“I see. But the result will be the same. The moonstone needs to be removed and training must be a priority.” My words are kind, but firm, leaving no room for discussion. Ashur bristles but doesn’t immediately respond.
I take in the busy street we’ve turned onto, leaving thesmaller, quiet alley behind us. Here there are women with woven baskets leaving shops and men with sickle-shaped swords, or jewel-encrusted daggers entering taverns. Everything is a show of wealth, of power.
“I will take you to it. But we cannot remove the moonstone until the morning. Most of the men that could help us are already in the taverns after a long day—of training,” he grumbles.
But I smile at his words. Relieved that training has begun here as well. “Is training going well, then?”
Ashur strokes his beard, avoiding my eyes. “Some are extremely motivated after the events of the past month.”
“I am glad to hear that. Are the teens too tired to break curfew now?”
A smile tugs at his lips and he nods.
Warmth pierces between my shoulder blades and I turn slightly to glance behind me. Lachlan is scanning every doorway as we pass, scrutinizing each person who comes close. While Neva follows behind, her shoulders slumped and her expression clearly crestfallen. A seed of sadness grows for her.
I know exactly what it’s like to be spurned by Lachlan.
A man like that will haunt your dreams for a lifetime.
“Ah, here we are! Istanbul!” Ashur stops in front of a stone building with large, lancet windows. Strings of lights are wrapped from the building to the tall lantern posts outside.
Inside, tables are crowded with diners enjoying heavenly-smelling food. The aroma of roasted lamb, pita bread, and decadent spices greets us as we walk through the door. He leads us to an oval, white cloth-covered table at the back, just large enough to fit the four of us.
“This is one of my favorite restaurants on the island, Your Majesty. Do you enjoy Mediterranean food?” Ashur asks, flapping open a napkin and draping it gracefully over his lap.
“I do very much. My parents’ favorite restaurant was a smallMediterranean place on the coast of California. Actually,”—I look around at the jeweled lamps that hang from the ceiling—“this place looks exactly like the one we frequented.” So many similarities between this world and the places we would stay at in the human realm. It’s obvious to me now my mother was homesick.
A woman with a tightly coifed bun and brightly colored eye shadow places plates piled high with food on our table.
“Thank you, Leyla,” Ashur murmurs as he forks roasted lamb and zucchinis onto his plate.
I smile at the woman as she places a basket of pita bread right in front of me and my eyes widen with excitement. “Thank you so much.”
Lachlan rolls his eyes, reaching for the basket. “Ye and your bread,” he teases.
But I snatch a slice from his hand before reaching out to dollop some hummus onto my plate.
Neva sits silently as she eats, not even uttering a thank you to Leyla. I’m undecided if it’s from sadness or rudeness. But I feel my heartstrings being pulled if it’s from the former and decide to swallow down my jealousy and befriend her.
“Neva, what exactly does an assistant to the Ishtar councilor do?” I ask, before taking a bite of a slice of lamb.
“Whatever he asks,” she snarks, patting the side of her lip with a napkin. Okay, that was slightly rude.
“Oh, I see.”
Ashur either doesn’t notice her tone towards me or doesn’t care. Lachlan’s mouth parts as if he’s about to come to my defense, but I speak before he can. “And how do you know Captain Freysson?”
Her fork screeches against her plate and she throws a glare at me. Lachlan coughs, grabbing my thigh under the table and squeezing.
“We did some, um, training together. Before he left for thehuman realm.” There’s an even more noticeable edge to her words as she slings them at me and my kindness towards her immediately evaporates.
I take a sip from the wine Leyla placed before me. “Did you train together long?” I lean back in my chair, swirling the wine in front of me.
Lachlan’s jaw crackles with tension as he stares me down. Neva shifts in her chair. Her spine is as straight as an arrow as she avoids my gaze. But Ashur is oblivious, nodding along to the conversation as he shovels bites of food into his mouth.
“Long enough,” she murmurs, her eyes darkening as she looks at him, batting her long lashes.
“Your Majesty,” I finish for her, and her brow creases as she swivels her gaze back to me. “You meant to say ‘long enough, Your Majesty,’ correct?”
