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“Nonsense. It will be too bitter.” Cricket dashes in another pinch, regardless. “I’m the cook here, not you. And magic has to do with everything here.”
“But—”
“Fine. Here’s your spice.” Cricket deliberately stares at Marina while adding another dash but then winks at me when most spills out of the pot.
“Oh, yes,” Marina sighs. “We love our spice, don’t we Cricket?”
As the mermaid launches into a lurid story about spice on the seven seas, Cricket sends me a secret smirk and explains quietly,“She doesn’t understand that adding more bitterness will only make it taste more bitter.”
A few days before Tinger’s death, my mother was cooking soup in the kitchen. She never cooks. Ever. I assumed because, as the Prime, she’s too busy. My father confessed she was never good in the first place. She spent too much of her life stealing and living off the streets, ordering takeout with her gambling ex-boyfriend, and... well, she hated it. So it struck me as odd that she invited me to the stovetop to have a taste.
Annoyed at being interrupted from my skulk toward my room, I storm over, take a sip from her spoon, and spit out the horrible flavor.
“No offense, Mom, but maybe you should forget about cooking. It’s just not your thing.”
“Oh well,” she sighs. “I guess adding bitterness to an already bitter soup doesn’t make it taste any better.”
I touch my heart. There are no coincidences where my mother is concerned. She must have seen this moment in a vision. Despite vowing to let me make my own mistakes, she wanted me to know she knew about my journey as far as this moment... and still trusted me to come alone.
I’ve been holding onto my bitterness over the Six for so long, using it as armor to get through each day, but it’s not improving my life.
“Here you go, love,” Cricket says as she ladles soup into a bowl.
I take a sip. The broth is surprisingly well-balanced. “It’s not bitter at all.”
“You like it?” A blush hits Cricket’s cheeks. “Master Fox said your wolf blood makes you a rabid carnivore. So I’ve been?—”
“We’ve been!” Marina corrects.
“Ahem.We’vebeen chasing down meaty recipes for you.”
“I’m touched.” My eyes sting. “Thank you for being so welcoming. The soup tastes perfect.”
“Pull up a seat.” Cricket drags a stool from behind the stove and sets it beside the butcher’s block.
“And while you eat,” Marina says, “You can tell me all about Burn After Reading. Who wore what, and which of the gentry behaved deplorably? Oooh, and who shagged who when they shouldn’t have!”
At the end of my second helping and a good dose of faerie society gossip, I glance up to see Fox leaning against the doorway, a half-smile on his lips.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, licking my spoon.
“Long enough to know someone called Irisa wore a see-through dress.” He pushes off and walks to me.
“Someone?”I send my outrage into his mind.“How can you not remember? You fed from her.”
“Did I?”The force of his kiss knocks me off balance, but he cups the back of my head and keeps me from falling. My finger hooks into his waistband and I tug him closer. I can’t help it. The soup was amazing, but Fox tastes better. And when he adds,“I only remember details about you,”I melt.
A pot clanks. Cricket pipes up. “And that’s my cue to leave, folks.”
I gently push Fox away and raise my brows. “So you think you don’t need permission to kiss me anymore?”
A sheepish grin. A flash of dimples. “Do I?”
“Scoundrel,” Marina shouts. “Tell him he’s a scoundrel, then rip his shirt off!”
Our gazes snap toward the painting. Marina’s eager eyes are glued to us.
I give a nervous laugh and scratch my head.
