Page 25 of Veil of Night & Flames

“It is part of the ritual.”

“Bullshit. You’re making that up.”

“I am not.”

“Right.” She crossed her arms. “Convenient timing on the ritual, Adric.”

“It is tradition. As old as the realm. The match must be proven on the night of the betrothal. And,” he added, “it’s not as if we are wed, only engaged. We should take advantage of that lovely loophole as often as possible.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then cocked her head. “Proven. Seriously?”

He watched as she searched his face for the lie. She didn’t find one.

He expected her to grudgingly concede. Instead, she smiled at him. “Not a problem. You can tell the Powers That Be we already tested that one. And we’re pretty freaking compatible. In bed, anyway.”

Her gaze moved over him, and he felt his body respond to the heat of it.

“As for the rest?” she said. “We’re more like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. I’m leaving.”

And then, as he watched, his heart filling with awe for this incredible, infuriating woman, she turned and crossed the hall toward Chase, who stood by the main doors, watching her come.

Adric watched, too, a thousand thoughts running through his mind, all vying for attention. And not a single one was helpful.

He expected her to stop when she reached Chase, but instead she glided past him with only a brief touch of her hand to his arm as she continued toward Finn, who had appeared at the edge of the floor with two glasses of something pale and effervescent in his hands. Cora reached her uncle, took one of the glasses, then said something that made Finn laugh.

Then she let her uncle pull her onto the dance floor as Adric stood under the dragon tapestry and watched his bride dance with another man, and even though that man was her uncle, he felt something dangerous flow through him. He said a near-silent curse as he turned his back on the dancers, then crossed to the bar and took what the barman handed him without asking what it was.

One sniff answered that. A whiskey distilled in the Realm of Retribution. He tossed the shot back, swallowed the liquid fire, and held out the glass for another.

The barman poured. Adric drank. He was passing the glass back to repeat the ritual when he saw Cora glide past in Finn’s arms, her face alight with a wide, bright smile more brilliant than any she had ever offered him, even during their jaunt in the Real.

He told himself it didn’t matter. She was his in all the ways that mattered, even if she would not admit as much, even to herself.

“Was she worth it?”

“Kali,” he said, not bothering to turn.

She had approached, as always, with the stealth of a cat. She was the King’s First Blade. His good right arm. Yet so often she irked him simply by being near. Ironic, he supposed, considering how very, very near the two of them had been at various times throughout his reign. But that was over, and she’d never owned his heart.

He turned and met her violet eyes, now shining with a mirth he was not in the mood for.

“We will speak tomorrow,” he said.

“Of course. Tonight should be your time to mingle with your guests and show off the little mortal on your arm.”

“She is mortal, true. And yet she is so much more.”

“I suppose she must be. I know better than anyone the skill it takes to grab your attention. And I certainly know all the intriguing games you like to play in the dark.”

“Is it truly your goal to irritate me? I have no desire to expel you from my court, but I do not need courtiers who play games.”

Anyone else would have stopped. Kali stepped closer. “No? I seem to remember enjoying a variety of games with you.”

“I never played those kinds of games, Kali. You always knew your place in my court, and that place was not permanently in my bed.”

She stepped back, the lift of her chin telegraphing that he’d struck a nerve.

“No games, my lord,” she said. “But as your advisor and your friend, you must know that the Court will talk. A betrothal without bedding? That will feed the gossip hounds for weeks.”