I smother a laugh. I’m glad Bellanca is here. Carver doesn’t seem to react to much of anything besides her anymore.
When everyone is mounted and ready to go, Griffin gravitates naturally to my side. Panotii and Brown Horse lead the procession out of the castle and through the crowded, colorful streets of Sinta City. Bellanca, Ianthe, Nerissa, and Anatole follow us, trailed by a good portion of Griffin’s Sintan army. Beta Team accompanies the soldiers, a large unit under each of their commands.
I wave to the cheering crowd almost as often as Griffin does. The people of Sinta City love us. Griffin because he’s theirs. Me because I chose them.
But the attention is still something I can’t get used to, don’t really want, and am not sure I truly deserve. Relief feeds my lungs like fresh air when our slow parade finally exits the city and winds its way toward the sloping olive groves. Unfortunately, the respite is short-lived.
Griffin leans his dark head toward mine. “Next stop—Lycheron.”
My shoulders slump, and I whine like a baby. “Do we have to?”
He chuckles. “At least there are no Ice Plains to cross this time.”
No. Only half of Sinta. We’d wanted to confront Lycheron looking our strongest, with our soldiers behind us, so luck had been on our side when we didn’t see the disturbingly virile Ipotane Alpha on our way to collect the army. A group of the warrior creature’s sentries and their Nymphs—I’m still not sure how that works—stopped us instead. We asked them to find Lycheron so that we could speak to him on our way back.
“Do you really think you can get him to switch to guarding the border between Tarva and Fisa without making you go through a whole new challenge?” I ask. Lycheron will only bargain male Alpha to male Alpha. The first challenge involved riddles, forfeits, and Artemis—all of which I could do without.
“I can try.” Griffin’s gray eyes glitter from beneath his dark lashes as he turns to me, the mix of humor and determination in them making my breath catch. Man. Warlord. Husband. King. I love every part of him.
“I’m going to stitch that onto a banner for you,” I tell him. “I’ll turn it into your official motto.”
The corners of his mouth kick up, and his expression brightens with surprise. “You can sew?”
“Nope.” I grin. “But I can try.”
*
Lycheron. Good Gods. He’s still as potent as a creature can get. Half horse. Half man. And the man half is…
I’d swallow, but my mouth has gone dry.
…something to look at.
Frankly, the horse half isn’t bad, either. Sleek. Black. Muscled. Huge. Everything—huge.
We’re midway between Sinta City and Tarva City, meeting in the grasslands before they gradually turn into the hills and forests of the north. Beta Team flanks us with the army. Griffin’s parents remain with Carver, hanging back with the troops, but Bellanca stays close to us, as does Ianthe. The Ipotane make our horses nervous, so we dismount and approach on foot. After squeezing my hand, Griffin steps a little in front of us, knowing that Lycheron will only negotiate with him.
Next to me, Ianthe stares in utter fascination at the Ipotane Alpha. What worries me, though, is how Lycheron is staring back. His focus is only partially on Griffin. His equine ears twitch, and his massive man-shoulders keep angling our way, as if he can’t help leaning toward Ianthe. He sniffed me on the Ice Plains, like he was drawing in my essence and my magic, like he was tasting and learning them. Now he’s sniffing my sister—repeatedly—and his tawny eyes turn hooded. Muscles quiver down his long horse back, and Ianthe’s lips part on a softly shuddered breath. Her color rises.
The Ipotane Alpha watches her, his eyes focused and fierce, and something in the pit of my stomach starts to feel all wrong. Not because Lycheron is a magical creature. He’s wholly male, and even I have a hard time not staring at his chiseled chest, sculpted arms, and decadently handsome face. It’s because I feel the tension snapping between them—both of them—and the awful churning inside me springs from thinking I know exactly what the Ipotane will demand in return for his continued help.
Lycheron reluctantly shifts his attention to Griffin again. He tosses his head, sending ebony hair rippling down his back. “Our agreement was to guard your insignificant border for no longer than six months. If you don’t need us here any longer, we’ll return to the Ice Plains.”
“I still want you to guard my border for the time remaining,” Griffin says. “But as I’ve just explained, my border has moved a week’s ride to the east.”
Lycheron scoffs. “A week for you. For me, three days at the most.”
My jaw nearly comes unhinged. The Ipotane can cross all of Tarva in just three days?
“Three days, then,” Griffin says. “It’s still my border. The deal should stand.”
“It shouldn’t. And it doesn’t. You specified the border between Sinta and Tarva. Here I am. If this border no longer exists, I have no reason to guard it. And I certainly have no cause or reason to patrol the border with Fisa.”
“You’re reneging on our agreement,” Griffin says, seething.
Lycheron stamps a hoof hard against the ground. “Our deal involved Sinta and Tarva. By your own decree, those two realms no longer exist. It’s just Thalyria, no border, free movement, and my herd is trooping up and down the middle of it.”
“I still have a border that needs guarding,” Griffin grates out.
“Then you should have worded the deal differently.” Lycheron’s tone is cool, flat, and final. I can tell he’s not done, though. He’s too interested in Ianthe for that.
Griffin’s nostrils flare on a calming breath. He needs more than one. “Then I offer you a new challenge.”
Lycheron’s honey-brown eyes gleam with genuine interest, but then his expression hardens again, and he visibly squashes the temptation. “No. I’ve seen how the Gods favor you. It’s vexing, to say the least.”
Bollocks. I thought the Ipotane couldn’t resist a challenge. Apparently they can—when they think they won’t win.
“We won’t call a God,” Griffin says quickly. “Especially not here.”
Lycheron shakes his head. “They’re always watching you two.”
Always? Ack! I hope not.
“Offer me something else,” Lycheron says, looking straight at Ianthe.
No. No. No!
“I have nothing to give that you’d want.” Steel edges every word of Griffin’s answer.
“I want her.” Lycheron nods in our direction.
Griffin lunges for me, grabs my arm, and then shoves me behind him. From his angle, he must not have realized who Lycheron was really staring at.
“Not me,” I squeak, clutching the back of his tunic.
Griffin twists around, his eyebrows slamming down. “What do you mean, not you?” From the completely baffled look on his also livid face, I think he can’t conceive of Lycheron wanting someone other than me.
I tilt my head to the side, grinding out, “It’s Ianthe he wants.”