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D’Artaron’s gloved finger presses against my lips. “The walls have ears. Besides, that which is spoken, the mind finds true. Remember what my king made you say?”
I nod.
D’Artaron lingers with his finger on my mouth.
I part my lips, the tip of my tongue touching his leather glove. Gently, I bite down. I can’t help it. I want a taste of him.
With a shake of his head, he pulls away. “Get inside.”
We enter a large circular foyer with at least a dozen doors all painted in green. Between the doors are windows with dark-yellow velvet curtains and several parrots in cages hanging from indoor trees with large exotic leaves that make me feel like we’ve entered a private oasis. A massive, low-hanging chandelier filled with busy light bugs illuminates the space.
The commander flicks his wrist, and all the other doors open at the same time as the guards rush inside, startling me.
Where the heck have they come from? They’re remarkably quiet for so many males. They enter the adjacent rooms while I walk over to the green couch and run a hand over the soft velvet armrest. I snatch a pillow and touch the rubies sewn into it.
“No touch,” a large parrot squawks, walking back and forth on his stick, clearly distressed.
D’Artaron approaches the cage, and the bird scoots into the corner. The bird’s fear doesn’t last long because the male makes kissing noises, and the parrot coos back. The commander opens the cage and puts a gloved hand inside. The parrot steps onto it, and D’Artaron takes the bird out, bringing it to his lips.
He whispers to the bird.
I try to understand if he’s saying any words or just cooing. Not that it matters. Seeing the commander’s gentler side warms my heart. Poor parrot is frightened as it recently lost its owner.
“Is she okay?” I ask.
“She will be,” he says.
The parrot coos and nudges her head against his chin, then keeps rubbing her head on it, likely because of the scratchiness of the commander’s stubble, which shows little growth.
One by one, the Summer guards exit the smaller rooms, saying they’re clear, and the commander closes the door.
Instantly, I sigh and sit on the sofa. “What can we do about the walls that have ears in these quarters?”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“Thank you.” I sigh. “You struck the Spring king.”
“He’s not the Spring king.”
I throw up my hands. “I don’t know what makes you think otherwise. He’s wearing the crown. He has the council votes.”
“It doesn’t make him king.”
“What makes a king, then?”
The commander puts the parrot back in the cage. “You have a point.”
I chuckle. “The great D’Artaron capitulates.”
He smiles and walks to the window, blocking the beautiful view of what I’m certain are the Spring gardens. I’m less interested in the gardens than in the view of his firm behind. I only wish he would remove his coat. I bet under that uniform, there is a body that would make me want to sin against the fates for the duration of my lifetime.
D’Artaron turns up his nose and sniffs, but continues to pretend he can’t smell my arousal. Since I’m too shy to approach him in the bold manner I had in the bath, we both keep pretending.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Now you bring your sister.”
I sit up. “My sister?”
