Page 97 of Feral King

“And you eat the croissant.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, I’ll eat the croissant.”

I pull it out of the bag and take a bite.

“Wow.” It’s perfect—flaky, warm, buttery. I eat with total delight, closing my eyes for a second to really enjoy it. Julian watches me, a big grin on his face, as if there’s nothing more important in the world than me eating.

I finish it and wash it down with a few sips of the green smoothie—which is also delicious. Then I sit back and let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“Happy?” I ask, a playful tone to my voice.

“Happier. And that’s another stipulation—no skipping meals. I can hire a personal chef to make them and bring them to you if that’s easier. I won’t bother repeating the cliché about how many people you’re eating for now.”

That gets a chuckle out of me. And as over-pampered as I feel, a personal chef would be nice—one less thing to worry about.

“I’ll think about it. The chef, that is.”

“Good.”

With that, he stands and leans across the desk. Then he cups my face with one hand and kisses me—slow and warm, tasting like the coffee I can no longer drink.

It’s not a long kiss, but it’s a meaningful one.

“I’ll let you get back to work.”

He straightens and adjusts his sleeves. I can tell there’s more he wants to say.

“The council is Friday. And after that, this ends—one way or another.”

“One way or another,” I echo.

He nods, then turns toward the door, but it opens before he reaches it.

Alexander walks in.

“Julian.” He doesn’t acknowledge me at all. “We need to talk.”

CHAPTER 36

JULIAN

“I’m not here to fight,” Alexander says as we step into my office.

He drops into one of the chairs across from my desk. I know that he’s at least a little sincere—if he wanted to screw with me, he would’ve sat in my chair and forced me to command him out of it.

But he doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to play around. He almost looks chastened. He folds his hands in his lap and looks at me with an expression that I haven’t seen since we were younger—open, wary, and uncertain.

He’s either about to be the most honest he’s been in years or do the best acting job he’s ever done.

“Then talk,” I reply.

“The council. Friday night.”

“What about it?”

He pauses, then looks away, as if he knows that once he says whatever is on his mind, there’s no going back.