“Cyrene.”
I folded my arms across my chest, lifting my chin. “Your dinner guests are charming.”
“What did they say?”
“Oh, the usual. Hints about witchcraft, fertility omens, and whether my kiss bewitched their king. Light supper conversation. And you weren’t there like you said you would be to deflect some of it.”
“I’m sorry. I was called away and couldn’t?—”
“I dealt with it alone.”
His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking at the corner. “Who made you uncomfortable?”
“Take your pick.”
He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me.”
The way he said it, all quiet and dangerous, made my skin quiver.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I asked a question,” he said.
“None were kind or welcoming, but only one… Look, it doesn’t matter.” I waved a hand. “Your Aunt Madeline.”
His expression darkened, and the air suddenly felt heavier. The shadows around him deepened, responding to the quiet rage I saw building behind his eyes. “It does matter.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, and the temperature in the hallway dropped several degrees. His voice came out soft, lethal. “No one insults you. Not in my castle. Not while I draw breath.”
The possessive fury in those words sent a shiver across my skin that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the realization that despite the crown and the court and the politics between us, some part of Kieran still considered me his to protect.
He eased past me. The shadows around his shoulders thickened, curling like ghosts. “Stay here.”
“Oh no.” I rushed after him. “If you’re going to storm in there like an avenging nightmare, I’m coming too.”
“Cyrene.” My name in his mouth was a dangerous thing, half command, half plea.
“I’m serious.”
He glanced back, his eyes blazing with something ancient and protective that made my breath catch. “So am I. Please. I will handle this and then I will return to you.”
His words lingered between us, heavy with promise.
My shoulders sagged. “Part of me wants to see you tell them off.”
“It would be better for everyone if you didn’t.”
“You want them to save face.”
“I want them to know that disrespecting my queen…” his voice deepened on the word, possessive and fierce, “is the one line they cannot cross with me.”
My heart flailed against my ribs, beating a rhythm that felt dangerously like hope.
“Someone needs to make sure you don’t decapitate anyone,” I said, trying to sound flippant despite the heat crawling up my neck.
“I won’t—tonight.” His mouth curved into a smile worthy of a demon, one of barely leashed power. But his expression softened. “Wait for me?”
Three simple words that felt like so much more.
“Alright.”
