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“My brother, August Porter.”

The color drained from his face. His green eyes widened even as he crossed his arms, like that could somehow conceal the reaction. “Oh. You’re that kind of soul.”

I flashed a smile that was more threat than anything else. “I am.”

“To be called to someone so loyal is a blessing. He should be honored.”

“Don’t kiss my ass; I don’t like flattery.”

Another simpering smirk. “But candor seems your poison of choice.”

“Very astute.” I reached across the desk, snatched up a bottle of brandy, and set it between us with a clink. Atreus started around the table—presumably for glasses—so I popped the bottle open and drank straight from the neck.

Smirking, the bastard swaggered over and perched on the edge of the mahogany desk beside me, our knees brushing. I offered him the bottle. He took it without looking away and swallowed a healthy pull.

“Not gonna check for poison?” I deadpanned.

He ran his tongue over his lips, my eyes darting to the movement. “You wouldn’t poison me, Freya Porter.”

“I wouldn’t?”

He shook his head slowly, took another swig, then offered the bottle back. I reached for it, but his free hand closed over mine, pinning my fingers to the cool glass in silent demand for my attention. My gaze snapped to his.

“You wouldn’t.”

“You seem awfully confident in your assessment.”

“Beyond the fact that you’re the one seeking an alliance? No one returns to avenge their own murder and restore the balance without a helluva lot of fortitude.”

“Interesting scorecard.”

His chuckle was warm and low, vibrating unhelpfully through my chest. Atreus tipped his head, brow lifting in challenge. “Perhaps we’ll understand each other better than you expect.”

“Would that eliminate the need for this performative proposal bullshit?”

He t’sked his tongue. “Careful, or I’ll get the impression you don’t like me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“That would make for a terrible marriage.”

“But a political arrangement doesn’t?”

His gaze traveled over me once, slow and satisfied, before he echoed me. “That remains to be seen.”

I held his stare, lifted the bottle, and took a long drink, closing my eyes as the brandy burned down my throat.

“I knew you were beautiful. Powerful. I wanted to know whether there was enough chemistry to work with.”

“Consensus?”

He brushed a thumb over my lower lip as if wiping away a drop of brandy, then lingered, settling his palm against my jaw. When I didn’t pull away, he smiled, and goddamn if it wasn’t bright enough to be dangerous.

“I think there’s potential.”

“Delusion looks good on you.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing.”