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“You’d better get started on the invitations. And do something about your hair, would you?”
My ponytail is probably messy by now, but I argue. I can’t help myself. He’s being an ass now that he’s won, and I wasn’t made to follow orders. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”
Reiks sighs again, and lifts his hand to my head. When he removes the elastic band holding my ponytail up, I force myself to remain still, though I glare. My hair falls in messy waves. I don’t think I had the time to brush it this morning. His fingers thread through the strands, applying some pressure on my skull as they shake my untamed mane.
I suppose I should trust him in matters of coiffure, given how well he styles his own hair.
His touch is not unpleasant, though for some reason, I feel it down to my tiptoes.
Once he’s satisfied with his handiwork, he crowns me with the stupid headband. “Much better. We’ll have company in a moment.”
“What company?” I wince, glancing down at myself.
I dressed in the dark, still half asleep, thanks to his early call. Thankfully, my wardrobe is boring enough that nothing clashes too badly. I have dark jeans and a black sweater on, with my emerald-green velvet rounded toe flats trimmed in gold.
My heart sinks, realizing we match. The shade of his shirt echoes my shoes. The headband I assumed he grabbed without a thought goes perfectly with my flat ballerinas.
Another word to add to the long list of descriptors I use to try to understand Reiks: calculated.
He shrugs and he walks back to his entry hall, answering me over the sound of his music. “Friends, foes. Whoever wants my attention or my favor today. Who’s to say?”
I trail him, thoroughly defeated. Not wanting to completely drop the subject, though I abandoned the endeavor of making him see reason, I tell him, “This plan of yours isterrible. If my matriarch hears of any rumors associating us, she’ll use this farce of yours. Valina Frejr is a force of nature. She’ll plot and manipulate and spell until she get us together for real.”
“Then until death do we part, I suppose. Less whining, more writing, if you please, my feather.”
I stomp my foot in frustration. “Be serious for a moment!”
“You don’t like that endearment? We can work on it.”
He’s impossible to reason with. “Mark my words, you’ll regret your decision.”
“Mark mine,” Reiks echoes. “I will not.”
CHAPTERTEN
THE FLOCK
Reiks is sitting at his overly imposing desk when I join him in the vast hall. Two footmen have entered the room, and taken positions on either side of the doors. I wave their way, never one to ignore servants. Being rude to them is the best way to end up having your tea flavored with arsenic rather than sugar.
Scanning the desk, I spot powder blue envelopes, thick cream paper, and the long list he promised me. He set everything up on the right side of the large work space, but I see no seating arranged for me. “Where am I supposed to work, from your lap?”
“If you insist, though that may prove distracting to both of us. You could take the stool otherwise.”
I walk around to his side of the desk and indeed, there’s a wooden stool shaped like a crescent, with a blue velvet cushion. “So, what, ladies can’t have proper chairs in your domain?”
“Consider yourself lucky; no one but me sits in this room.” He gestures to the open hall. I’d already noticed how bare the room seems. “It might encourage the rabble to stay longer, if they could make themselves at home.”
“Well, if I am to be the exception, I’d like a chair in the future.”
“Now, that would get the world talking. You might as well cut to the chase and climb on my lap after all.”
I don’t want to smile, but I can’t help it. He’s absurd and absurdly charming.
I take my seat at his side, loathed to admit it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as I assumed. There’s plenty of room at his desk—we’re at least a yard apart—and the cushion’s just firm enough and fluffy enough to support my tailbone. I opt not to mention it.
The template is but a few words: “I invite you to join me at the Lunar Club on next Baltaday, the kalends,after the ninth evening hour. NK.”
The kalends. That’s the date of Lughnasadh. I sincerely hope he doesn’t expect me to attend.
