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I guess I must’ve gasped out loud, and not just in my head like I thought, because Oliver laughs. “An appropriate response to that hot piece of smolder,” he says. “Just don’t let Braxton hear you do that. He and Killian are not exactly what one would call friendly.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Killian without a mask, and it takes a moment to adjust to the sight. The nose that I once thought of as prominent appears less so when taken in with his other features. Still, his is a strong face. The face of ancient Roman coins, of statues molded under Michelangelo’s hand. There’s a hard, almost brutal quality to the square of his jaw, the thrust of his cheekbones and chin. But his blue eyes are warm and friendly, and his lips are smiling brightly.
“Greetings, old friends.” As his gaze bounces among the gathered crowd, I use the moment to study their varied reactions.
Finn swipes a hand through his straw-colored hair, his shoulder nudging Oliver’s. The two of them exchange a look that’s probably meant to be discreet but falls far short.
Jago just nods. He’s clearly too new to have any idea who Killian is.
Elodie shoots a wary look between the two of us, but surprisingly keeps her lips sealed.
“So, this is the new millennium version of you.” Killian’s gaze drags over me with lazy appreciation, taking a slow, leisurely inventory of my hair, my dress, my bare legs. “I have to say, this century suits you.”
When he drops down beside me, I whisper, “Are you sure you want to sit so close? Last time you saw me, I was pressing a blade to your throat.”
He laughs in a deep-bellied way, throwing his head back and exposing a strong column of neck with a small puncture mark where I pressed my weapon just a little too hard. Then, settling in closer, he says, “I have been known to hold a grudge. But not toward you. Turns out, I’m saving that up for somebody else.”
I sink back against the seat. He sinks back, too, spreading his legs so wide, they take up all his space and a good chunk of mine.
“Another thing that’s happened in your absence,” I say, knocking my knee hard against his. “Manspread has been banned. In fact, the entire patriarchal system has been put on notice. You have a lot of catching up to do.”
In an instant, he corrects himself by crossing one leg over the other, then leans closer to whisper, “Sounds like I missed the revolution. Though I do look forward to you teaching me all about this brave new world I’ve found myself in.” To the room at large, he says, “Tell me, how has everyone been?”
Oliver and Finn merely shrug.
Jago eagerly introduces himself.
As Elodie continues to swing back and forth on her purple wingback throne.
“Okay, so nothing has changed.” Killian pulls a sardonic grin. “Except apparently, or at least according to my new friend Natasha here, some rather restrictive courtship rules have been put into place. Though, not to worry, I have every intention of ridding myself of my barbaric ways so that I may once again mix with polite society. Seeing as how Natasha has volunteered to tutor me, it shouldn’t take long. Least she could do, really, considering how she dragged me back here against my will.”
“Natasha. Draggedyou. Back here?” It’s the first thing Elodie has said since Killian arrived, and there’s an audible bite to the words.
Killian regards her with a cool, measured gaze. “Held a bloody knife to my throat. Well, actually it was a shiv that she crafted from her corset, but still.”
“Pannier,” I correct.
“What?” His eyes squint with amusement.
“Panni—whatever.” I frown and dismiss it with a wave of my hand.
Killian leans his head back against the cushion and studies the enormous crystal chandelier hanging above. “Corset, pannier, fancy lace knickers, still a brilliant bit of genius, I’ll say. Also, scary as hell to be caught on the killing end of that stick.”
He’s adopted a cockney accent now, and I get the feeling that he’s always playing a role or wearing a mask of some sort. This is a guy with so many personas, I wonder if he’s even able to determine the real from the fake.
But then I remember the grim line of his lips, the sharp barb of his tongue, when he named Braxton as the one he suspected of sabotaging his long ago Trip, and I realize that was probably as close to his truth as he’ll ever reveal.
“Funny how you conveniently left out that part when I asked about your Trip.” Elodie anchors a foot on the floor and uses it to swing her chair back and forth, all the while her gaze shooting daggers at me.
“Did she?” Killian regards me through a sleepy, half-lidded gaze. “Well, that’s probably because this one here’s too modest to brag.” He bumps his shoulder playfully against mine. “Not that you would know anything about that, El. You’ve never been known for humility, have you?” When he turns that gaze on Elodie, it takes on an entirely different affect.
I’m pretty sure we all suck in a breath, curious to see how Elodie will respond. Surprisingly, she just rolls her eyes and silently seethes, leaving me to wonder what might’ve happened between them to make her surrender so easily.
“Well, at least we know people can return,” Finn says, eliciting a look of warning from Oliver. “That means there’s still hope for Song. Not to mention Anjou,” he mutters in a much quieter, but still bitter tone.
“Song is missing?” I say, but Jago speaks up at that exact moment, and his voice easily overpowers mine.
