Page 44 of How to Claim A Shadow King

"Incredible," I mumble around my two-large-bites mouth full. It's rude to talk with my mouth full, but I can't seem to help noting just how delicious the food is.

When Lila comes back holding several pieces of cake and another steaming pot of tea, I am so full that I consider unlacing my overdress to make more room.

"I wish I knew how to cook," I say.

"Oh, I can give you the recipe!" Lila says excitedly. "Which one was your favorite?" She leans against the table and watches me with an avid expression.

"The venison pie, for sure."

"That's the one I came up with, believe it or not," she says. "Piper's excellent at everything sweet, but I crave something spicy from time to time."

"It was incredible," I tell her. "I think I'll be dreaming about that meat pie for the rest of my life."

"High praise," Lila says, and a faint flush colors her cheeks. It's not pink, and that surprises me, and then I remember that she is one of the Fae. Not human at all.

"And what do you think of the tea?" she asks.

I take another sip. "It's very good," I answer her. “My second cup.”

"But not your favorite," she says, pursing her lips.

"I didn't say that,” I object.

“Mm-mmhhmm,” she shakes her head. “No, you didn’t. But I consider it something of my own magic to match a client with their favorite drink," she says, tapping the bridge of her nose. "I'm surprised that you didn't like that one."

"I did like it," I tell her.

Malakai’s grinning at me delightedly, apparently amused by seeing me squirm.

"Don't worry, I'll figure you out," she says. And with that, she sets the slices of cake and pie on the table along with all the other gorgeous platters and tiered trays, leaving us to our conversation.

"I don't know if I can eat anymore," I say to Malakai. I still eye up the slice of blueberry pie. The crust is a gorgeous lattice, and I’m fairly certain I could make room.

If I had to.

He's helping himself to his third piece of venison pie. "Do you really not know how to cook?"

"I've never had to cook," I say. "I've always had a cook.”

Hmm," he murmurs, taking a big bite.

"Oh, and do you know how to cook then, Shadow King, oh Elder God, oh huge and terrible Eldritch being?" I ask, making my voice sound just as absurd as his titles deserve.

He lets out a laugh—a real laugh, one I haven't heard before—and I pause, staring up at him. If I had to guess what he sounded like when he laughed, it wouldn't have been that—that rugged rasp, deep-throated noise that he made. I think I liked the way he laughed a little too much.

"Of course I know how to cook," he answers, holding one of the last cucumber sandwiches in his hand. The tiny slices of white bread and filling are dwarfed in comparison to his fingers, and he eats the entire sandwich in one bite, watching me with raised eyebrows. "I'm surprised that you don't know how to cook," he adds. "How does one make it to adulthood without ever cooking?"

"How did you make it to adulthood?" I ask, suddenly fascinated with the idea of him as a child. "Did you not just..." I pause, thinking of the word I want. "...spawn fully grown? One huge man with gigantic hands built to hold a sword and deal in shadows and magic?"

I mean it as a joke, but I can't stop looking at his hands—the calluses, the strength of his grip. Or at least, what I imagine it must be.

When I look back at his face, he wears a broad grin. "You think I'm huge, do you?" he says, his voice low, velveted, which makes absolutely no sense.

"Of course you're huge," I tell him, scrunching up my face. "Look at the size of you compared to me." I hold out my hand, and he stares at it for a long time before I sigh and motion for him to drop his hand next to mine. "You're supposed to compare them," I tell him. "Really, you make fun of me for not knowing how to cook and you don't even know the most normal things that humans do."

"It's been a long time since I was fully human," he says, and there's a tinge of something to his voice that I haven’t heard before. Sadness. That's what it is. "My mother taught me how to cook," he says, finally holding his hand out straight so that I can put mine on his palm.

"Your mother... what was she like?" I ask in spite of myself, curious as always. Either way, maybe it would be better not to be.