Page 41 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

“One is Seelie, the other Unseelie,” I say, and the one at the back flinches. Seelie. “That is of little importance here. You have come to prepare us for tonight’s event?”

The Unseelie drops his eyes. “Yes.”

“Very well. Do your work.”

They both hesitate for a moment, exchanging a quick, worried glance, but the Unseelie recovers faster. He gestures for me to move to the centre of the room, and when he bids it, I remove my robe, standing there only in the pair of loose trousers I put on a few minutes ago. Grant watches on from the sofa. He has a bowl of grapes at his elbow, and he occasionally pops one in his mouth.

“It will be your turn after,” I say. The Seelie looks between us, his brow furrowed, when Grant merely shrugs in reply. I should have warned him to behave better when others were around, but I have to give him some credit—his magical disguise is still impeccable.

“And then—”

Grant shuts his mouth but smiles when Dante comes into the room. The Unseelie has his measuring tape around my waist, but when he calls out the number to his companion, he gets no answer in return.

I glance over. The Seelie is staring past me, at Dante, his mouth half open. Red stains his pale cheeks.

When I look back, Dante is standing in the doorway still, and he is clearly aware of the attention. He ducks his head, lips turning down miserably, and I do not know how to tell him that the Seelie is not staring at him for any other reason than that he finds Dante attractive.

I growl instead, and the Seelie squeaks and ducks his head. The Unseelie repeats the number. His hands tremble when he moves the tape to my hips.

Grant pats the sofa cushion next to him and Dante skirts around me to sit down. He is wearing another robe from my wardrobe, which fits him snugly, and the cornflower fabric is a delicious contrast to his bronzed skin. Grant offers the bowl of grapes, but Dante shakes his head.

“Don’t like them,” he murmurs.

The fae are on edge now, nervously watching my expression as Grant and Dante casually interact. I am not about to make Dante more uncomfortable by hinting that they should stop; besides, I believe Grant would simply ignore me.

And let them speculate. If I am to be here for the rest of my days, then at least wild rumours may make things more interesting.

Once my measurements are taken, I gesture for Grant to take my place. He does, chattering away—which does nothing to ease the nerves of the two fae—and I investigate the lunch that has been brought for us.

Platters of fruit, fresh in a way they can only be if they are coaxed into growing, and bread and cheese to go along with them. I may not know Dante’s favourite type of coffee, but I know he likes strawberries, because when Drew experimented with strawberry croissants, he came in and bought one every day for a week. I pile some of those onto a plate, along with blackberries, cheese, and some walnuts that I am certain Dante likes.

He stares up at me when I hand him the plate. “Eat,” I say. “I got things you like.”

The Seelie squeaks and drops his pencil. I ignore both of them and pour Dante some water instead. Nothing here has been tampered with, and I truly doubted that it would be. Why bring us here simply to poison us? The fae here do not know that I intend to remain and sit on the throne. They believe I am here to retrieve my soulbond.

Dante eats the fruit and looks at me through his lashes when I take the seat next to him on the sofa. Grant stays where he is once his measurements are done. “So, what are you planning on making for us?”

The Unseelie stares at him with wide eyes. “We—You will match His Highness,” he says, with a slight duck of his head. “The royal colours, but we will make something that fits the current styles.”

Grant purses his lips. He clearly wants to ask about the royal colours, but of course, were he truly a fae, he would know those already. I sigh.

“Purple will hardly suit him,” I say. A more pastel tone, perhaps, but not the colour my family decided to use. “Something softer. He is a selkie, after all.”

The Seelie brightens and scratches down a few more notes. Grant gives me a grateful smile and, next to me, Dante snorts. He shakes his head when I look at him, but he appears amused. I understand. It is hardly the time to worry about such things, and yet—

“Your turn,” Grant says brightly, and Dante goes still.

“Yeah, uh…”

“They don’t bite,” Grant says, and there’s a little more amusement to his smile than is truly warranted. It relaxes Dante, though. He is not the only outsider here.

I take his plate when he goes to set it aside, and then Grant takes it off me when he sits down. I frown at him. I made that for Dante. He quirks an eyebrow in reply and pops a blackberry into his mouth as he settles in to watch.

The Unseelie takes the first few measurements without comment, then steps back with respectfully lowered eyes. “If you could remove your robe, please.”

Dante swallows hard. He shrugs it off, sets it aside, and he is shirtless beneath as I am, which makes my breath catch in my throat. The Seelie has his eyes resolutely fixed on his notebook, but he fidgets when I look at him as though he can sense it. The Unseelie is absolutely professional and quick, and within a few minutes, he asks Dante to put his robe back on again.

“Colours for your pet?” he asks, rolling his tape up again.