Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Apparently, dryads don’t eat. It shouldn’t have surprised me, given that they’re half plant. Or fully plant? To be fair, I’m not quite sure of the exact genetic composition of a dryad’s body. The end result remains the same, though. They don’t eat food.
They did, however, figure out that we need to eat. Which is why the table in front of us is filled with eclectic pieces of vaguely edible… things. Or at least, I hope they’re edible.
I glance down at the chopped-up pieces of pale yellow matter on the thin board before me. It kind of looks like potatoes, so I hope I’m right. Since the dryads don’t eat, they didn’t have any plates, so they’ve served the food on a variety of flat objects whose normal use remain a mystery to me.
A wide smile spreads across Lyra’s face when the dryad who is helping to feed us sets down a cob of corn in front of her.
To her left, Alistair winces when he receives a carrot instead.
I note with surprise that his carrot looks to have been grilled over a fire.
As opposed to the dubious-looking pile of diced potatoes in front of me, which I have a sneaking suspicion might be raw.
But that is not the most awkward part of this whole situation. No, the worst part is that the entire room is filled with dryads who are sitting silently on sculpted wooden chairs and watching us with rapt interest. As if eating dinner is a spectator sport.
I sweep an uncertain glance over them all.
Galen and Alistair do the same. Lyra is too excited about receiving the most obviously edible food item to notice the dryads’ fascinated stares, and I already know that Isera could easily murder someone in front of an audience without even paying them any mind, so eating dinner like this should be a piece of cake.
Apparently, both Orion and Draven have also perfected the not-so-subtle art of being so powerful and important that they can do whatever they want without worrying about what people will think, so they’re ignoring our intrigued spectators like proper royalty.
Galen, Alistair, and I exchange a glance. However, before we can say anything, Lyra abruptly picks up Alistair’s makeshift plate and switches it with hers.
He starts in surprise and turns to look at her. And so do the rest of us.
“Why are you taking Alistair’s carrot?” Galen asks with a confused frown.
“I’m not taking it,” Lyra answers, a smile still on her face. “I’m swapping it with my corn. Big difference.”
Galen lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, yes, you’re swapping it. The question still remains the same.”
“Alistair doesn’t like carrots.”
The fire wielder in question draws back slightly and blinks at her in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“We lived together for weeks in the Unseelie Court, remember?” she replies with a quick shake of her head, as if that should’ve been obvious.
“Well, yeah, but no one else picked up on that. I didn’t memorize anyone else’s eating habits either.”
“Huh.” She looks thoughtful for a second, and then just lifts her shoulders in a casual shrug. “Well, when I’m interested in someone, I tend to notice things.”
Red flushes Alistair’s cheeks in a heartbeat.
Across the table, Draven lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head at Lyra. “Go easy on him, will you? Or he might burst into flames and take us all out with him.”
Alistair splutters something that sounds like the beginning of a curse at him, but Lyra just looks up from her dubiously grilled carrot and asks, “What?”
Her tone, and the expression on her face, is filled with innocence, but there is a mischievous gleam in her orange eyes that she can’t quite hide. Draven just shakes his head again while suppressing a smile.
I stare at him from across the table, drinking in the sight of that faint smile.
He has spent far too little time smiling in his life.
He deserves a life full of joy. A life full of adventure and freedom.
Full of love. And by his god and mine, I will make sure he gets it.
I will make sure he gets everything. That we get fucking everything.
With that innocent grin on her mouth and the devilish glint in her eyes, Lyra casually picks up the carrot and takes a firm bite. Alistair, his cheeks still red, quickly grabs the cob of corn with both hands and starts eating.
The sudden start to the feast seems to snap all the dryads out of their silent trance, because a ripple goes through the room.
Conversations start up at their tables for the first time as they focus on something other than our ongoing food consumption, but they still sneak glances at us every few seconds. As if to catalogue how we eat the food.
Isera slides a cool gaze over the ones who study us, making them quickly snap their attention back to their own companions.
“It’s like ice.”
We all turn towards Orion, but the Unseelie King has his gaze locked on Isera.
“Your face,” he continues. “It really is like ice.”
Isera shifts her gaze to him, and a mocking and highly dangerous expression descends on her features. “Let me guess, I should smile more?”
