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He grins, as if he’s just proven a point.
“Why are you pushing me toward her now? You were suspicious of her motives earlier. According to you, she could be plotting my downfall as we speak.”
Kazimir chuckles. “You and I both know that mortal is no more plotting you harm than your horse is, but please continue to shovel shit at me as you stall. I love it.”
“How did you leave things with her?”
“I told her to go back to her room and shut her mouth if she valued her family’s lives.”
“You have such a way with words,” I drawl. “Seriously, what instructions did you give?”
“I said I would seek her out when it is time. Is it that time? Would you like me to fetch her so you can question her more thoroughly? Or shall we continue this ‘should I or shouldn’t I’ dance?”
“The hour is late.”
“That mortal was consumed by worry. She will be waiting for my call. And if what she says is true, no hour is too late.”
I’m interested to learn what Gracen witnessed, but I’m more interested simply to see her again. “I think it would be wise to hear what she has to say.”
“Yes, a very wise choice indeed.” He pulls himself up and strolls toward the door, as if happy to be given the task.
“And Kaz?”
He spins, still walking, his eyebrow arched in question.
“Don’t be a prick.”
He bows with a flourish. “I will try my best, Your Highn-ass.”
A two-knuckle rap sounds on my door.
“Enter.” From my perch on the settee in my seating area, I watch the door open with a creak and Kazimir stroll in. Behind him, Gracen trails.
She looks like she’s been dragged from bed, her white nightgown veiled by a gray wool cloak she hastily threw over. Her hair is loose, the wild curls flowing around her delicate face.
My pulse speeds up at the sight of her, surprising me. When was the last time I reacted this way to a female rather than to what I was getting from her?
Oh, yes … of course. Princess Romeria, as I escorted her south to Cirilea, and she charmed me for her nefarious purposes. Look how that turned out, I remind myself bitterly.
“As you requested, Your Highness. I will be outside if you need me.” With a dramatic gesture toward Gracen—for my benefit, something he knows I’ll ridicule later—Kazimir strolls back out, pulling the door shut behind him. I don’t have to see his face to know he’s wearing an obnoxious smirk.
Gracen lingers where she stands, her hands wringing, her curious eyes searching all the fineries of my chamber. Even in the shadows of candlelight, the intricate moldings and vaulted ceilings are something to behold, especially compared to the damp staff quarters she calls home.
Suddenly, Kazimir’s joke to put her and her family in the queen’s chamber doesn’t seem so out of the question. I feel the urge to rescue her from that squalor.
But an even more compelling urge to have access to her whenever I wish.
That will subside as soon as my cravings are satisfied.
“Being king has its perks, doesn’t it?” I smile. “You’re welcome to sit.”
She jumps as if startled out of a daze and rushes forward. “Yes, Your Highness.” There is plenty of space beside me on the settee, but she chooses the single wing chair across. My disappointment flares. I could order her to move closer to me and she would comply, but I’d rather she do it of her own volition than be forced.
I see what Kazimir meant when he said Gracen was drenched in worry at the dining hall. Even without my elven traits, I’d be able to read the mortal. I sense it in her rushed, shallow breathing, in the stiff way she moves. She was not like this in the library, earlier today, when I found Saoirse accosting her. Then, she was also riddled with fear, but that melted as we walked through the library in search of her son, her anxiety replaced by an appealing mixture of wonder and ease, coupled with a flush of lust that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all afternoon.
Whatever Gracen discovered, it must have been after I left her, and now she is apprehensive again.
“Your children are asleep?” I ask casually, hoping to ease her nerves.
“Yes, Your Highness.” She sits primly, her hands folded in her lap. Uncomfortable around me, which is the last thing I wish for her.
“Atticus, when we’re alone.” I won’t lie, I’ve enjoyed the title and the reverence these last weeks. Yet, I don’t think I enjoy it on her plump lips. It’s a formal address, and I crave something far more intimate with Gracen.
What is it about this mortal that intrigues me so? She seems so … timid and helpless, two qualities that don’t appeal to me. But there’s a quiet strength as well. She would do anything for her children. I believe she would have dropped to her knees and groveled that day in the assembly, had she felt it would make a difference. And yet earlier, I saw her show hints of defiance in the face of that lowly lord who terrifies her, who likely still haunts her.
