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“You’re the future King of Rathe.”
His frown is instant, but he gives a curt nod.
“You're the reason I was forced to come here.”
“Forced?” He lifts a dark brow. “Pretty sure it was an invitation.”
“Right. The formality of the illusion of consent.”
Sinner’s lips curl up into the kind of smile someone gives you when you share a secret with that person, but I scowl at him and look back to … Knight.
“If you think I want you here, you’re wrong.” Knight’s face hardens.
“Well, that makes two of us. Anyway... I would give you my name, even though you asked for itso sweetlyyesterday, but I’m going to take a wild guess and say you already know it.”
The fake one I was raised under, I hope...
As if he knew I wanted confirmation, likely assuming it’s some gag-worthy reason a real crown chaser would want—like knowledge the future King knew of her existence—and not because my identity is a complete fucking secret, he says it.
“Your name is London Crow.”
The tension lining my body eases a tad, and I tip my head, no confirming or denying. “How did you know I was Gifted?”
His eyes narrow, and I watch as his brothers flick their gazes his way.
“We’re the Royal Family. We know everything,” he says coolly.
I let my smirk free, because hedidjust call me London. A small, raspy laugh works its way from my throat, and my eyes snap the way the thick vein in his neck throbs harder.
Tossing another treat in my mouth, I take a few steps back, my gaze locked on his. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
I spin in my boots, walking over to the long table. A male gnome appears, grabbing my hand and yanking me around it, letting me go when we reach the seat that was apparently reserved for me. It smells of freshly cut grass and hot baked goods. The table is lined with poppy’s, irises, and platters of colorful foods that make my mouth water. The wall behind us is completely made of glass, overlooking whatever it is that’s appeared, and directly in front of us is an endless meadow of colorful beds of flowers, blooming right before our eyes.
It’s not long before the Deverauxs find their seats at their table, and while I wait until my glass of what the gnome called Faepagne is refilled for the second time, I look up.
My lips part with a gasp.
The Lords of Rathe are but fifteen feet away, all four pairs of blue eyes locked on me.
What’s strange is that while their faces give nothing away, I know the truth behind their masked expressions, and each tells a different story.
Confusion.
Uncertainty.
Hope.
And the strangest one yet...regret.
For what and why, I don’t know.
And honestly?
I don’t fucking care to.
I can’t be Queen of a realm that my father wreaked havoc on. A realm I know virtually nothing about, and as if those two reasons aren’t enough... I don’t want to be.
I want to go home, eat shitty takeout and spend the next three years of my life hating every minute of college but living for every day rooming with my best friend, Ben.