“No. Why change something that is already perfect?” His black and silver eyes remain locked on her face, as if he is searing it into his mind.
“It’s like watching a shard of ice glinting in a harsh sun on a ruthlessly cold winter day.
Lethal. Sharp. Unyielding.” He cocks his head, making his long dark blue hair slide over his tailored tunic.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.
I keep wondering if you truly are royalty or if you just played me with that sharp mind and tongue of yours, but it’s at times like this when I can’t deny that it must be true. ”
Our entire table stares at him in stunned silence.
“Wow,” Draven begins, his voiced laced with mocking amusement. “Who knew the little prince was such a poet?”
Shock, and what looks an awful lot like panic, pulses across Orion’s face for a fraction of a second. As if he can’t believe that he just said all of that out loud. Then he quickly hides it behind a mask of dangerous threats. Tearing his gaze from Isera, he shifts his now dark eyes to Draven.
“Watch your mouth,” he warns.
“Or what?” Draven flashes him a smirk full of challenge. “You’ll compose me a poem as well?”
Indignant fury flashes across Orion’s face, and his eyes begin to glow as he starts channeling magic.
Draven just sits there and holds his gaze, daring him to do it.
For a few seconds, it looks like he actually will.
But then the glow fades from his eyes as he releases his grip on his magic instead.
Draven snickers. “Thought so.”
“Oh I wouldn’t relax yet, if I were you.” Orion flashes him a sharp smile. “I simply prefer to strike when my victims least expect it. Better sleep with one eye open, you brooding beast.”
Draven stretches his muscular arms above his head and yawns, the epitome of lazy confidence. “Once you’ve worked up the courage, you know where to find me.”
Lightning flashes in Orion’s eyes, but before he can retort, Galen quickly changes the subject.
“Uhm, is anyone else’s food raw?” he asks, poking at the suspicious-looking pile in front of him with the point of his knife.
“Yes,” I reply. “I’m pretty sure my potatoes are raw as well.”
“I could fry them for you,” Alistair offers with a shrug.
All of us turn to stare at him. Well, everyone except Isera, who is still watching Orion with an unreadable expression on her face.
“What?” Alistair asks with a frown. “I have fire magic, remember?”
“Hmm,” Lyra mumbles through a mouthful of carrot. “Technically, we have fire too.”
“Well, yeah, but to use it, you need to turn into a dragon.” He waves a hand at the hollowed out tree trunk that we’re currently occupying. “Let me know how that goes for you.”
Draven chuckles.
I watch him while trying to memorize that wonderful sound.
As if noticing my stare, his gaze shifts to me. And that smile is immediately wiped off his face. Instead, hatred flares up in his eyes and he clenches his jaw.
That dark wave inside me threatens to crash over me, but I cling to that small spark of hope as I hold his gaze. He felt something other than hatred when we passed by that rock wall. I know it. He knows it. And if he felt it once, he can feel it again.
Draven flexes his hand.
Then he abruptly stands up from the beautifully sculpted table and shoves his chair back. “I need some air.”
Without waiting for a reply, he stalks towards the door.
The others stare at him in surprise. But before Galen can follow him, I leap up from my seat and start after him.
“We’ll be right back,” I promise before hurrying after Draven.
Warm evening winds wash over me as I step out of the massive tree trunk and back onto the grass outside. The sun has almost slipped behind the horizon now, and only a few streams of light hit the mass of normal trees and vines that surround the dryad’s massive tree homes.
Turning my head from side to side, I scan the area for Draven and quickly find him pacing the ground on my left. A few dryads are moving between the tree trunks a short distance away, but as opposed to the ones inside, they don’t pay us any mind. Straightening my spine, I stride over to Draven.
“You felt something back there at the rock wall,” I declare.
It’s not a question, but he tries to deny it anyway. Stopping his pacing, he turns to scowl at me. “No.”
“There is no point in lying about it. I know you felt something.” I lock hard eyes on him. “Because I could feel it too. Through our mate bond.”
Alarm flits across his handsome face for a second before he doubles down on the scowl. “You’re imagining things.”
“Admit it. You felt something. You can feel something in your gut when you look at me.”
“Yes, it’s called disgust.”
A frustrated snarl rips from my throat. “Goddess damn it, Draven. Stop insulting both of our intelligence and just admit it.”