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Fleur is still standing by the pantry.
I tap the chair where I put my jacket. “Have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Childish petulance won’t help our adult conversation.”
“Maybe you should spank me and see if I’ll behave better.”
“I will!” I shout.
Fleur’s eyes widen.
Shocked I’d lost my composure, I clear my throat. “Please have a seat so that I can explain.”
Fleur huffs and walks to the chair. Before sitting down, she snatches up my jacket and hangs it on the coat hanger by the entrance.
I smile. She’s figured out that I use my jacket to mark my territory. I want her near me or my belongings so that when males approach her, they’ll be reminded that I’m interested in the princess.
She sits at the island, her back to the door, which tells me she trusts I’ll watch the door and defend her from whatever intrudes upon our space. It’s an intuitive move on her part, one a calculating soldier such as myself notices.
Near her is a basket of the fresh-picked vegetables the lycan boats delivered. Near it are the glasslashieating sticks that the staff were polishing.
The princess pulls up her hair and creates a messy bun at the top of her head, securing it with a pair oflashi. Her long, slender neck is exposed, and since she’s excited, her arteries throb, begging me to bite.
My gums become inflamed.
Nobody uses the power of seduction the way she does. Nobody. If she even senses I’m responding to her body, she’ll use it to get me to do whatever she wants whether she’s conscious of using it or not. And I must keep my wits about me.
The challenge she presents excites me.
I grab a skillet and weigh it in my hand. “Katshi over there”—I nod in the direction of the chef—“never lets anyone who doesn’t belong in the kitchen inside the space.”
I glance at her and read the subtle leaning of her body toward me. She wants to listen. Despite everything, she’s curious. Always curious, my siren.
“The magic downstairs doesn’t allow visitors either. It should’ve warded you off. I’m puzzled why you were allowed inside.”
“I’m special,” she says in an even tone, telling me she doesn’t believe it.
“No doubt.”
“It was a joke,” she clarifies.
I shrug. “It is a fact. You are a siren with magic as powerful as Br’ar’s tho, I presume, during your lifetime, people have clipped your tail in a manner of speaking. Having a siren in line for the throne threatens the fae.”
“I’m not a siren.”
“You are.”
“Fine. But who are you?”
“I was one of the hunters in our fairy tribe.” I place the skillet on the stove and check the firewood, making sure I add logs before drizzling oil into the pan.
“One morning, during a particularly harsh winter, our hunting party ventured farther than usual to look for food, and I came across what I thought was a large bear. I chased the bear for the entire span and finally, near nighttime, threw my spear as he was on the run. Miraculously, I speared him through the heart. When I rushed to retrieve my kill, I flipped him over and realized it wasn’t a bear. It was a fae male wearing bear fur.”
I watch Fleur for a reaction, and her wide blue eyes practically beg me to continue.
“How do you like your eggs?” I ask.
