Silence breaks with the pop of Charlotte’s fangs. “Perhaps some champagne to toast to our queen. And yourself, of course, King Nerian,” she says, playful grin and pink cheeks aimed shamelessly at our host.
“I can see through you, girl,” King Nerian accuses, taking off his crown and tossing it on the chair beside him like he can’t be bothered with the weight of it.
She doesn’t even flinch. “And I hoped you would. It’s no fun when the game isn’t fairly stacked.”
He assesses Charlotte for a brief moment before grinning at her, eyes gleaming. “I dolovea good game of court.”
“I’m the best,” she promises with a wink. “Now about that champagne.”
Charlotte will always get what she wants.
King Nerian raises a finger, and the butler procures a bottle.
Charlotte scoots her champagne glass to the side as the king snatches the bottle, pops the cork with a flick of his thumb, and stands to pour her drinkhimself.
Charlotte won this round.
Nerian clears his throat, cheeks pinking slightly and perhaps very aware of what Charlotte just accomplished. The butler swipes the champagne from the king, pouring out the other glasses for the table while Nerian takes his seat.
The Goreon king extends his glass in the air, his eyes shifting to mine.
“Tonegotiations,” he says, the words dripping from his mouth like a poison, mysterious and deadly.
No one expects a happily ever after between the King of Goreon and the Queen of the Night Kingdom. A truce, a peaceful surrender to save the lives in my territory, a marriage for appearances to save my reputation in the wake of submitting to a threat—perhaps. But I would never consider these as options.
Yet I’ll do my best to convince Nerian I would, to buy us time, even if he is just playing with me. Because we need to be here long enough to remove the head from the male across from me and claim his throne.
We hold our glasses, waiting for Nerian to take the first sip.
My people are trained well. In all things. Court, weaponry, words, and not drinking the fucking wine in enemy territory before the host. Poison won’t kill us, but being weakened by toxin would be a death sentence here.
Everyone is still as stone as we wait, glasses held in suspense, bubbles racing to the top in silence.
“Oh, forfuck’ssake,” Del says and tips the champagne into his mouth in a single gulp.
I pretend to sip to hide my amusement, staring at Del’s thick throat and full lips. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m looking forward to a tipsy Del to soften the sharp edge off the evening.
Del’s eyes flick to mine, catching my stare.
Shit.
I dart my gaze to the king as he drinks half his glass.
Second, as usual, ignores his liquor.
We need a topic of conversation before the awkwardness of this evening becomes blistering.
“Your letter mentioned the desire to explore the isles of the Sereia Sea as our first joint endeavor,” I begin.
Probably because the Night Kingdom has ships.
Nerian raises his hand, and the butler comes to his side, receiving a whispered order.
“The first course will be ready shortly,” Nerian informs. “And there’s no talk of business tonight. I’d like to get to know you, Veya.”
He leaves off my title like it never belonged, and my gaze narrows at the blatant disrespect.
Setting my glass down with intention, I look Nerian in the eye. “If ‘Queen’ is too cumbersome, I also accept ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Your Highness’ as alternatives.”
