“When one doesn’t know if one will receive another edible meal, one eats more.” She took a large bite, chewing with exaggeration.
He just stopped his lips from curling. He liked this boldness in her. Yet it differed from Kari’s. The princess’s had come from the absolute belief in her own superiority. Calliope simply got so mad she grew heedless of consequences, her temper truly demonic.
Which appealed. He wanted to kiss her when her eyes went teal with fury.
She said, “You seem to be drinking more than eating.”
He raised his cup. “Sylvan fare is not my preference.” In Demonish, he murmured, “Though I hunger for a certain fey’s honey upon my tongue.”
Had she blushed again? Surely she couldn’t understand his language. He’d never met a Sylvan who spoke the “cant of slaves.” She must’ve reacted to the tone of his voice.
Dessert proved to be an agony. She would dip a strawberry in cream, then subtly suck the cream off the tip.
Gods almighty. She would be dining at his table every night.
In a throaty voice, she said, “Has anything ever tasted so good?”
He slanted her a look. “Your lips, I’d wager.”
She cast him a sassy grin. “A fool’s bet, because you will never know.”
Challenge accepted, firebrand.
Between bites, she said, “Thank you again for this food. Not that you gave it to me out of kindness. I know you have some agenda.”
“Hmm. What do you think it could be?”
Her brows drew together. Whatever thoughts whirred behind those spellbinding eyes killed her appetite. She pushed her plate away.
Curiosity hammered him.
Her gaze grew distant, and all of a sudden he felt as if he were sixteen again, strangling inside to know her mind was elsewhere—to know she didn’t find him interesting enough to stay engaged with him.
He’d solved mysteries of the godsdamned universe, but her mind was forever unknown to him.
Magic cleared the dishes and refilled her cup. “I don’t have to ask if you’ve enjoyed yourself,” he said to reclaim her attention.
Facing him again, she said, “The wine and food were excellent.”
But not the company? “We’re not without comforts in hell. Still, you must despise it here.”
She shrugged her pale shoulders. “The atmosphere is improving, so that’s a plus.”
“Because the ash is settling?”
“It’s more than that. I don’t know how to explain it. I got a sense of misery and ruin. Death. Now that sense has lifted.”
Because of changes within me?
“How long have you been king of this realm?”
“A new position. Goürlav, my brother, died recently.”
“Were you close?”
“We were at one time.” The worse Goürlav’s appearance had become, the more he’d closed himself off—despite Sian’s efforts over the ages. “He and I were fraternal twins.”
“I don’t see how he could die. Was he as strong as you?”
“Stronger.” Goürlav had become known as the Father of Terrors—because eventually his very blood began to spawn monsters. Will mine? “He lost a death match to a powerful vampire.” Sian had considered vengeance, but the fight had been fair.
“Why would he enter one?”
Goürlav had led Sian to believe that he’d neither wanted nor needed friendship, creating his own solitary lands. After giving up the search for the hellfire, he’d abandoned Pandemonia, leaving the realm running as if it were a clockwork factory. Yet apparently he’d been lonely enough to seek a companion. “He intended to win the hand of a young sorceress, one who’d volunteered to wed the victor.” Regardless of who—or what—prevailed.
Sian shook his head at the absurdity. He felt huge and ungainly next to Calliope’s small perfection; what in the hells had Goürlav been thinking?
Loneliness must have driven him into that death-match ring. My twin died because he was hideous—yet still yearning.
Sian’s gaze took in Calliope’s fine-boned face. My fate as well?
At the end of Goürlav’s life, few would have looked at his gruesome appearance and believed he’d once been a gentle soul with a dream of peace and commerce.
The bloody betterment of all elven-and demonkind!
Changing the subject, Sian said, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me anything about the M?ri?r. If you hail from Sylvan, you must have heard much about my alliance.”
“From my earliest memories. You’re the bogeymen that bring about the end of the worlds. Fey children have nightmares about the savage hell demon, the fire-breathing dragon, the bloodthirsty vampire, and more. Especially the fey-slayer.”
“Did you have nightmares as a child?”
“You think they ended just because I grew up? Now my nightmares have come true. I’ve been captured by the hell demon and imprisoned in his lair.”
“I haven’t wet my ax with a Sylvan’s blood in millennia. And our archer doesn’t slay your kind indiscriminately. He only kills the royals from Queen Magh’s line.”
“Why?”
“He vowed to stamp out her descendants. Saetth is Magh’s son, and the rest of his kin are like him—evil and vicious. The whole tainted root needs to be destroyed. The worlds will be a much better place without those degenerates.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m to believe Rune only kills royal fey? And only those guilty of viciousness? Is he so infallible as judge, jury, and executioner?”
“Yes, you’re to believe that. There’s little about the fey that he doesn’t know.”
“I read in the Book of Lore that you and your alliance fought the ice demonarchy recently, laying waste to their whole army. Is that true?”
“No. Only four out of our alliance actually fought them.” Allixta had twiddled her thumbs with boredom, her magic unneeded in that conflict.