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“Where are you going?” I asked as he made to leave the room. He turned, still in his kingly finery, and smiled wickedly as he walked backward toward the doors.
“To work,” he replied, nodding toward the fruit. “You should too.”
I changed into a comfortable, silken robe that the dressmaker had delivered, feeling like comfort trumped fashion if I had to practice this infernal magic. As I sat before the fruit, I realized that I had been so distracted by Scathanna’s attempted seduction, which I had been replaying through my mind obsessively, that I had forgotten to ask about this ball I was supposedly attending. I took great pleasure in withering the fruit repeatedly and imagining each piece as Carnon’s head. Or Scathanna’s.
My power must have been growing, because near the end of the afternoon I revived an apple far too much. The fruit shrank away, and it reverted to a blossom, delicate pink petals fanning out where once juicy flesh had been. I raised my brows, examining the blossom.
“Interesting,” I mumbled, almost immediately cursing myself for sounding like Carnon. I stuck the blossom behind my ear, and tried not to turn any more fruit back to blossoms or seeds.
By the time the sun began to set and the stars had emerged over the snow-capped mountains, I was exhausted, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to draw on the magic.
“What is that thing you are wearing?” Carnon purred from behind me as he emerged onto the balcony. He had taken off his formal jacket and rolled up his sleeves, unbuttoning the shirt near his throat so that the tattoo with the upturned crescent moon poked out.
I flushed and crossed my arms over my chest protectively as he sat at the little metal table across from me, stretching out his long legs before him.
“I like this alot, just so you know,” he said, gesturing to the robe, which I belatedly realized was somewhat sheer. He gazed impertinently, and I closed the robe more firmly.
“Bastard,” I said, throwing a withered orange at his head, which he neatly caught and revived, peeling the skin by puncturing it with a canine and popping a slice in his mouth with a grin.
“I think you may have outgrown fruit,” he said, leaning forward and flicking the blossom I had tucked behind my ear. “I’ll have to think of more challenging tasks for our next training session.”
“How will I bear the excitement?” I said flatly, rolling my eyes.
Carnon chuckled, and I took a sobering breath. “Any news of Mama?”
He shook his head, smile fading as he sat back. “No,” he said, sounding just as tired as I felt. “If Artemis doesn’t return in a few days, I’ll send Akela after her. But it’s still early.”
“Early for us,” I said darkly, thinking of the last image I had seen of Mama, looking cold and hurt and alone in a dank room. “She’s been trapped by my grandmother for weeks now.”
“I’ll find her, Red,” Carnon said a little irritably. I looked up and met his eyes, and his gaze softened. “I swear it.”
I nodded, searching for an emotion to mask the tears that threatened to prick my eyes. I settled on anger. “Let’s talk about this ball you lied about,” I said, trying to hide my cracking voice with fury. “Yet another lie that almost blew my cover.”
Carnon sighed, stretching his arms above his head until his elbows cracked. “I was going to tell you,” he said. “But I got sort of distracted by the unexpected arrival of the Lords. It’s traditional for there to be a ball commemorating the King’s…” he hesitated. “Engagement.”
“Why did you hesitate?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him and trying to figure out what he wasn’t telling me.
“Several reasons,” he replied, “one of which is the fact that you insist we are not really engaged.”
“We are not,” I confirmed, injecting my tone with a scoff. He raised a brow, giving the black ring on his finger a twist. I hadn’t asked what it meant, and now didn’t feel like a time for that question.
“We’ll see,” he replied. “It will be onerous, but relatively safe. Just stay close to me and you’ll be fine.”
“And this dinner tonight?” I asked, raising my brows at him. “Will I be dressed in nothing again?”
He laughed, and the idiotic part of me that cared for him reveled in the sound. “Only if you want, Red,” he said. “But I’d prefer you not convince Tyr that you are indeed game for a threesome.”
I blushed, wrapping my arms a little more tightly around myself. “Is that what he was suggesting?” I hissed, dropping my voice to a whisper as if we had an audience. “How would you—where would—-“
Carnon burst out laughing again at my embarrassed confusion, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“You might like it, you know,” he purred. “Two males worshiping you with tongues and fingers and co—”
“No, thank you,” I snapped, cutting him off as heat suffused me at the suggestion. Maybe I was still a repressed witchling, but that sounded like too many…variables to be worried about. He chuckled again, sitting back in his chair.
“Then wear whatever you like, Red,” he said, rising and unbuttoning his shirt. The tattoos stood out dark on his golden chest, and I wondered again what they meant.
Something about seeing his bare chest in the moonlight, and the tattoos winding their way down his body, made my chest tighten and heat pool low in my core. My memory of Scathanna’s proprietary hand on him and their shared history made something reckless in me decide to push him. To punish him for all the lies. To make him suffer a little.
