- LYRA -
“Good luck,” Devin whispers before opening the door to the dining room.
I give him a small grin and sweep inside. It’s different from how it was configured last time I had a private meal with Cyrus. Rather than a long rectangular table, it’s a small round one. A red tablecloth spills onto the marbled floor, and Cyrus is waiting quietly in the dim shimmer of tealights and tapered candles scattered across the tabletop. His eyes slide to me.
Dropping my gaze to the floor, I curtsy before him. He rises from his chair and hurries to pull mine out. I mumble a nervous thank you as I take a seat, and he pushes it in before returning to his own.
There’s a generous stretch of shadow beyond the spill of candlelight surrounding our table. Like we’re a star speckled in a midnight sky.
Before me is a matching set of a golden-lidded plate, cutlery, chalice, and a cloth napkin. He takes my glass and fills it from a pitcher, then fills his own. I glance around us, searching for guards or servers in wait, but find no one.
“I thought it might be nice to have this dinner alone,” he says softly.
Alone?I watch him lift his glass and take a few sips, a timid grin stretching across my lips.
Cyrus reaches across and lifts the lid off my plate, releasing a cloud of steam. The scent of rosemary-roasted duck floods my senses.
“Please,” Cyrus motions to my plate, “dig in.”
Smiling, I dip my head and begin to slice into the meat. Once I’ve taken two bites, I look up at him. He’s tracing his middle finger around the foot of his glass again in a distant thought.
Swallowing, I start, “I’m quite pleased you invited me here tonight.”
He smiles. “As am I. It gives me much joy to know you haven’t refused any of my invitations yet.”
“Yet?” I chuckle, then take another bite.
“You aren’t required to accept them, by any means.”
“I have a hard time believing anyone here of sound mind would refuse,” I say before taking another drink of water.
He grins. “You might be surprised.”
I shrug. “Their loss then, I suppose.”
He smiles wider, eyes falling to his lap. “Always taking the extra step to flatter me.”
“Do the other women not?”
Tapping his finger against his chalice, he whispers, “Perhaps it's more so that I take your words a little closer to the heart. The more time that goes on, the more…I can’t deny my draw to you.”
I drop my fork on my plate in a clatter that’s far too loud for this intimate setting. Blushing, I apologize under my breath and grab it before meeting his watchful eyes.
“Part of the reason I called upon you tonight was because of that fact. But I also wanted to personally ask if you’re feeling better?”
“As good as ever,” I respond with a smile and take another sip from the chalice. I wonder if he knows of my and Marcella’s blood oath. It’ll be something I need to ask her once I see her next. We didn’t get much more time to chat in the gardens before Aelia joined us. “Thank you for asking.”
“So you and Marcella…” He grabs his chalice and swirls the liquid in it as he looks at me. “You’re closer. You’ve become friends?”
“I think so,” I murmur. “We’ve developed some sort of trust between us.”
“I see. I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been told friendships and trust are the most important things you can have in life.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Been told? As in, you haven’t experienced either yourself?”
“Oh, of course I have. As King, there are many I must put my trust in.”
“And friendships?” I ask.
