Chapter 26
IT’S ONLY WHEN we leave our guards at the doors and step into a quiet, enclosed space that I realize we aren’t in the cavernous dining hall where we normally take meals with the rest of his court.
I blame the daze that’s settled over me after, somehow, being dressed by him has become one of the most sensuous experiences of my life.
I blink at an empty sitting room decorated in shades of dark gray.
A gray room could seem cold, but the velvet upholstery and scatter cushions are inviting, and the thick rug leading from the entrance chamber softens the black-and-white-checked marble floor.
The space gives a sense of refined richness.
I look up at him, my frown a question, but, in silence, he leads me inside.
We take a door to the left that leads to a small dining room, much more intimate than the grand dining hall.
Its round table is set for four. Black candles with white flames light the space, secured in candelabra on the table and mantelpiece and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, with crystals refracting the light, casting an array of colors over the gray decor.
Drystan pulls out the chair nearest the fireplace.
When I just look at him, not quite able to straighten all my questions into order, he purses his lips and turns his gaze to the candles. “Min and Astrid are joining us for dinner.”
My eyebrows leap into my hairline. “Min and…?” But her status among the unseelie.
From the way she spoke about it, I’m sure she doesn’t usually get personal invitations to join the king for dinner.
“I don’t…” I shake my head, because whatever he did to me when he fastened this dress, it might have rendered me unable to complete a sentence.
“I noted that you invited Min on your ride with Astrid after seeing the way she looked at the dashing second of the Twylth during training.”
I swallow. Does that mean he saw how I looked at him? Was that the reason for the teasing button-fastening and this intimate dinner invite? Did he think I would be an easy conquest? I mean, he might be right, but still—the assumption grates on me all the more because of it.
“You’re trying to… encourage them.” He raises his eyebrows in question, and I nod. “Well.” He spreads his hands, indicating the table. “Our last conversation didn’t go as I would’ve liked. I hope this will make it up to you.”
“You’re… helping me?”
He gives a lop-sided smile, but before I can really enjoy it, there’s a knock at the door.
“Come,” he commands, and something about the tone makes me squirm again. “Through here.”
Min appears in the doorway, eyes wide as she stares from me to Drystan to the table and back to me. If eyeballs alone could speak, hers would be asking “What the fuck is going on?”
It’s a valid question.
My only reply is a helpless and still slightly confused smile. It seems my husband-to-be was replaced by a changeling and honestly? I prefer the changeling.
“My betrothed and I would be honored if you would join us for dinner.” With a graceful sweep of his arm, Drystan indicates the table.
Somehow, Min’s eyes get even wider. Like her body knows she can’t deny her king, she walks in, but her shocked expression suggests her brain hasn’t entirely caught up yet.
“I… this isn’t…” She clears her throat. Absently, she runs a hand down the sheer silk blouse she wears tucked into billowing trousers.
“My attire… I didn’t realize this wasn’t a work assignment, Your Majesty.
I should get changed. I’m not dressed for dinner. I—”
“It’s just the four of us.” I take her hand and lead her to the table. “You look lovely, very…” I think back to the word I once read that seems appropriate for Min. “You look very chic. Doesn’t she?” I look at Drystan with a silent appeal for help to reassure my friend.
He inclines his head with a faint smile as he pulls out a chair for Min. “My future wife is as correct as she is kind.”
From the doorway, there’s an “Ahem.” Asti stands there, head cocked as she takes in Min. “You are beautifully dressed as always, Royal Sartor. As befits your nature.”
I think Min might combust with how quickly her cheeks go pink, and she mutters something as she takes her seat, fanning herself with a napkin.
Drystan flashes me a rakish grin that shows off one canine, and I can’t help smiling back. Our plan is already going better than I could’ve hoped.
And it continues to go well as we take our seats and dinner appears.
Trout, greens and early minted peas. Potatoes crushed with butter, parsley and spring onions.
The flavors fill my heart as well as my stomach—all herbs and vegetables I grow in our garden.
They must’ve been raided from further south where spring wakes the land and its bounty a little sooner.
Min is initially quiet, either because of Asti’s presence or her king’s, but Asti’s easy confidence soon lures her out, and I help where I can.
Drystan doesn’t speak often, but I don’t get the impression he’s shy so much as…
curious. He chimes in with witty comments and confirms aspects of Asti’s stories of battles against the Underworld’s wild dead and the unseelie creatures that rove the land.
