Prick.“It’ll be a feat, but I’ll give it my all.”
His eyelids spasm. “Any other matter you’d like to address?”
“Kissing.”
“No.”
I snort. “Every mated pair I know kisses in public.”
“I’m a private person. I would never kiss anyone in public.”
“I suppose Vance and Imogen never make out,” I muse, thinking of the lethal Serpent and Crow mates. “But I’m not like Imogen. I’m more like your sister—effusive.”
He stares at me in horror.
“Finally on board with me asking my grandmother to erase Izolda’s memory?”
“No.”
“It won’t harm her. And Taytah won’t remove more than the ring scene.”
“If we ever need to kiss, we’ll kiss,” he says through lips stretched so tight, it’s a wonder his diction is so clear.
Oddly enough, I picture his mouth slanting over mine, and it catapults heat into my extremities instead of disgust.Freakingheat. I blame my year-long dry spell for my body’s reaction.
“From this evening onward, we’ll sit side by side at every function—official or otherwise.”
“From this evening onward?” I parrot. “It’s not yet winter.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but would mates—especially new ones—chooseto spend time apart?”
“If they’re mated to posturing ice pricks, then yes,” I mumble.
My insult misses its intended mark—his ego—hitting his lips instead.Curlingthem. “Posturing ice pricks? Did I earn my nickname because I have a prick and rule over a land covered in ice?”
“The prick part is because you’re arrogant,” I explain.
“Ah, yes. I’m often told to curb my despicable superiority complex.”
I cannot decide what to think of this sarcastic—sometimes-insecure, oftentimes-irritating—specimen.
With a sigh, he says, “So long as you do not brand me a poltroon like the rest of my people, I can bear it.”
My heart clatters. “You ended your beloved sister’s life. A coward would’ve either pitched the task onto another or found a loophole to avoid meting out justice.”
He traces the intricately carved slats in his parquet flooring as though it were his sister’s bleeding form instead of an ornate snowflake.
Before he can get bogged down in his disheartening past, I steer him back to the present moment. “After the gala, I’ll head home.” When he looks up, I add, “To pack. Even if I still think pretending to be mates is a disaster in the making, wearing the ring of some random man?—”
“Random?” Konstantin echoes, evidently displeased by his sudden demotion.
“Who isn’t my mate,” I clarify. “It would be completely improbable.”
“So, you’ll do it?” His voice carries a hint of surprise.
“What Cauldron wants, Cauldronalwaysgets. Anyway, I’ll head home to pack and then?—”
“No need. We have tailors, cobblers, and specialty shops aplenty in Glace.”
