I quickly spin on my heels, turning back in the direction I came, only to run directly into a solid chest.
“Getting into trouble, Starfire?”Wilder smirks, thankfully speaking through the thread that hangs between us so the king doesn’t hear him.
I shove past him, going back the way I came.“I made a wrong turn.”
“You didn’t have to leave. If you were enjoying the show?—”
“I wasn’t enjoying anything.”I halt, spearing him with my glare.
Wilder shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Whatever you say.”
“What are you doing here?” I bite back, still keeping my voice low even though we’re in a different hall now.
“Wandering.” He glances up and around. “Appreciating the art.”
“Liar.” I narrow my eyes.
He hums, his gaze landing back on me. “You’re the one wandering my quarters. Shouldn’t I be the one asking the questions?”
“These are your quarters? But Malachi?—”
“Royal quarters,” Wilder corrects. “Your king’s wing is in that direction. But this”—he glances down to where the floor changes at the start of a new hallway—“is guest quarters.”
I swallow hard, realizing that the art is more extravagant in this part of the palace. The floors are polished to the point of being reflective.
“Were you up late looking for me, Starfire?” Wilder winks.
“Stop calling me that,” I grumble, turning to walk away, but he follows me. “I thought the king was in a relationship with your sister.”
“Malachi beds many Fae. My sister is one of them, but not the only.”
“Of course not.”
“He is a king, Elorie.”
“So are you,” I point out, my stomach souring. “Tell me, is that behavior the whims of a king or the whims of the Fae in general?”
“Who said it’s either? Maybe it’s just the whims of Malachi.”
My laugh comes out in a snort. “I’ve been to the parties. I’veseen the beautiful Fae who follow you around. Hanging on your every word. Don’t pretend you aren’t just as promiscuous.”
“Immortality makes for a long life.” He avoids answering me directly, and since I really don’t want to think about the occupants of his bed, I allow it.
“How old are you, anyway?”
“So curious about me tonight, Elorie Vale.” His grin is disarming.
“Not curious. Bored.”
“Five hundred and eighty-nine.”
My head snaps at that. “You’re almost six centuries old?”
“Mm-hmm.” His face is blank, as if that age is nothing.
Which, I suppose, makes sense when the oldest Fae have been known to live for thousands of years.
“I guess it makes sense then.” I twist my fingers through the ends of my hair. “Living for six centuries would make monogamy nearly impossible. I imagine anyone would get bored with the same person—or Fae—after that long.”
