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‘You!’ my father snapped, slightly out of breath and looking unusually unkempt with his short dark hair in tangles and streaks of dust and dirt marring the sapphire silk of his shirt. He barely seemed to register my presence at all. Every sliver of his furious attention lay fixed on the six feet of princely magnificence next to me, Creon’s state of half-dress adding fuel to what had already been plenty of fire. ‘You. What in hell did you think …’
He faltered, visibly struggling for words that would evenbeginto convey the depths of his fatherly wrath. I might have felt touched if not for my slumbering annoyance, which seemed to be the main emotion the events of the past night had left in me – exhaustion, triumph, and a deep, almost unnerving eagerness to stamp every tiny nuisance in my life into the ground, risks or consequences be damned.
‘I’m off to go settle a few hundred fae in their new homes,’ Tared said, unfazed. ‘All your remaining limbs are most welcome for lunch in an hour or so.’
He faded without waiting for a response.
Agenor barely seemed to notice, glowering at Creon with narrowed eyes and his gold-flecked, godsworn fingers clenched into fists. Creon must have noticed but merrily pretended not to, smiling his most innocent, most infuriating smile at my father like some snot-nosed little boy determined to get a rise out of the adults in the room.
I met the gaze of the snake around Agenor’s neck. She seemed about as exasperated as I felt, resting her narrow head on his shoulder with an expression that suggested she currently regretted not having been born a constrictor.
Time to intervene before she did, then.
‘Is this some prelude to, say, dowry negotiations?’ I said, breaking the mounting silence with all the insincere lightness I could throw into my voice. ‘Because in that case, I’d like to have it stated for the record that I think I’m worth at least several pieces of cattle. Probably a nice little farm, too. Just for your consideration.’
The corners of Creon’s lips twitched dangerously, ruining that insincere, uncaring air of his in most satisfying ways.
‘Em,’ Agenor said through gritted teeth.
‘What, am I supposed to modestly retreat and leave it to the men to determine my fate?’ I said, rolling my eyes at him. ‘Don’t be a prick.’
He drew in a slow breath, closing his eyes for a fraction of a moment. ‘Creon?’
The gleam in Creon’s eyes as he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms was nothing less than alarming. ‘Yes, old friend?’
‘Oh, go to hell.’ I’d never heard anyone pronounce that curse with so much heartfelt hope that its target may actually obey the command. ‘Could I have a word with my daughter? Inprivate?’
‘Hardly my decision,’ Creon said dryly. ‘Ask your daughter, I’d say.’
Agenor’s fingers twitched ominously near Coral’s leathery red skin. ‘For the bloody gods’ sakes—’
‘Oh, stop it,’ I burst out, flinging up my hands as I glared at the both of them. ‘Do we really need to be so bloody dramatic about this? Agenor, I’m happy to have a word if you can stop pretending I’m some helpless damsel to be rescued. Creon, youdorealise there is no actual need to keep up this bloody act for the rest of eternity, don’t you?’
His grin was just a little remorseful. ‘But he makes it soeasy, Em.’
‘I seem to recall some conversations about needlessly provoking the people supposed to be your allies,’ I said with a scoff. ‘Do I need to remind you, or—’
‘Oh, never mind. You’re probably right.’ He hauled himself upright with a groan, away from the wall, and reluctantly turned to face my father. That unfaltering mask of the swaggering fae prince melted from his face in the same moment, revealing the expressive features I knew so well below – the exhaustion and the wry amusement and something … something that may justbe the faintest hint of nervousness. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, in that case?’
Agenor blinked.
‘Or something stronger?’ Creon added over his shoulder, striding to the wardrobe to pick clean socks from the drawer. Even with the knives at his belt and the inked scars rippling beneath his skin at every flick of his fingers, I’d never seen him look so harmless as in this moment – rummaging through heaps of knitted items to find his favourite pair. ‘I could probably get my hands on Edored’s mead supply, if you’re in need of potentially life-threatening doses of liquor after this morning.’
‘After …’ Agenor’s mouth opened and closed, his brows drawing closer as he looked back and forth between the two of us once, twice. ‘Are you trying to poison me?’
‘For fuck’ssake,’I said.
Creon sent me a quick grin – not that cocky, overconfident grin of the Silent Death, that expression that spoke of nothing but seduction and murder. This smile was duller. Softer. Most of all, more genuine than anything I’d ever seen on his face in my father’s vicinity. ‘I told you it would be easier to just go on as we did before.’
‘You’re all idiots,’ I grumbled, plopping down on the edge of the bed with another frustrated gesture at them both. ‘Agenor, why in the world would he want topoisonyou?’
‘In all fairness—’ Creon started.
‘Don’t make it worse!’ I desperately interrupted, flinging a habitual crackle of red magic at his face. He avoided it just as routinely, laughing out loud. ‘Agenor …’
‘I’m notaccusinghim,’ my father said, looking bewildered. ‘I’m just saying he hasn’t offered anyone a cup of tea in his life, so how am I supposed—’
‘Factually incorrect,’ I cut in, waving that argument away. ‘He did the moment I arrived at the pavilion for the first time, just to name an example. Anything else?’
