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“So . . . definitely not a cat,” I whispered in the unnatural stillness of the room.

The Raven lofted a brow and looked between me and the animal. “You don’t know what your own pet is capable of?”

“Is that really the best conversation to have right now? It’s not my pet.”

Exasperation leaked into his face and spilled out of his expressive forest-green eyes.

“Fine. To your right is the King’s quarters. To your left is the corridor to the rest of his apartments. When you come in, you are to sit on the pillow and wait for him. No matter what you do, you are never to leave that pillow unless he commands it.”

I frowned. “Cute. A human-sized pet bed. What a gem you ha—”

My lips finished the sentence, but my voice cut off like a pair of scissors had reached down and snipped it in two. Panic gripped me at the foreign feeling of heat building in my throat as I tried to force sound from my mouth.

“I see the tongue lock has become far more effective at muzzling my new dog.”

The King’s voice poured into the empty space left by my sentence as he swept into the room.

He was dressed in far more relaxed attire. A simple pair of leather breeches clung to his body, tucked into boots that looked expensive. His chest was bare, glistening with a soft sheen of sweat clinging to the small patch of hair dusting his sternum. Pink scratch marks adorned that bare chest, his shoulders, and peaked over to disappear down his back.

He barely spared me a glance, a single twitch of his eye, before he clapped The Raven on the back. “You’ve done well, Raven. I didn’t expect a gift from you. Tell me how you found my new gem. I’m eager to hear how you pried her from Rictus’s hands.”

The King snapped his fingers and pointed to the giant pillow resting next to a wingback chair. I wanted to snarl and scream at him that if he wanted an ass on a pillow, he’d put himself there before I would, but without my voice, all I could do was make baleful glares at him.

The Raven’s scabbard slapped me on the ass as he passed me, then joined the King as they sat. I pressed my thumb into the hidden wound and followed directions, sitting, with my legs crossed at the ankle beneath me. It wasn’t the most ladylike position, knees splayed under my rich green gown, but it was the only true form of rebellion I was afforded at this moment. So what if I wasn’t the picture of ladylike, demure submission? I’d rather be running the King through with The Raven’s sword than sitting on a pillow next to him.

Indignation rippled through me as, absentmindedly, the King reached out to stroke my braided hair. I wanted to bark viciously at him.

“That foul creature he calls an assistant sent a wisp to me. Said that he had something I’d like to see and to bring as much magic and sentiment as I could carry.” The Raven shifted in his seat, adjusting his sword to rest on his calf as he watched his friend pet me. “It’s been years since he sent me even a hint of a sale going on.”

“The last time was when he thought he had your aunt, right?” The King asked mildly, but I felt the twisting of the barb as much as The Raven did.

To his credit, he didn’t rise to the bait and merely nodded and grunted.

Satisfied with the twist being received and settled on, he turned his attention to me, fingers weaving into the hair at my scalp as he twisted my head up to look at me. “And you thought of me when you purchased her?”

“She was the finest work I’d ever seen in the Night Market. Even Harrower hasn’t put out work this good since the war.”

The Raven’s eyes connected with mine, and I felt like he thought that might be a compliment.

“It was a shame that we had to kill off all the good slavers. I miss the days when the courts were spilling over with the proper grandeur of the daora of old. Rictus and Harrower are the only two left with the eye. Harrower’s work has always been of better quality than Rictus’s, of course, but he’d always been an artist. This, though, if the Grand Market Balls were still taking place, she’d surely be the pride of his ship.” His soft thumb dug into my scalp. “Perhaps we should bring them back. What do you think, my Raven? Do you think we could get Harrower and Rictus to put out more meat like this one if we brought back the ball?”

The Raven grunted again. “Doubtful. The newer Darrigs have no imagination. They just follow the trends of whatever court they plan on selling the daora to. All—what do the humans call it?—base models? No creativity at all. You’d waste all that magic and all that power to grant them leave to compete against each other. The others would be no true competition, especially if Rictus is going to be putting out work like this.”

“Perhaps a royal commission, then? I’ve been meaning to get around to building my own stable, you know.”

“I do. But you’ve made good enough sport of the daora at the palace.”

Being talked about like I was nothing more than a new designer lamp made my fingers flex and crave to wrap around their throats and keep squeezing until they both shuddered their last breath.

The King leaned down and took a deep breath from my hair, scenting me like the dog he was treating me as. “What do you think, Cricket? Should we get Rictus to craft us an entire herd of you? Or will you be sport enough for me?”

I glared at him, not even bothering to try to mouth the words boiling in my blood.

“Good girl. Didn’t even try to speak. I think the bitch can be taught.” He laughed long and deep at his own joke, but behind him, the thunderstorm of The Raven’s patience was growing dark and brooding. His grip tightened as he laughed, and he was dragging me between his knees, off the pillow, and in front of him before the laughter petered off. “How long was she with Rictus?”

“I don’t know. Couldn’t have been long. The tongue lock was still settling into place when I bought her. Not long enough for it to seep into the bone but long enough for him to set it.”

“So, less than a few days. His kind never did learn how to set them right, always a little fritzy at the beginning there.” His attention pulled away from The Raven and focused on me wholly.