“Why?” I don’t miss the wrinkle pleating the bridge of Konstantin’s nose.
“Because there were no free tables available to us,” my father says, effectively casting the host and Mr. Morozov onto very thin ice.
The host’s eyes open so wide, his green irises drown in a sea of froth. “I-I-I?—”
Remembering that I’m supposed to ingratiate myself with antimorphs, I add, “In his defense, the venueispacked.”
“Salom, go fetch Morozov.” Konstantin’s fingers twine around mine, pliant but firm. “Tell him the king requests his own fucking table. And tell him I’m giving him the honor of serving me and my future queen tonight.”
The corners of Dádhi’s mouth flatten. At first, I think it’s because of Konstantin’s tone, but then he says,Just because it’s pretend, it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Oh, Dádhi…
The host, who looks about to perish, stammers for us to follow him. My father goes first.
As we start after him, Konstantin’s breath brushes along my cheekbone, causing a little shiver to scamper down my spine. “What’s wrong?”
“Absolutely nothing,” I say stringently.
My lie isn’t lost on Konstantin, who scours my face without cease throughout dinner. One we still end up sharing with Bohdan Zaslofsky after he pulls up a chair without invitation.
A few minutes in the male’s presence, and I understand why Izolda isn’t a fan. The Faerie’s odious, self-absorbed, and oily. I’ve lost count of how many times his russet gaze has strayed over my breasts. I don’t take his interest personally, though, since he’s ogled every female diner.
At some point during our meal, Konstantin leans over and murmurs something inside Bohdan’s broad ear that makes his visage contort with annoyance. A moment later, the male’s standing and wishing us a pleasant evening. None of us return his farewell.
Once he’s gone, my fake fiancé looks at my father and says—in Crow, “If he does take you up on your invitation to visit Luce, would it be too much to ask that you keep him, Ríhbiadh? Orsink his ship somewhere in between our two lands? Preferably, not too close to any shore.”
My father’s lips curl. “Whyever would you want to get rid of such amagnanimousmember of society?”
Konstantin’s gray stare scrolls over the residual patrons. “The only magnanimous thing that buffoon’s ever done is sustain my kingdom’s brothels, thanks to all the coin he spends on doxies.”
“Buffoon’s too nice. He’s a narcissistic pervert,” I mutter.
My father tosses his gold napkin on the table. “He told me he’s also a great patron of the arts and has single-handedly been keepingVolkov & Sonsin business by commissioning more sleighs than you have railcars.”
“Only because the Volkovs are distant relatives of his, and the coin he spends is Ekaterina’s,” Konstantin mutters.
My father nods slowly, absorbing the information. “On that note, I must take my leave.”
He stands and drops a kiss to my forehead, reminding me that he loves me through the mind link. As he buttons his leather jacket, he levels Konstantin with a stare that must be accompanied by a choice few images, considering how it creases my fake fiancé’s lips.
After my father vanishes in a cloud of smoke that wins him several gasps, I begin to zip up my own jacket.
“We haven’t had dessert yet,” Konstantin points out.
“You don’t eat dessert.”
“But you do.” And then he turns toward Morozov, snaps his fingers to wrench the Faerie’s focus off the half-blooded cupbearer, and asks for one of everything.
As the red-faced proprietor stalks away, the Ice King wraps his elegant fingers around his golden teacup, dwarfing a vessel that isn’t small to begin with.
“Interesting choice of venue,” he drones.
“Izolda mentioned it served some of the best fare in Voshna.” I carve a hand toward the panoramic window overlooking the ocean. “And the view’s spectacular.”
Konstantin nods to the marble statue at the heart of the restaurant. “It’s made of solid stone. In case you were wondering.”
A shiver sweeps down my spine. “I wasn’t.”
