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“She asked me if witches are real.”
“Well?” I say, trying not to laugh. “Are they?”
“I can’t believe her father works for the Malina. If he’s anything like Perry, I’d expect Marko Moroz to barbecue his kidneys out of pure annoyance.”
“He isn’t like Perry,” I assure Rakel. “I met him once in Monaco. He’s more likemyfather. And Perry’s mom was a famous equestrienne.”
“That explains a lot.” Rakel nods. “Perry has major horse-girl energy.”
Since Rakel is descended from Vikings, I’m sure pursuits short of pillaging seem rather tame to her.
Rakel’s parents run an underground gambling ring in Reykjavik. Once Rakel graduates, she hopes to expand their operations to include online poker and sports betting.
“We’ll need the money,” she tells me. “My older brother Gunnar thinks he’s the emperor of Iceland and he spends like it, too. He’s crashed three cars this year.”
“Maybe the next one will kill him,” I joke, already knowing how much Rakel loathes him.
“We can only hope,” she sighs.
I have to part ways with her to hurry up to the dining hall so Dean doesn’t give me shit. I just know he’s getting bored with the relatively minor torments of making me his Sherpa and busboy. He’ll be looking for a reason to punish me.
Indeed, his eyes lock on mine the second I step through the doorway. He snaps his fingers and points at the empty chair he’s saved at his side.
I haven’t even had a chance to get my food yet.
I stomp over to him, sitting down, but immediately saying, “I have to get my lunch.”
“No,” Dean says coldly, “You have to get here on time if you want to eat.”
“I’mstarving,”I hiss.
“Not as hungry as you’re going to be if you keep whining.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means I’ll tie you up in the ice house and leave you there for a week if you annoy me.”
I want to scream with frustration. I am so fucking sick of Dean’s petty tyranny.
Not to mention, his chicken and peas smell delicious. Almost all the food we eat at Kingmakers comes from the greenhouses or the farms on the island. It’s always fresh and expertly prepared by the kitchen staff.
Dean has two rolls on his plate. I reach out to take one. He slaps the back of my hand, quicker than I can blink.
“I’m hungry!” I complain even louder.
“I’ve got something you can swallow,” Valon sneers.
I start to retort, but Dean is too quick.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he barks at Valon.
“What the hell?” Valon says, glowering. “I was just joking.”
“Your jokes are stupid.”
Dean stares Valon down, daring him to respond.
Valon shifts in his seat but keeps quiet.
