Page 219

Under the table, Rowan's hand finds my knee, his fingers pressing against it. “I like wine,” he murmurs.

I stare at him. “You do not.”

“I do.”

“You hate alcohol.”

“I hate whiskey.”

Around us, the entire table goes quiet. Even the guards are on guard now. Fucking great.

“But you said⁠—”

“You never asked.” Rowan shrugs. “So I just kept drinking whatever you handed me.”

A dangerous amount of amusement spreads around the table. Aster is openly delighted, Cassian is smirking into his drink, and one of the guards suddenly finds the bottom of his glass fascinating.

I glare around me. “Fuck all of you.”

But that just seems to make them laugh harder.

Rowan squeezes my knee beneath the table. The little traitor.

“Anyway,” Aster takes another sip of wine. “Now that we're both finally free and safe, let's plan to go home and visit Ma and Pa. I've missed them.”

Rowan smiles and slides his free hand across the table, taking hers, and damn, is it wrong to be jealous of a long-lost sister? Because fuck me, I want Rowan smiling at me like that. Tipsy, with bright eyes and kissable lips.

“Really?” He sounds breathless and entirely too happy.

“Really. What do you say?” She squeezes his hand, smiling at their joined fingers. “Ma and Pa have waited for so long. And so have we.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He turns my way.

“Assuming your watchdog allows you out of his sight, of course,” Aster adds. The little bitch.

A few chuckles ripple around the table once again at my ego, and I decide I dislike Rowan's sister almost as much as I dislike being laughed at. But then he looks up at me, those ridiculous eyes bright with hope, and fuck me, that does something to my heart.

“Zoryan?”

“Are you really asking me for my fucking permission now?” I grunt, because, damn, I do like that, and I shouldn’t. Not really, at least. Perhaps just a little.

“What did you call him?” Aster's gaze flicks between us before snagging on me, her eyebrows climbing steadily higher as the meaning catches up with her. “Zoryan?”

Rowan immediately turns red, and I hate her for making him feel this uncomfortable.

I drag a hand across my jaw and decide I've had enough. This is exactly why I hate family gatherings. I jerk out of my chair, keep Rowan’s hand in mine, finish my whiskey, and gesture to one of my guys standing nearby. He heads straight for us, two other guards falling into step behind him.

“It's not a problem for me, Aster Marrow. Especially because I sure as fuck will be accompanying my mouse. Now, if you'll excuse us⁠—”

“Wait.” She studies Rowan for another second before looking back at me. When she smiles this time, there's no teasing left, only understanding and, annoyingly, approval.

“He's serious,” she says softly.

“Sola…” Rowan grumbles next to me, but for the first time I gesture for him to hold his horses, because yes, yes, I want to fucking hear this.

“Zoryan is an old word from the Reach. It means⁠—”

“My Prince.” I try—but fail miserably—not to sound smug.