Page 36 of Sold to Three Alpha Kings

“Why wouldn’t I?” He glances at me. “It’s not a secret.”

The kissing scene flashes in my head, distracting me for a split second.

I’ve been sneaking around like I’m hiding something, when the truth is I probably don’t need to. Except when I find out who else has been sneaking around, I understand exactly why one of us bothered.

I catch Chris by accident. Late. Later than even I usually go, passing the corridor near her room on my way back from the training yard.

There he is—standing in the shadow of the archway across from her door, perfectly still, watching through the gap where the curtain doesn’t quite close.

He doesn’t knock or announce himself. He just watches.

I stop dead in the hall, half-convinced I’m imagining it, but no—that’s definitely Chris, arms crossed, jaw tight, ice eyes fixed on her like he can’t help himself and hates that he can’t.

I don’t say anything. I just watch him watch her for a solid minute before he catches sight of me and goes rigid, some flicker of something almost like embarrassment crossing his face before it locks down again.

He walks over to me and says, “Don’t,” before I can even open my mouth.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Yeah, because you’re suddenly an expert at reading minds.”

Silence.

“I think it’s adorable, actually.”

“Wayne.” His scowl deepens.

“Terrifying, brooding King Chris, lurking in a hallway like a lovesick teenager—”

“I was observing a variable that requires observation.” His voice goes flat, defensive in the particular way that means I’ve hit somewhere tender. “It is not what you’re implying.”

“Sure. I’m sure it isn’t.” I grin at him, and for once he doesn’t have a cutting reply ready, which tells me more than anything he could have said. “Whatever helps you sleep, Chris.”

He stalks off without another word, and I stand there in the empty hall grinning like an idiot, thinking about how thoroughly and completely all three of us are already gone.

***

The idea for the party comes to me the next morning, mostly to spite Chris, partly because I think she needs it.

She’s been cooped up in that room for days now, nothing but servants and healers and the occasional visit from one of us passing through.

I know what that kind of isolation does to a person because I’ve watched Sinth manage the fallout of it in negotiations more times than I can count. She needs noise. Company. Something that isn’t four walls and her own thoughts circling the same wound over and over.

So I send word to both of them. I told my usual courier to make it sound dire enough that neither of them takes their time getting to the nest wing.

They arrive within minutes of each other, Sinth slightly out of breath, Chris with his sword half-drawn like he expects an actual crisis.

What they find instead is musicians setting up in the hall outside Charlize’s room, food laid out on long tables, string lights woven through the archway, and me standing in the middle of it all looking extremely pleased with myself.

“This,” Chris says, sheathing his blade slowly, voice dangerous, “had better not be what it looks like.”

“Depends what ‘this’ looks like to you.”

“It looks like you called an emergency meeting to throw a party.” He halts in front of me.

“Surprise.” I spread my arms wide.