Page 211 of Season Warriors & Wolves

Himself. You would have to kill him.

He downed his drink. “Maybe I’ll just kill her first. Give myself an early birthday present. Never do nice stuff for myself anymore.”

I snorted, burying my face in his arm and he showered me with a bunch of kisses.

“Hello, Selia,” my sister greeted, joining our table.

I sipped the foam from my ale. Nope. Not like the sheep disease.

The woman’s eyes turned animated with excitement. “Princess, haven’t seen you in some time.” Selia’s eyes dropped to the dress Thora wore, envy glowing in the blue of her irises. “You look—different.”

“It is Snow’s,” my sister said, chewing on some apple slices. Her hair was curlier, the dress fit her tightly around her body that had gained weight and muscle over time—she did look different. Mature. Grown.

Mal frowned at both of them. “You know each other?”

Thora nodded. “She came to the castle a couple of months after my father took you. Concerned her best lay was not visiting her anymore.”

“Almost had a fright,” Selia said, laughing a little louder than the percussion. “Though you got hitched or something, gods forbid.” She ran her hand over his chest and bile rose to my throat along with the urge to pick her orange red nails one after the other with a butter knife. “Never letting that happen for as long as I breathe.”

I sipped some more ale foam, mumbling to myself, “That is an easy fix.”

My sister snorted, coughing around a sip of ale. “He is safe,” she said, wiping her mouth. “Gods forbid, he won't be able to keep a woman around him unless he gives her coin for favours. You are his perfect find, Selia. No need for a fright.”

Selia let out what looked like an uncomfortable laugh before she stood and announced, “I will go dance if anyone wishes to join me. You bunch are no fun whilst sat down. Anyone?”

Mal had narrowed his eyes on my sister over the rim of his ale, not even bothering to join the woman he’d brought himself.

Why the hells had he even brought her?

My sister stopped chewing and looked up at him. “What?”

He scooted across the bench to her, resting an arm over her arm rest. “Bird.”

“Fox,” my sister murmured with her lips still on the glass pint, but he’d heard it—we all had.

“Foxes eat little birds,” Mal said, sprawling wide on the bench and resting his head back on my sister’s shoulder. He was grinning up at her and his breathing grew heavy when she turned to look down at him.

I stopped sipping the ale foam from Kilian’s cup, watching them and my husband with the corner of my eye.

My sister sighed. “Malik.”

“Pretty bird,” he purred, pinching her chin, the dark of his ember eyes thickening till his gaze was piercing black.

“You’re not a fox,” she said, pinching his cheeks together till his lips puckered like a duck’s. “You’re a drunk skunk.”

Except that he wasn’t.

He didn’t say anything, just held her gaze, breathing growing faster and faster, the hand he had on her face slipped over her jaw like melting ice and tucked a bunch of hair over her ear.

Even I held my breath with them.

I threw a careful glance to Kilian who had probably realised my thoughts before they had even formed in my head.

“No,” he said, dropping a peck to the tip of my nose. “To his own gods damned luck.”

“Would it be so bad?”

“Your sister’s first heartbreak won’t be from him.”