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“Yes … Atticus,” she says, testing it out, her eyes widening at my name, as if she’s shocked she said it out loud.
It’s so endearing, I can’t help but chuckle.
Her pretty face breaks with a rare smile. She’s even more beautiful. How is this divine creature mortal?
“Must you rush back?” I clear the sudden huskiness from my voice. “Or can you stay?”
“Suri normally feeds at midnight, so I have some time.”
But not a lot. I expect the clock tower to toll soon. My discontent flows.
Speaking of feeding … My focus dips to her delicate neck and the skin where it meets her shoulder. The buttons on her nightshirt are fastened this time, not allowing me a glimpse of the delicious swell of flesh beneath. Just the memory of it hardens my cock.
There are privileges to being both king and keeper. I could demand Gracen undress for me. I could demand she lie down and offer herself, give me her vein.
What would she think of me if I did?
I would never do it, but I could. Many others of my kind would.
This train of thought will do nothing but torture me. Besides, I much prefer my conquests willing.
“Kazimir said you had a startling discovery to share with me.”
She swallows. “Yes, Your … yes. After you left us in the library.”
“Go on, then,” I prompt.
That delightful smile is gone, and she’s nervous again, her fingers fumbling together within her lap. “My son, he likes to collect things when he’s about the castle. Little things that he stumbles upon, nothing of value. Usually, a feather or stone. Once, a mouse.” She grimaces.
I chuckle. “Alive or dead?”
“Very much alive. It was a gift for Gladys. One of the cats,” she adds when she sees me frown in question. “But this afternoon, he was excited to have found a magic potion in the library.”
“A magic potion.” I imagine the little boy with the curly mop of hair announce that. Children don’t normally interest me, and yet that one has grabbed my attention more than once. He has a brazen and impish quality I can relate to.
“Yes, in a tiny glass vial.” She peers at me as if checking my reaction.
I hold my expression even as all humor fades. “And where did he find this magic potion?”
“He said he was looking at a suit of arms when he heard someone coming, so he hid behind it, knowing he wasn’t supposed to be there. He watched a female with shiny black hair tuck the vial behind a book. When I asked him to show me where, he led me to the section of the library with the gold-bound books.”
“Master Sicily’s editions,” I finish for her. Saoirse had been there today, had taken the volume about me. A false pretense, I see now.
She nods. “It’s hard to mistake them for anything else.”
“Impossible, one might say.” Saoirse should have chosen something less memorable.
Gracen’s brow pinches. “You don’t seem shocked by this news.”
“As I’ve said, this marriage is one of need, not want. It’s for the good of the kingdom.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but then stalls.
“Go on …”
“I mustn’t.” Her brow pinches as if pained.
The fire crackles in the growing, tense silence.
I sigh. “Since I’ve become king, I have been surrounded by people who lie and scheme and guard their words.” Aside from Kazimir, and even he acquiesces a little too often for my liking. “I could use a reprieve from that. You will not be punished for anything you say, Gracen, as long as it’s honest. So, please, speak freely, or do not speak at all.”
She flushes. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to anyone wanting to hear my thoughts.”
“Such is the plight of any mortal, I imagine.” Though Zander never seemed interested in hearing my thoughts either. He certainly never took my advice.
She nods, her focus settling on the coffee table between us as if gathering her thoughts. “It seems to me that a queen who schemes to murder her king will not prove to be good for the kingdom.”
It’s not at all funny and yet my head falls back with a bellow of laughter. “Oh, the irony of it all.”
A tiny, confused smile touches her lips. “I don’t understand?”
“It’s as if history is repeating itself, is it not?”
Realization dawns on her. “You mean King Zander and Princess Romeria.”
“Yes. That is what I mean.”
“But I thought … given they ran and are presumably in hiding together, is it even true?”
“That Princess Romeria of Ybaris poisoned my parents? Oh, that’s very true. That she had my last tributary tainted? Also true. That her soldiers tried to kill me? I have the scar to prove that one.” I yank up my tunic. Even Wendeline’s magic can never erase the mar of that merth arrow.
Gracen’s eyes flare as they land first on the scar, before dragging downward over my torso, taking in my bare flesh.
