Lashes sweeping up, I catch his silver regard, breath hitching as his nostrils flare. I lift the flute, holding his eyes over the foot of my glass as I gulp.
And gulp.
And gulp.
He’s beautiful, dressed in the same black clothes he wore today, sans cloak—the same shirt that hugs his barreling chest, compliments his deep skin tone, and makes his eyes stand out in stark contrast; the same form-fitting pants that cling to his muscled thighs too well, still streaked with dust, like he’s boasting the evidence of our unsolicited rendezvous.
“Rhordyn. Right on time.”
Stalking into the room like some great, prowling beast with his hackles up, Rhordyn looks to my promised, then stops, looks down the table, up again, frowning. “No advisors? Masters or Mistresses? I thought we’d be using this time productively to discuss some pressing matters.”
Cainon reclines in his seat, leg cast over the arm as he assesses his nails. “Hard on such late notice. I figured you wouldn’t be opposed to an intimate settingunperturbedby political banter. Given we’re practically family now.”
I’m going to need more wine.
“Come,” he says, waving Rhordyn forward. “Take a seat. Let us share a meal together.”
Tense moments tick by while I grip the stem of my flute, willing it to magically refill.
Rhordyn finally steps up to the table. He lifts his seat, silently sets it down, then sits, watching me while my heart thumps harder than it ever has.
Cainon kicks his leg off the arm of his chair, leans forward, and plucks up a big, bloody strip of meat, slapping it straight on his polished gold plate. “Well, this is delightful.”
Someone’s overly optimistic.
A servant sweeps close and blessedly fills my glass almost to the rim while I drop my gaze to the spot where my ownplate should be, noticing for the first time that there is none. All I have is a knife, a fork, and a tiny spoon I can’t imagine a use for.
“Am I to eat off the table?” I mutter beneath my breath, looking to Cainon who I see is filling a second plate.
Ahh.
Still feeling the cold brand of Rhordyn’s stare, I clear my throat, cross my hands over my lap like a good little girl, and wait patiently for my meal.
Ladling some green paste upon a pile of flaked fish, Cainon says, “She looks good in blue, does she not?”
I choke out a cough, hand flying to my mouth.
“Orlaith would look good in any color.”
My gaze darts to Rhordyn, who’s watching Cainon with a warpath stare.
“Except black,” Cainon volleys, dropping the ladle back into the bowl of slop, scrunching his nose when he sucks a bit off his thumb. “Drowns her out.”
That’s the fucking point.
I bat my lashes at my promised. “My love, must you talk about me as if I’m not here?”
Cainon flashes the slightest raise of a tawny brow, a wicked half smile. “Apologies,my love.”
I don’t dare look at Rhordyn as Cainon makes his way around the table one slow step at a time, then sets the laden plate before me.
I stare at the oversized stack of food, heart sinking. No lamb shanks for me. Instead, I’ve got fish, green slop, fried bone marrow, a pile of steamed spinach bigger than my fist, and a few other things I can’t identify. Nothing I would have picked for myself, but my stomach still grumbles at the prospect of a feast I can enjoy without first sieving for life-threatening berries.
Though the tips of my fingers itch with anticipation to dig in—to feel my food yield and slip andburnas I work through it—I look at the golden fork next to my plate. Picking it up, I feel Rhordyn’s stare track my hand when I prod the fish, breaking off a piece that managed to avoid the slather of green goo. I bring it to my lips, eyes flicking up, watching him watch me with a force greater than the sun—unblinking as I drag the metal prongs against my teeth and start to chew.
His chest expands, deflating slowly.
Cainon sits before his meal, drapes a napkin across his knees, and glances at Rhordyn’s empty plate. “Is our food not to your liking?”
