“Oh, you’re a noble?” My brow furrows in confusion. I didn’t realize nobles let their children become Bonded.
“Half noble,” Noemi corrects with a polite smile. “My mother was Bonded.”
That explains the height, then—she’s not as tall as the average Bonded woman.
“Noemi will act as your diplomatic envoy,” Siegrid continues, “and will make contact with the fiefdoms to encourage the nobles to attend.”
The threat in her voice is obvious. Noemi won’t be visiting to deliver polite invitations. Herencouragementwon’t leave room for refusal.
I gesture to my friends. “Egith is familiar with these four, but I’ve retained Izabel and Venna Brooks, Tomison Thorne, and Nevah Rivenson. They willserve as interim members of my Council Palast until I have fully settled into my role here and we’ve selected suitable permanent members.”
Siegrid makes a hmm-ing noise that’s hard to parse. Disapproval, I’d guess. “And I’ve heard your other interim Council member is a commoner?”
Is that going to be a problem? “Yes, Igor. He was my neighbor in the Eastern Quarter and is like family. I trust him more than anyone else I know.”
Siegrid stares at me for a long beat, and I know she’s heard the undertones to that statement.I trust him more than you, so don’t fucking question his appointment.
“Understood, Your Highness. It’s good to have a Council whose advice you’ll follow.” It’s said in a pleasant tone, but there’s a dig there, too.
Because we all know you’re bad at following advice.
The five of us move to empty chairs, and I take the seat of power, directly across from Siegrid.
As all sit down, the door to the dining room slams open. I startle and raise my gaze.
Stark enters, his familiar, powerful stride wrapped up informal clothing, and all the air in the room seems to evaporate.
He’s in a dark jacket, because of course he is. The soft fabric makes his dark eyes look harder, sharper. The long column of his golden-brown neck is uncovered, exposing his many kill marks.
And two thoughts instantly pop into my head:Dangerous. Delicious.
My breath hitches. Audibly. In a room full of important people.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I stifle my reaction, covering it up, focusing intently on my facial muscles so they won’t betray whatever is happening in my out-of-control brain to the rest of the room.
Noemi has no such constraints. She turns, sees him,gasps, and leaps to her feet.
“Valstark!” she shouts.
She throws herself at him, into his arms, and I instinctively recoil. Whoisshe? A friend? A… paramour?
The thought makes me weirdly uncomfortable.
Sudden flashes of memory hit me: Stark’s tongue on my neck. His teeth on my arm. The heat of his body next to me in the bed in Linsfall.
Unfortunately, it’s entirely too easy to imagine him in the position of someone’s lover, and goddess knows the Bonded are casual about sex.
I swallow, trying not to blush.
Stark’s arms come up and close around Noemi, and it looks almostprotective. Then his eyes meet mine over her shoulder.
I lean an elbow on the table and mouth,Valstark?
He scowls at me in response, pulling away from her gently. He tucks one of those long, gorgeous, shimmering locks of hair behind her ear. It’s intimate enough that I look away, feeling like an intruder.
Yeah, they’re probably lovers. People this beautiful belong together.
