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He nods, giving me a once-over. He hates this costume I wear and fears it as much as the rest of them—as he should, I suppose. I've considered killing him, adding his blood to the collection this cloak has amassed over the years, no less than twice already today. Without another word, he disappears from view before I can consider it again.
Elva finally exits her room, and I watch every step through the eyes of the guards protecting her. She eyes them warily, unnerved by the way they move in perfect synchronization. She knows that there's something decidedly wrong about them, but she hasn't accepted what her instincts already see. Almost nothing in this castle is as alive as it seems.
I consider letting her meet the King of Fastid alone, but that's too cruel even for me.
Swiftly, I leave the comfort of my library behind, stalking through the haunted halls until I reach the main entryway. Farhan spots me, a tense, forced smile overtaking his red face.
"Your Majesty!" he booms, bumbling towards me and holding out a hand to shake.
"Colm," I greet, denying his hand and staring down at him.
He clears his throat, stowing his hand in a pocket. "Your home is as beautiful as always. Thank you for hosting us." His traveling clothes are always opulent, the type better left to grand dinners and galas. A soft undershirt of purple, pants, and a jacket dyed the brightest, most hideous green. Everything is so pristinely pressed that he must have changed into them just before arriving, ever the performer.
"Of course." Nothing in this world could convince me to travel to another country, so, of course, I'm hosting. The added benefit of every guard and servant being an extra pair of ears is simply a coincidence.
"And everyone else? The girl from Rhyma?" His tone is light and casual, but nothing can hide the snake-like twist of his lips in a smile.
"I'm sure she'll be down any moment," I tell him, watching as she turns the wrong way, only to be corrected by a guard.
His brows pinch in confusion for the smallest of seconds, so quick I almost miss it before it smooths, replaced by his jovial grin once more. "How lovely that Rhyma finally decided to grace us with one of their own. I myself have grown tired of their self-important ways."
I offer a non-committal mmm, not willing to partake in this particular conversation with him.
When Elva turns the corner at the top of the stairs, her eyes meet mine, and she freezes. Even from here, I can see the rapid, large intakes of breath that rack her frame. She doesn't even see the balding, atrociously dressed man beside me. She sees nothing but the monster she's learned for years to fear. Her pretty pink lips are parted, that bottom lip so pouty as her jaw falls, and I long to bite it until I can taste her blood.
I'm lost in her once again until fucking Colm ruins the moment. "Ah, you must be Elva."
"Miss Aistin," I correct him, hating the way her name sounds on his tongue.
"Right. Of course." He barely glances at me, but the threat of addressing her improperly lands all the same. "Miss Aistin. I wasn't sure you'd be joining us."
Finally, she breaks her stare, looking at him for the first time. She narrows her eyes almost imperceptibly. Her voice remains calm and cold, ever the queen in her own right. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well," he chortles. "We weren't sure if Rhyma would ever be willing to send one of their own down here to join the rest of us in these meetings."
If it's a surprise to her that we do this regularly, she doesn't show it. She laughs, a frilly, false sound to put Colm at ease. "Well, here I am. Hopefully, things between us all can go smoother than they have in recent years."
"I'm sure they will," I comment. I'm quite sure that they won't, but Elva needs this to go well, and I need Farhan to stop fucking looking at her like that. "Shall we? My staff have been working all morning to prepare drinks and the like in the great hall."
Elva reaches the bottom step, only inches from me, unable to look away from me. I feel much the same, watching her in colors that complement mine so well. A waterfall of deep red cascades down her front, dotted with scarlet beads accentuating her magnificent breasts. What I don't see, however, are the gloves Raya provided for her.
With no hesitation at all, she reaches to shake Colm's hand. Fire fills my chest. This pompous fuck has been here two seconds and gets to feel her soft skin?
She looks up at me for the briefest moment, a challenge written across her face, before directing all her attention back at the man before me.
"How were your travels?" she asks him, beaming under his gaze and looking up at him like he is the most interesting man in the world.
Ignoring my existence completely, he tucks her arm into the crook of his elbow, guiding her toward the great hall. I'm frozen in place, watching them walk away. Watching her give him precisely what he wants. To be the center of attention at any given moment. He's going to eat her alive, and I have to somehow stop it.
"Hello, little king," an ethereal, haunting voice sounds behind me. Fuck.
"Onala," I greet, unwilling to look at her quite yet.
"How are things?" another voice asks, sharp like nails on a chalkboard.
"Yes, how is our little Miss Elva?" the third, most familiar voice adds with a thinly veiled humor.
"Olath, Ovoor. All is well, thank you." I try— and fail, to lose the grinding of my jaw. "I hope your travels were easy."
