I step around his bigger frame, moving back to his side. He doesn’t get to use the overprotective best friend card right now. Not when I’m still pissed off at him.
Kingston’s lips pull into a half smile that borders on a sneer as his cold eyes slide over my body and back to my face. “She’s not my type.”
A sharp chuckle slips free from my lips.
This motherfucker.
Not that I care if I’m his type or not, but rude much?
“Well, now that we’ve established that much, we’ll be on our way,” I insist, grabbing Ambrose’s hand and weaving through the armored men, careful not to touch any as I pass.
They make no move to step aside.
Ambrose allows me to pull him along, more than likely only because he knows I’m angry with him. The last thing he wants to do right now is add to the shit list he’s already on.
I don’t turn around to confirm it, but I swear I can feel the asshole Noctryn’s eyes on my back as we work our way through his men. Pain radiates along my jawbone from clenching my teeth so hard. It’s because I’m pissed off at the beautiful man next to me and not because the asshole behind me just insulted me and made me feel weird in my own skin all at the same time. He’s not my type either. Everything I want is next to me, even if I haven’t exactly told him that yet.
“I take it you two aren’t particularly close,” I say, stating the obvious.
We walk side by side down the main hall, turning corners and weaving through the endless passageways.
“Caught on to that, did you?” he replies coyly. His hands rest in the pockets of his trousers.
I’m not particularly a betting person, but if I were, I’d say it’s to prevent himself from trying to touch me again. We typicallynever stay mad at each other for very long, but he knows I’m hurt. Regardless of whether he’s adamant that it couldn’t be helped.
“Kind of hard to miss with all the testosterone being thrown around,” I acknowledge with a slight eye roll.
“There’s certainly no love lost between us.”
“Why do you hate him?”
“I don’t hate him. I despise him. Slightly different.”
“Okay,” I reply, “so what’s the backstory. Why all the animosity?” I need the tea like I need my next breath. It’s been so long since Ambrose and I have exchanged juicy gossip like two old women with nothing better to do.
I’ve missed this. The least he can do is give me this.
He pulls both hands out of his pockets, using one to open a large wooden door to the right of us, and the other to gesture me through. The moment I enter, all my questions evaporate into thin air.
Books.
So. Many. Books.
I inhale deeply, the smell feeling like being welcomed home by an old friend. There’s just something about the smell of books that is so comforting. The ink, parchment, and bindings all come together to create a blend of familiarity.
Thousands of books must fill the surrounding shelves from the floor to the top of the cathedral ceilings. They seem endless in their grandeur, and the massive stained glass window on the far wall only adds to the majestic feel of this place. I bet if Kintoira ever sees even the tiniest sliver of sunshine, colors would splash across every surface in here, making it look like somewhere in a fantasy.
My pulse speeds up, and my hands itch to start grabbing everything in my vicinity.
Six wooden tables, each with eight chairs, are placed on either side of the main walkway, with smaller tables scattered throughout the multitude of bookshelves. I’ve never seen this many books in one place before. There are sections on history, battle tactics, healing remedies and antidotes, all the way to folklore and popular fables.
It’s endless.
It’s beautiful.
This is the first room that I’ve been in since arriving that feels warm within this cold fortress. Small lamps with bulbs lit by fire magic sit atop the various tables, and warm-colored rugs line the floors.
I spin around.
