Page 90 of Embers of Ruin

“It’s your chair-adjacent chair.”

His mouth curves faintly. “A dangerous distinction.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I would not dream of it.”

“I can’t say I believe that.”

Mazelle’s voice cuts in, smooth as a blade. “Lady Tarethyn, please sit.” She says the last part through gritted teeth.

I turn to face her. “I would rather swallow glass.”

“You may do so after dinner.”

Thorin’s gaze flicks to her, and for one impossible second, I think he might laugh. He fights it, his lips tightening into a thin line while unmistakable amusement dances in his eyes.

It’s distracting enough that I forget to continue arguing. A mistake, because Mazelle uses the moment to pull the chair back.

I sit because refusing now would make a scene, and apparently there are limits to my desire for chaos. Very small limits. Thin ones. But they do exist.

The moment I settle into the chair, the noise in the hall resumes as though nothing happened. As if time hadn’t stood still at all. Strange. Whenever I'm talking to him, I never seem to notice anything else. The rest of the world slips away until all I can focus on is Thorin.

He takes the seat to my left. He’s close enough that I feel the faint shift of air as he moves, catching the familiar scent of mint, dark cedar, and smoke. It settles around me, weaving beneath the richer aromas of roasted meat and spiced wine.

I stare straight ahead, because I refuse to get lost in him tonight. It would be embarrassing, to say the least.

“This is unnecessary,” I mutter.

“Most things at court are, but customs still stand, nonetheless.”

“Then why do them? You’re the king, you could stop this at any point.”

“Because men with land and titles behave better when they are fed.”

I look at him, despite promising myself that I wouldn’t and immediately regret it. Damn. He looks perfect.

He looks ahead, face perfectly composed. His unreadable expression paired with humor that somehow matches mine makes me want to squirm. I don't want to think he’s funny. It’s inconvenient because I'm still trying to convince myself that I hate him.

I do hate him.

I do.

“Does that include you?”

His eyes cut to mine. “I have never behaved better because of food.”

“No, I imagine you behave worse on principle.”

His mouth twitches.

“Careful,” Mazelle murmurs from the other side of him.

“I am being delightful,” I say.

“You are being noticed.”

“That sounds like their burden to bear, not mine.”