My hand froze an inch from my mouth, the tender meat forgotten.
Elayne was not in her seat. She stood at the door where the servants were disappearing with empty platters, monitoring and exchanging words too lost to the din for me to hear. But Pant remained in his ornately carved wooden chair, the pair at its side empty, and his lap full of female. A petite, beautiful female with pale gold hair cascading loose down her back and breasts that rivalled my own.
For a second, I thought the wine had addled my brain. Or had someone slipped something into it? There were poison expertsamong the flora-gifted terrestrials. Arran had described how certain talented males and females could coax the poison from a plant, make it more potent or enhance certain features.
“Have you been introduced to Lady Sylestria?” Barkke’s gravelly voice said from the periphery of my consciousness.
I had not seen him since our bout in the training courtyard. Whether he realized how deeply he’d disturbed me with that glowing gaze of his, I did not particularly want to know. I was barely holding myself together as it was, that wall of ice I’d tried to build around my heart nothing more than a puddle.
I inclined my head to acknowledge his presence, but gave nothing else. He’d already noted the direction of my gaze and my blank face. That had been enough for him to guess the direction of my thoughts.
But Barkke was unbothered by the lack of warmth in my welcome.
He leaned back easily, his huge body swallowing up the chair. Even went so far as to kick out the chair on the other side of the table and prop his feet up on it. Utterly at ease. He swept his gaze over me—a little too appreciatively—and then refocused on the scene unfolding at the other end of the hall.
“She’s been his mistress for the last forty years or so,” Barkke said, swigging back his ale. No aural to be seen here, even if I’d wanted it.
“Arran spoke of the love and tenderness between Lady Elayne and Lord Pant,” I said, lifting the wine to my lips to spare myself expanding on that thought.
Barkke operated under no such subtleties. A terrestrial through and through. “Since when are love and sex preclusive?”
I blinked. There was no way I would ever let another female sit in Arran’s lap. If I so much as saw one with desire glowing in her eyes, I’d stab her and be done with it. But… Arran and I had never spoken of it. He’d intimated that sexuality was different inthe terrestrial kingdom, even freer and wilder than in Baylaur. But he couldn’t have meant this…
“Not much for sharing, are you, Majesty?” Barkke said, grinning broadly. Even adding a wink. I wanted to stab him.
I swirled my wine and contemplated dashing it into his smug face. “Certainly not one to discuss my sex life with a terrestrial brute.”
He leaned back further, tucking his hands behind his head. Boldly exposing his throat even as he blatantly played with fire. “Yet you married one.”
“Arran is not a brute,” I said. No room for argument in my voice. Which, of course, the rude and irritating terrestrial took as a challenge.
“I have known the Brutal Prince a lot longer than you, Majesty. That is precisely what he is. But if it works for you…” He trailed off, waggling his bushy brown eyebrows.
I crossed my legs, knowing the action would expose the long length of my muscular legs. He wanted me, that was blatant. Too damn bad. Let him look, let him be jealous. Let him worship me. So that when my mate did return, I would have the pleasure of watching him flay this ass of a male alive. “What does and does not work for me is, and never will be, any of your concern.”
“Maybe.” He winked again.
I pulled my dagger.
He threw back his head and roared, beard bouncing ignominiously. By the time I thrust my hand forward, he was well out of reach.
Uneasiness was building steadily inside of me. I tried to drown it with another glass of wine, but it seemed even a whole bottle would not be enough.
Lyrena gave me space, dividing her attention between smiling at the dancing, watching me, and glaring at Percival. Whatever Cyara was up to with Diana, I hoped it proved useful. If being separated from his sister was torture for Percival, even better.
Barkke, mercifully, did not return. I spotted him an hour later on the other side of the hall, a slender terrestrial winding vines around his massive biceps.
Jealousy rose in my throat, hot and sharp. No, not jealousy. Barkke may lust after me, but the feelings in my stomach had nothing to do with him. The self-pity, the longing… those belonged to Arran. All of me belonged to Arran.
But still, it burned.
A low growl rolled through me, past my lips. My fingers tightened around the stem of my wine glass. Whether it came from my longing or the shred of Arran’s soul that was wrapped around mine… the power of it threatened to slice me in half. Melt me. Until I was a useless puddle of longing and loss that all the dancers had to step around—
The wine glass shattered.
The stem snapped, the foot shattering into tiny pieces on the stone floor. The shards of the glass bowl dug into my palm, my fingers, deep enough that blood dripped down my wrist onto the floor.
That was what caught the attention of the terrestrials around me. Not the sound of the glass shattering, but the scent.
