AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"What does that mean?" I laugh.
She gently tugs at a few pieces of hair around my face, freeing them from the tight style I've put them in. Using her thumb and one finger, she smooths the strands with that cream stuff, and they bounce up into perfect waves, framing my face.
"Just means you're going to be quite surprised at how stubborn all those men can be." She smiles.
"And Maren?" I ask. "The witches?"
"I don't know Maren well, but the Eyes are wonderful. They should be running everything, in fact." She winks at me, grinning again.
"You would have one of them on the throne instead of your king?" I ask dramatically.
Her head falls back as she laughs so loudly it startles me before placing a hand on my shoulder. "Kai would too, I assure you. He doesn't want to be king. He just wants to be free, but unfortunately, you can't be powerful and free here. If you have power, you must be feared. That's the only way people will leave you alone."
"I see." I nod, looking at the mirror but seeing nothing, fearing the day that anyone here finds out about my own abilities.
"You look capable and beautiful," Raya beams. "Go grab your shoes, and let's get this mess started."
We reach the meeting room before anyone else, the light gray and muted red, a more welcoming version of the red and black color scheme Kairon is known for. Raya plants herself in a seat, kicking her legs up on the table in front of her. Maren comes in next, bidding us both a hello before sitting in her own seat.
"Raya, get your fucking feet off my table," Kairon orders her as he enters the room, and Raya does as she's told, sitting up properly. Kai nods his head in greeting to me before heading straight to Maren to speak quietly with her about something.
As he does, Prince Tirriel arrives, stopping at my seat to twirl a finger through one free curl and tell me how gorgeous and formidable I look. Raya looks at me from behind him, amusement dancing across her face at the similar, and yet all too contrasting from hers, compliments. When Tirriel leaves to go to his seat, I subtly shake my head, telling her not to say a thing about it. She mimes locking her lips closed and throwing away the key.
Even from across the table, I can sense Kairon's tension. His helm points in Tirriel's direction and follows him all the way to his seat like a predator stalking his next target. The only thing that shakes the king out of his staring contest is Farhan loudly blustering in, complaining about the sounds of the ocean keeping him up all night.
"Next year, we shall do this in my home. It's much quieter there," he tells me, taking the seat just across from me.
"No," Kairon tells him simply, and Farhan closes his mouth, not daring to argue. As soon as everyone notices the king's sour mood, they remain silent. Everyone sits at the table, Kairon at the head of it, commanding attention even among peers.
He says nothing, staring at us and waiting for whoever will speak first. No one does, all impatiently looking at the others, pleading for someone to begin.
"My, my, this is a dour bunch," a voice floats in from a seat across from me.
Smoke appears in the same area, coasting across three seats right next to each other. The smoke thickens, becoming more opaque until the Eyes materialize, each with a matching, mischievous smile.
"Did someone say or do something naughty?" Ovoor quips.
"No," Olath answers.
"Not yet, anyway," Onala adds with a cackle.
"Ooooh," Olath drawls. "Who's it going to be?"
Ovoor taps a long, bony finger on her chin. "Based on past experience, my guess is Tirriel. Onala?"
"I'm not going to ruin the surprise, sisters." She grins, sweeping her hair from her shoulder. "But you're not wrong."
The three burst into laughter, their giggles weaving together to create one haunting yet captivating sound.
"Ladies," Kairon bites. "If you're quite finished."
"We are," Olath answers.
"For now, anyway." Onala grins.
No one else says anything, but Maren's teeth are trapped between her lips to hold back her laughter. While she and the king might be friendly, even she doesn't dare giggle while he's like this. Tirriel and Farhan glance between the king and the witches, seemingly terrified to offend either one by laughing or not laughing.
"Miss Aistin," the king's authoritative voice booms, the sound of it making me equally turned on and furious when I remember exactly why I had to put extra cover-up on my neck this morning.
