the general rather than our regrettable tavern antics.
Konstantin’s lips press into a thin line. After a beat, he adds, “Soldiers are still searching for them. They’ll be found.”
“Did you call me in here to apologize then?”
He reclines in his seat, his posture as stiff as his wide, lofty backrest. “If memory serves, you’re the one who used strong language in parting. But the night was long and emotions were high, so I won’t hold it against you.”
My jaw slackens that he paintsmeas the impolite one.
“I summoned you because Aodhan and I spoke at length after you departed last night, and we decided that we cannot involve Ilya.”
“Involve Ilya? In what?”
He rolls his neck, eliciting small cracks. “You mentioned wantinghimto give you the ring.”
“And you mentioned me being your accomplice and just handing it over. After some thought, that suits me just fine. It’s just a ring.”
“That’s the thing. It’s not just a ring. It’s a symbol of my family and of my regard. The instant it graces your finger, everyone in Glace will assume I’ve chosen you as my queen.”
I shrug. “Let them assume.”
“My kingdom is already fraught with such uncertainty that adding more would only fuel the zeal of those who wish me dethroned. Which is why I’ve come to the decision to ask for your hand in marriage. I realize Glace and Luce are already allied, but a nuptial would strengthen our rapport. Also, it would force the antimorphs to accept that shapeshifters are here to stay, and it would conveniently get my stepmother off my back.”
I wait for the punchline. And wait. When none comes, I drawl, “Let’s not forget how it would tick off a certain arms dealer.”
“A true win-win.”
For a solid minute, I gawp at him, sensing hemustbe pulling my leg. “Wait…this isn’t a joke?”
His jaw turns into a block of ice. With a pulse. A feverish pulse.
“Vizosh”—I speak slowly so my words sink in—“a win-win implies both sides benefit, yet I fail to see what’s in it for me.”
The flush that grips his cheekbones is so brisk and strong that it colors his tone. “You’d get to wear the ring from the prophecy.”
I blink. And then I laugh. When his expression remains blank, my amusement withers. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m going to getfake engagedto you in order to wear your mother’s ring. I’ll just have a replica made.”
