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Lovely. Just lovely.
Kallias is hunched over the table, all tousled curls and tense shoulders, his sleeves rolled up like he’s about to single-handedly wrestle the realm into submission. His hands press into the wood so hard it looks like he’s trying to snap the table in two.
I cross my arms, assessing it all from the doorway, caught between biting back my frustration and marveling at the sheer level of dramatic absurdity in front of me. I thought I was bad, but it turns out Kallias has me beat.
“Done redecorating?” I ask dryly. “Because it’s not an improvement.”
His head snaps up. “Poison—”
“Put out the flames, Kallias.” I step farther into the room, avoiding the bits of broken vase.
His knuckles whiten against the table, and his jaw tightens. Then he slumps into the chair behind him, his shoulders folding in as if the weight of the world has finally pressed him down. His gaze narrows on the burning curtains, the flames reflecting in his eyes until they slowly, slowly extinguish.
The last of my irritation gutters with them. Maxim had said his moods ebb and flow like the tide, but this is a maelstrom, violent and consuming. What has dragged him into its depths this time?
I cross the room, stepping around the wreckage, and push open the windows to let the smoke escape. When I turn back to him, I let my gaze sweep over the damage. “What brought this on?”
Kallias purses his lips, his fingers drumming against the charred wood of the table. Finally, he exhales sharply. “Why did you come bursting into my chambers, Poison?”
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, and try to figure out exactly where to begin. The whispers, the stares—they’d started small, just a few lingering glances in the corridors. But as the hours passed, they grew louder, more pointed.
“Surely it wasn’t to critique my interior design,” he adds dryly.
“There are rumors. About me. About us. They’ve been spreading all day. I didn’t notice at first, but…it’s getting worse.”
He leans back, his head tilting as he studies me. “And what exactly are they saying?”
“That I’m involved with you.”
He frowns. “And how did these rumors start?”
“How am I supposed to know? All it takes is one person with an overactive imagination to think they’ve seen something—in the halls, or furtive glances across a room.” Or a kiss in the royal gallery.
“You’re a spy. Can’t you figure these things out?”
I scoff. “Of course, I’ll investigate this between the other nefarious plots and missing persons, shall I? I think it’s more important we try to redirect the rumors.”
His brow arches, curiosity flickering in his expression. “Redirect them how?”
“I told one of the servants I’m involved with Maxim.”
“Maxim,” he repeats, his tone carefully neutral. “And is he aware of this plan of yours?”
I grimace. “No, I was hoping he would be here with you.”
He twists a ring on his finger as he studies me. “And what do you want me to do?”
I know what I need to say, but the words feel heavy, like they’ll change something between us the instant they leave my mouth.
“It could help if you were seen being intimate with someone. Publicly.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and then he laughs—a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down my spine. Before I can say anything else, he pushes to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor as he rises and starts toward me.
I don’t move, even as the air between us seems to thicken with every step he takes. My pulse quickens, but I tilt my chin up.
When he stops in front of me, he’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that the scent of burnt citrus permeates the smell of smoke.
He hums softly, and then he lifts his hand, his thumb pressing into my lower lip. The touch is light, almost teasing, but it sends a jolt through me all the same.
