My free hand slides toward the knife beneath my dress. “Just as I’m sure His Majesty will be interested to hear his faithful cousin is a traitor against the crown.”
Fear slips through his face so fast, I almost don’t catch it. Then he cocks a handsome smile and leans closer. “Looksss like we each have our little secrets. But if you tell mine, it’s not yourself you’ll have to worry about. I’ll cut Eogan’s throat and watch him beg as he bleeds out. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know all about your trainer.” He squeezes down on my memorial scars, and it triggers an image of blood on the barn floor with that patch of orange hair stuck to it.
I let out a cry. And feel the surge within.
“You know I’ve always found the weaker sex to be flaring with insecurities,” a different low voice says.
Lord Myles turns, exposing Eogan to my view. Up close the gray suit brings out a feral warning in his green eyes, and his hair’s as messy as ever.
Myles hesitates, then straightens and laughs, keeping his hand on my arm. “That they are. Which makes them so unstable, eh, Eogan? Thisss one and I were just having a little chat about that.”
The rhythm in my veins is starting to build. Strumming with the music. Louder.
Eogan steps closer and places his hand on my neck and my pulse instantly calms. “I wasn’t speaking of her, Myles.” He blinks politely. Charming.
The man’s gaze narrows. “How rare to see you at these parties, Eogan. One can’t help but wonder what bringsss you?”
“Nothing more intriguing than seeing you squirm, I assure you.”
The lord protectorate’s face goes black. He grazes my ear with cool lips. “Remember what I said or he’ll be dead before you can conjure a raindrop. And believe me, I’ll enjoy watching him finally bleed. Excuse me,” he says louder, and, releasing me, pretends to flick a fly from his black suit. Then without glancing back, he walks away at a brisk pace to blend in with the party guests.
“An unfortunate person. I take it you’ve met before?”
“Last night at the common house,” I whisper.
“Hmm.”
And it’s all he has to say. I scan the room to avoid his eyes. The nobles are drinking. The couples are dancing. The frog-lady-dressed-as-a-male-peacock is flirting with the king.
“He saw me almost lose control last night,” I finally admit.
“I’ll bet he did.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound angry.
“Did Colin tell you?”
“The look on your face this morning did. Why do you think I yelled so much? I figured something happened.”
“You’re not furious?”
“I’m debating it.”
The way he says it almost makes me smile.
“He said he kills Elementals for the king.”
“It’s one facet of his position, although I doubt he’s done so more than once. His predecessors saw fit to purge Faelen to the point of extinction. But trust me”—his voice hurries on—“Myles is more interested in seeing what you can do rather than getting rid of you. Especially if you controlled your power last night.”
Something in his tone draws me back to his gaze, which is studying mine. “How’d you manage to stop it?” His voice is a spark of starlight. Curious.
Umm.
Well . . . I thought of you.
And your eyes. And your warmth. And your fingers on my skin.
“I . . . I just did,” I say as stupid heat hurls itself at my face. I clear my throat and wonder why the air in the room suddenly feels so thin. “What are you doing here anyway? You hate people.”
“True. But clearly someone has to keep an eye on you. Because, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve witnessed two male toads get under your skin within five minutes. But you didn’t answer my question as to how you did it.”
I open my mouth and the stupid heat hurls itself even hotter, like summer petals bursting over my cheeks, my neck, my barely covered chest. I swallow and move my gaze down his perfectly cut, gray-vested suit that smells of honey and pine and effortlessness.
I need to get out of here.
He steps closer and chuckles. “That bad, eh? Must’ve been quite something to make you blush like a berry.”
I shake my head. “You’re such a blasted bolcrane,” I sputter.
“That I am,” he whispers. And his eyes are no longer just on me but on all of me. Taking in my height, my low-cut gown, my nervous fingers that don’t know what to do with themselves so they keep feeling the dagger beneath my dress. Something shifts in his expression. He takes my hand and subdues my flitting fingers—his laugh almost inaudible. “Did you seriously bring a knife under there?”
“Maybe. No. Yes. If I say yes, are you going to take it away?”
“Depends who you plan to use it on. That pontiff guy, for instance, please tell me you’ll aim straight for his, uh . . .”