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“Your room is only missing a Rath Boned original by Anya,” Neeka added. “You should stage your favorite over the mantel.”
Noticed his gallery, had she? “I hung them to remind myself to kill Anya as soon as my schedule clears.”
Neeka snorted. “Lie! You love them.”
Fine. She wasn’t wrong. He’d felt indignant at first, but whenever he’d looked deeper, he’d encountered amusement. Maybe even satisfaction. He was a wee bit vain—a trait he took great pride in—but beautiful artwork was beautiful artwork. Ultimately, he’d decided to save the collection for Lore’s enjoyment, too.
“Doyouhave a favorite?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. The one of you riding a circus bear with curling pink ribbons streaming from your hair. As well as all the others. Plus the one Anya hasn’t painted yet. Oh, Rathbone. Wait till you see it!”
The way she seemed to melt over the idea...
He growled.
“Hold up. Stop everything.” Neeka rubbed her temple. “My instinct is flaring.”
Was she having a vision? He went still.
A cunning gleam glistened in her gorgeous amber eyes. “I’m supposed to move in here, and you’re supposed to move out. Yep. That’s what my instinct is demanding, I’m sure of it.” She winced at him. “Sorry, Majesty, but you’ll have to bunk somewhere else for a while.”
Hardly. “Stay in here if you wish, but I won’t be budging.”
“Excellent idea. We’ll stick together like glue and talk more about my unparalleled matchmaking. Are you game to hear about your brand-new love interest?”
His irritation returned with thorns. “I have a queen.” And multiple side pieces. “I have no need for another.” Except, maybe, one. He was still debating the wisdom of the idea.
“Wrong.” Neeka jumped on his bed, uncaring about the filth she deposited on his sheets. “You lost your queen. Until you revive her, you’re single and ready to tingle.”
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
“Why do you think she’s yours, anyway?” the oracle asked, curious.
His hackles flared. “Because she is,” he snapped. How he detested this topic. A sore spot for centuries. “I know because I know, and that’s good enough.” Unlike the Astra Planeta, who called their fated ones ‘gravitas,’ he didn’t produce stardust. A phenomenon he envied. He didn’t inject a claiming venom with his bite, like vampires, either, or imprint in the manner of shifters.
“News flash. Truth is truth, regardless of your opinion.”
He worked his jaw, unable to refute her words.
“I’ll be brutally honestish with you, Red Herring. I’ve got to connect with your love story to score another vision. To get the ball rolling, let me see you in action with someone else. Nope, don’t say no. Check it. I’m setting you up with a nice living lady. A nymph who’s a real showstopper with a never-ending party in her pants and a ninety-seven percent chance of restarting your dead libido.”
Dead libi—”Get naked, and I’ll show you how alive my libido is,” he roared. “I keep the concubines in my stable well satisfied.”
Her brows furrowed. “What, are you a big, bad slab of man meat who’s gotta be dipped in special sauce on the regular or you shrivel up?”
Rather than stomp over and yank her into his arms, he flashed to the chamber used to store garments for every occasion, collected a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of sweatpants, then returned to the oracle.
“Shower and wear these,” he said as soon as her gaze landed on him. “Consider them your official uniform.”
When she continued to stare at him with expectation, disregarding his commands, he dropped the clothes at the foot of the bed, clasped her hips, and lifted her from the mattress. The second the softness of her skin registered, an image played inside his head. Neeka, naked. Rathbone, kissing his way up her spread legs.
A harsher growl brewed in his chest.
As he set her on her feet, she dropped the notepad and pen, and cupped his shoulders for balance. “Neeka,” he snapped. “Speak.”
“I think I misread your lips.” Glittering amber eyes framed by spiky black lashes watched him with earnest entreaty. “I’m certain you didn’t tell me you maintain a stable full of concubines.”
“Would you prefer I call them lovers?” he asked, and yes, there might’ve been a tinge of defensiveness in his tone. He released her and stepped back. “Or paramours, perhaps?”
