Page 25 of The Stolen Crown

Tait did nothing but sneer.

“I’ll vouch for him,” Swordeater said, devouring another tart in one swallow. “Surly as he is, Heartwalker wasn’t impolite, lovey. Merely said his desire lies with womenfolk, tha’s all.”

I scoffed. “Ah. Well, I am a woman. Shall we dance, Hearttalker?”

A flash of heat filled Tait’s eyes. He leaned forward. Gods, I could smell the sweet smoke on his skin, the hint of rain in his hair. Our noses nearly touched.

His voice was smooth when he spoke, a terrible sort of tattered velvet that curled around me with each word. “Afraid I’ll be declining. Indefinitely.”

It was not the first refusal I’d received from the man, nor would it be the last, to be sure. But something about his snide, resentful glance snapped through the briars around my heart and pierced me, deep and harsh.

I winced.

Tait arched one brow, as though my expression had stunned him.

Gods, what the hells was wrong with me? I did not trust my voice and merely dipped my chin. “As you wish.”

Without another word, and with the sting of ridiculous tears behind my eyes, I turned and fled the ballroom, Tait’s sharp glare still prickling against my skin.

8

The Heartwalker

Never in all my interactions with the princess had I seen such an expression on her face. A crack in the vicious facade, a sliver of something like…hurt.

What was worse, never had I experienced the agitating bite of remorse. But, gods, I wanted to take back my words.

Wretched woman. She held the power of illusions, and I was damn near convinced she’d done something to befuddle and confuse my mind. I could not think, could not keep my sights on much more than her, and every bleeding interaction left me rehearsing my every word long after we parted ways.

A trickster, that’s all she was. Someone who took pleasure clawing under the skin, all to get a laugh at how unsettled she could leave a man.

Jaw tight, I tracked her escape from the ballroom, the blood in my veins heavy as damp sand. Should I follow?

No. What I knew of Mira Sekundär was the woman would be lying in wait just beyond the door, ready to use one of the blades she kept tethered to her slender thigh to cut off half my cock.

She threatened such a thing to the Ever King once, and Mira was not the sort of woman who gave up on one of her gleeful plans of torture. Since she was now unable to maim Erik, I was certain I’d suit well enough to take my cousin’s place beneath her blade.

Best to remain here and forget any strange reactions ever occurred. I was rather fond of my cock.

“Care for a bit of advice?”

I whirled around. The visiting queen—the one with a young babe—stood behind me, brow lifted, her child sleeping in her arms.

There were four queens and four kings in the earth fae realms. This woman was the one I’d seen the least since peace settled. Erik mentioned her once, an interaction they’d had during the war. Something about fate and paths and hearts.

I did not know what to say to the woman and merely stood still, like a fool, a glower written on my face.

“I’m going to give it to you anyway, my somber one.” The queen took a step closer. “It’ll be a whole lot less painful if you stop fighting the tale that fate has laid for you.”

“What tale?”

“If you’d stop trying to fight it, you might hear it, feel it. Here.” She used her knuckles to knock against my breastbone. “Don’t be an ass. I like you and don’t want to stop liking you. Keep that in mind and you might survive what comes next from the Golden King.”

Before I could even press what the queen meant with her convoluted words, she winked and strode away in the same moment a deep, harsh voice called out behind me.

“Harald’s son.”

Damn the gods.