Chapter 26 #2
I take a spoonful. Lemon, smooth and creamy, sweet and yet still tart. Then the base—ginger.
The biscuits. Crushed and bound with melted butter. Good gods.
I can’t help moaning.
And Drystan can’t help noticing, gaze twitching to me.
So I make noise when I eat incredible food. He’s just going to have to put up with it, like I have to put up with him being the most confusing fake husband-to-be in existence. Hot one minute, touching me like I’m a thing to be cherished, then the cold king insulting everything I stand for the next.
I ignore him and lose myself in the dessert. When I finish and place the spoon on the plate with a slight sigh, he pushes his untouched dessert in front of me.
I look up. “Don’t you want—?”
“Not as much as you do.” I expect his comment to be accompanied by a mocking smirk, but there is none. Just unbroken eye contact as he urges me to “Eat.”
I consider rebelling. I’ve spent too much of my life penned in—by my illness, yes, but also my parents. I hate to admit it, and yet it’s true. With all I’ve been able to do since coming to the Underworld, living without being cosseted, I can see how they’ve kept me locked away.
Arguably for my own good. But absolutely to keep me hidden from Pa’s bargain with The Morrigan.
An ambition that was always doomed. She is the goddess of fate, after all.
“Annon?” Drystan’s voice brings me back from heavy thoughts, my lashes fluttering.
I could rebel against being told what to do. But in this instance, the lack of a second dessert would only harm myself.
Still, it wouldn’t do to have the King of Death thinking he can order me around at any moment. I’m not his thrall.
I narrow my eyes at him. “To be clear,” I say, quiet enough for his ears only, “I’m not eating this because you told me to. I’m eating it because I want to.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Noted, Your Future Majesty.”
So I lift up his spoon, the handle warm like he’s been holding it this whole time, and I eat my second dessert.
I moan again. It’s that good.
And I notice him noticing.
And I notice that it isn’t a look of disapproval that he’s wearing but one of hunger. The dark eyes. The parted lips. The way he sits forward, watching me like I’m utterly fucking fascinating.
Like he wants to devour me.
I don’t know what to do. Because a small part of me wants to be devoured. But the rest of me, sensible and apparently not addled by a look of all things, says absolutely not.
“That was delicious,” Min says, her spoon clinking on to her plate. “Your Majesty is too kind to have invited us.”
Asti makes a noise of agreement, moving her chair back as if to leave.
“Ready to go so soon?” Drystan’s tone is the imperious king’s, but he speaks more quickly than usual, betraying an undercurrent of what sounds almost like panic. “We still have some hours before sunrise.” His gaze flicks to me, reminding me of what happens when the sun comes up.
I swallow down a groan at the thought of another day trudging through the labyrinth.
I’ve encountered a few more traps, but they’ve been easy to avoid.
And I sing Pa’s sea shanties and Annem’s songs from her homeland as I go, which staves off boredom and entertains the Collector.
But I’m wilting in my chair, and yesterday I could only walk for five minutes at a time before needing to rest.
“That’s true.” Asti grins as if Drystan’s comment is a challenge. “What would Your Majesty like to do?”
“The question should be, what would Lady Rhiannon like to do?”
They all turn to me as I bury my tiredness under a bright smile. “Me? I’m not sure that I—”
But Drystan is watching me intently again, pressing forward in his seat.
And the two glasses of wine I’ve had are whispering that aside from the brief insult, it’s been a fun evening, and if this has been fun, then how much more fun would more of it be? I can stay up a little longer, then sleep, ready for the labyrinth.
Besides, Min leans on the arm of her chair, closer to Asti, and I can’t deny her a little more time with the object of her affections.
My gaze drifts to the distance through a window as I search for inspiration—something that might entertain unseelie fae. A light fall of snow drifts down, bright against the dark night.
“What about…?” I trail off, feeling suddenly foolish, even though there’s this little leap of excitement in my heart that urges back my tiredness.
I’ve heard of snowball fights, but I’ve never actually taken part in or even seen one.
Living by the sea all my life, I’ve rarely witnessed snow settle for any length of time before it’s melted away by the salt air.
When we were younger, Lowen and our brothers would sometimes walk inland to find a decent snowfall, but I was never allowed to go on account of my illness.
I had to live vicariously through their stories when they returned, talking and laughing about great battles waged on a sea of white, with snowballs instead of cannon fire and sleds instead of ships.
“What about…?” Drystan nods, prompting.
“Go on.” Asti leans over and nudges me. “I promise not to laugh.”
Drystan shoots her a look that suggests laughing at his future wife would mean death.
I don’t want Asti dead by any means but I kind of like that look. It lets me imagine that what I want matters.
Then Min smiles in that way that lights her whole face, and my worries flee under that brightness.
“What about a snowball fight?”
Drystan sits back, eyes wide, and all my foolishness rushes back in.
Of course a king isn’t going to engage in a fucking snowball fight. What was I thinking?
“Sorry.” I grimace, head bowed. “It’s a silly idea, I shouldn’t have—”
“If my betrothed wants a snowball fight, then a snowball fight is what she’ll have.”