But I often catch him sitting back, observing, and I have to wonder if he’s ever eaten with such a small group of people before. The carpet in here doesn’t look very worn. I steal a glance at the upholstery of my chair. It looks new, and there isn’t a single scratch on the table.
Then it strikes me.
Drystan doesn’t have friends.
It’s between dinner and dessert when I make that shocking realization, only made more shocking by the fact I feel sorry for him.
It renders me silent for long minutes as Asti and Min talk about a forthcoming festival, speculating about whether it will be a good year for “Moonburn,” whatever that is.
Drystan’s long fingers glide along mine. I jolt. It buzzes along my nerves, a bright spark. I blink from that point of contact to him.
“It’s expected,” he murmurs, and I remember that we’re in front of other people, so our agreement to play the part of happy bride-and-groom-to-be is in full force.
“Oh. Of course.” I straighten my fingers, letting his slide in between, and tell myself that it’s just part of our bargain and not an excuse to enjoy a little physical affection while I can.
His hand dwarfs mine, but he isn’t gentle. No. Gentle isn’t the word for it. Seeking. Firm. Eager. Any of those would work. He’s playing his part well.
“Are you all right? You’ve gone very quiet.”
He’s definitely been replaced by a changeling. That’s the only reason he might possibly care.
I smile in reassurance. “I’m fine. I was just wondering…” I take in the room with Min and Asti still chattering happily, heads bowed together. “Do you do this often?”
His brow creases as he takes in the same space. “Well, I’ve had lovers in here. You must know I’ve lived a very long time, Annon. You’re not my first.”
I’m not his lover at all. And I’m just about to blurt that fact, when I catch myself. The others. Right. “That wasn’t what I was getting at. But so you know, I may not be as old as you, darling, but you’re not my first, either.”
One eyebrow raises and he gives me a long look as if reevaluating his dull human fiancée. “Oh, really?” A faint smile ghosts over his mouth before its hidden behind a sip of wine.
“I won’t be elaborating.” I give him a sarcastic smirk, then take a drink, our eyes locking over the brims of our iridescent glasses.
“Shame,” he murmurs as we lower our drinks.
“I was trying to ascertain whether you had small, intimate groups of friends in here often.”
Yes, I deliberately emphasize the word intimate, because for some reason I enjoy playing along with our act. It’s fun to flirt, even if we’re only pretending.
And I love watching the smirk that flits over the corner of his mouth as I say it, though it soon turns sardonic as he processes the rest of my comment. “And who, exactly, would a king be friends with?” He lifts his chin, imperious for a moment.
“I don’t know—you don’t exactly move in my usual circles, but I’d guess kings are friends with other aristocrats and…” I shrug and glance at Asti. “Their guards. You two spar like you know each other well.”
“We’ve trained together for many years.”
When he says nothing more, I cant my head. “But you’re not friends?”
“A king doesn’t have friends. Especially not those who are guards. That’s just…” He shakes his head.
“It sounds lonely. Maybe you should’ve kept the cat.”
“And let it get its fur all over my clothes? I think not.” He huffs into his glass and takes a long draft of wine, gulping like he needs it.
To my credit, I’m only very briefly distracted by the cording of his throat as he swallows.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he snaps when he’s done. As if realizing himself, he takes a long breath, expression softening as he squeezes my hand. “I can’t be friends with a guard.”
“Why not?”
He blinks. When that doesn’t serve as enough of an explanation, he spreads his free hand as if it’s obvious. “There’s an order to things. A hierarchy. We can’t all live in chaotic little cottages, waiting to get swept into the ocean.”
However pleasing he might be to the eye, he really is an irritant to the mind. Wearing a false smile, I slide my hand out from under his. I don’t want to be touching him when he insults my home or my family.
Lips pressed together, he holds out his glass and the carafe of wine rises and pours itself.
Things remain frosty as he summons dessert, and Min tries to catch my eye a couple of times, but I evade her and ask how Asti learned to ride. I guess right—she has an entertaining story that soon draws Min into its web and has her asking questions, and the focus is off me.
Meanwhile, I turn my attention to dessert. A crumbly biscuit base sits beneath a pale-yellow creamy substance. I can’t lie—it looks bloody good.