“He’s very friendly, our king.”
She wasn’t going to get a straight answer about that, so Em filed it away to ask Damian about later. She didn’t trust the Olso king in the slightest. He’d agreed to help her because he wanted to seize control of Lera, but had done nothing to help the Ruined when they were being hunted and executed.
“Damian gave me a note to pass along to you,” Iria said.
“Not now,” she said, even though she desperately wanted to read it. “I don’t want them seeing you give me anything.”
“Fine. Would you stop squeezing my hand like that?” Iria asked. “I’m going to need it later.”
“Sorry,” Em muttered, loosening her grip. Breaking Iria’s hand would make a nice distraction, though. Em could break the hand, dart around Iria, and put her in a chokehold. Em was taller than the warrior, so she had a pretty good chance of being able to maintain the hold.
Em beat down the urge. The warriors were her partners. She didn’t need to kill them to keep herself safe.
“There’s no chance of you doing something stupid like killing the king too early, right?” Iria said, her expression growing serious. “I remember you having a bit of a temper.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Em said. “We shouldn’t talk about this here. Come to my room tomorrow morning. Bring the note. I’ll have Aren come as well.”
“Fine. But if I’m going to be stopping by your room, you’ll need to tell Cas that we got along wonderfully. Tell him we’re instant friends.”
Em rolled her eyes. “What should I say we talked about that made us such fast friends?”
“We were talking about Vallos, and how sad you were to leave.”
“Agreed. And I will say that you mentioned how much you love your home, and you were nervous about how the visit here would go, considering the tense relations between Lera and Olso.”
“I’m not nervous.” Iria had a trail of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and they moved as she wrinkled it.
“Well, now you are. You like me. You’ve decided to confide in me. That’s what I’ll tell him.”
“I don’t actually like you, just so you know.”
“I’m heartbroken,” Em said.
“I do admire this, though,” Iria said, gesturing to Em. “I didn’t think you had it in you, honestly. You seemed a bit whiny when I met you. Sulky.”
The song ended, and Em stepped back and dropped Iria’s hand. The warrior wasn’t wrong, but Em certainly wasn’t going to admit that to her. Three years ago, when they’d met, Em had been bitter about her lack of power and jealous of Olivia’s. “Whiny” was probably putting it nicely.
“Things have changed,” Em said.
Something like sympathy flashed across Iria’s face. “I will keep an ear out for news about Olivia,” she said softly.
“Thank you.” Em turned on her heel. The last thing she wanted was sympathy.
NINE
CAS LOOKED AT Mary curiously as she walked off the dance floor and away from Iria. The warrior was smiling, like Mary had put her at ease. Not an easy feat.
They walked back to his parents and sat next to them for the remainder of the evening. When the king and queen stood to leave, Cas did as well, extending his arm to Mary. She took it as they walked through the room and out the door. The sounds of the party became muffled as the door shut behind them.
His father grinned at Cas and Mary. “Finally time for the wedding night, I presume?”
Cas stiffened as his mother gave her husband a poke in the ribs. The king just chuckled and slapped Cas on the shoulder. He wanted to strangle his father.
Cas glanced at Mary, but her gaze was downcast, her cheeks pink. He had no idea what to say that would make the moment any less awkward, so he said nothing at all as he turned and walked in the direction of her rooms. She followed him silently.
They reached her door and he pushed it open and stepped back, letting her enter first. The skirt of her dress brushed across his legs as she walked past him.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. It was deathly quiet, and the wooden floor creaked as Mary walked across it. She smoothed a hand over the skirt of her dress. Her hands shook, and her chest moved up and down too quickly, like she was on the verge of panicking.
“Would you rather not do this?” he asked softly.
Her eyes met his briefly, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. “I . . .”
He waited, but she didn’t finish the sentence. Her calm composure was crumbling right in front of him. Her hands shook harder, and she swallowed as if she was about to be ill.
“I would never make you do anything you don’t want to,” he finally said. “We’ve only just met each other. I understand if you want to wait.”