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From the corner of my eye, I watched the pulse jump in Veyka’s throat, her nostrils flare. “I am in mourning.”
“For who? Your father? Your brother?” I pried.
I doubted she’d grant me the knowledge, I hardly knew her and the foremost emotion we’d exchanged was mutual hate. But I was desperate. I wanted to be wrong about her and her motivations.
“My father at least had the honor of dying in his bed. My brother was murdered in cold blood,” she said, her breasts moving up and down faster now.
Such beautiful breasts, barely concealed by the flowy orange fabric of her gown. I wanted to tear it off with my teeth, expose her body and soul so I could see exactly who I was dealing with.
I huffed a mirthless chuckle. “Don’t you think six months is long enough?”
Brutal.
The pain in her eyes, in her mouth, in the breath she dragged in…
When her eyes cut to me, it was easy to see. She hated me as much as I did her.
I had earned my name on the battlefield and now here in the goldstone palace.
“Ask your partner, Lady Guinevere. She ought to understand,” she bit out.
It was cruel, and painfully true, but I only latched onto one word. “Partner?”
Veyka’s sharp laugh was as cold as my own. “Companion, ally, advisor,lover. I do not care what you call her. She seems to have all of the answers.”
Oh, but she did care. The heat in my loins started to burn. “Is that jealousy I sense, Veyka?”
She snorted, her laugh near hysterical now, barely keeping her voice low enough not to be overheard. “I would rather sleep with a pig than with you.”
It might be true. Her eyes were not glowing. They remained a flat cerulean blue, no telltale glimmer of desire. But that was jealousy in her voice, whatever her eyes said.
It should not have pleased me. I hated that it did—revulsion rising in my throat. I was appalled at her lack of duty, her complete selfishness. Yet my cock could not have cared less.
Veyka had apparently had enough of me. She dumped wine into my cup unceremoniously, not caring about how it sloshed over the rim onto her dress, and then turned away. I caught her arm, dragging her back.
Her bare arm was corded with muscle. Soft, yes, like every part of her was soft and inviting. But there was steel beneath. I wanted to battle that steel with my own, to feel her wrapped around every inch of me. I hated her for it and I hated myself.
I yanked her closer, close enough that my lips could have brushed against the delicate pointed shell of her ear. “Sneaking out of the palace with no regard for your own safety… playing cupbearer to your royal council instead of ruling it… you are a shameful waste of the crown that sits upon your head.”
“For once, it seems we agree on something,” Veyka snarled, wrenching her arm free from my grasp.
She strode to the other side of the table, to Roksana, to begin her round of pouring wine once again. If any of the council members had overheard us, they kept their eyes averted and their faces clear—in true elemental fashion.
I took up Veyka’s post against the goldstone wall, the wind of the Effren Valley sweeping in between the open archways to cool my ardor and my temper.
They were saying something about the Split Sea. Unusual weather patterns, unease between the elemental settlements there which might be to blame. I listened with only half an ear.
When the meeting adjourned, Veyka practically ran from the council room.
You can try to run, Princess, the beast inside of me growled.
But I will always find you.
21
ARRAN
“Why are we walking through the halls in the middle of the night?” Gwen grumbled. “Isn’t this the job of those useless Goldstones?”
