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“He’s your father.”
“Yes and he’s responsible for countless problems and now deaths. If this will prevent more innocent monsters from dying, then so be it.”
“I did not expect this conversation to take a turn to patricide. This conversation is treasonous, right? Maybe we pause on that thought for now. I’m not about to become the next Anne Boleyn.”
“Who?”
I wave my hand. “Never mind. I’m hungry, are you hungry?”
“You really want to stay? I basically offered you up to become the next queen without even asking you if that’s what you wanted.”
“Your concern is sweet, but becoming a queen is the least of my concerns.” My stomach grumbles. “The immediate threat is my hunger and the resulting anger. We can figure out the ruling the world bit later.”
* * *
The food Orcusordered is delicious, and I sigh and relax back into the soft cushions of the oversized chair. There’s nothing quite like the comfort of sitting with Orcus and enjoying a good meal. He rubs my back with one hand and reaches for the final plate, lifting the silver cover and revealing a large piece of chocolate cake with chocolate filling, frosting, and shavings.
“Dessert just for you, sunshine.”
My breath catches. “You remembered?”
“Well, I’ve already scratched your back.” He slides the plate toward me and grabs a scoop with a fork. “First taste goes to the lady.”
“If you’re trying to make me forget about being mad at you for putting yourself in danger, it’s maybe working.” Leaning forward, I take the bite of cake. Rich and fluffy and oh so decadent. Oh he’s good. I hum in approval and we share the dessert with goofy grins.
Orcus keeps sneaking glances in my direction as he eats. His eyes slip over me again and I laugh.
“What are you thinking, grumpy?”
“That there’s no one else I’d want by my side as I take the throne.” He reaches toward me and brushes his thumb at the corner of my mouth and I melt into the touch, that is until he pulls back and shows me the bit of cake he’s cleaned off my face. “Ladies are intriguing.”
“Yes, well, we do try. I was saving that for later.” I grin and grab his hand, licking the frosting off his thumb.
He watches my tongue lap at his skin and desire flits down the bond, hot and throbbing, followed by a sudden rush of concern. “Wait. How’s the sarcasm?”
I chortle—like a right proper lady—and then cover my mouth as I fall apart in a fit of laughter.
“Avery is a great doctor. Zyla can probably get some more potion if we need it. I should have already asked them, but I’d forgotten about it until now.”
“I’m fine,” I say around a laugh. “The sarcasm is well in hand.”
“So you don’t need a doctor?”
I shake my head. Time to fess up. “I was teasing you when I said it was an illness. Sarcasm is a horrible human trait, but it’s not deadly. Well, some might actually say it is. That’s beside the point. I’m fine. I’m not sick. I will probably still be sarcastic, but I’ll try not to be.”
“I don’t want you to change.”
“I swear you were written by a woman,” I mutter. “What do we do now?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Whatever we want.”
“Such responsibility.” Shit. Sarcasm. “Uh, I mean… is that an en suite bathroom? Is there a bath?”
He nods. “The stone castle was built around dozens of hot springs.”
“That sounds divine.” I’m filthy from the journey and there are still flakes of blood where the gash in his head was. I stand and hold my hand out to him. “Come along, mate.”
“Please.”
