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“You’re his match. It will mean more coming from you.”
Unease slides through me, and my mind races to come up with an out. “A piece of armor doesn’t sound like a romantic courting gift.”
Bess hoots a shout of laughter. “Neither do art supplies, and yet you have hearts in your eyes this morning over some paint and chisels. You go to the market, and I’ll have an apron and drop cloths ready for you to carve tiny versions of me when you return. Speaking of which—” She tugs at something Oggie has trapped beneath his paws for a tongue bath. It’s Lady Snarl. “Give me that, you demon spawn.” The kitten bats at Bess, but she outweighs him a hundred times in this form and he has no real chance.
“Come on, Oggie.” I cuddle him close, giving him love in exchange for giving up his prize. “Let’s go see this market Bess keeps talking about.”
Yanking the bedding from the mattress, as if the cat defiled everything he touched, she says, “Make sure you go to the armorer. Ask for Tauren. Tell him I sent you.”
“I would be honored to escort you.” Leander’s deep voice comes from the doorway. He seems different from last night. He looks less mercenary soldier and more like the minotaur version of a duke who stepped out of a historical romance.
With his black hair combed and tied into a smooth queue, he wears fitted pants that cuff above his hind-covered shins and a dress shirt with loose sleeves that looks like he had borrowed it from a Renaissance Faire. I fight the urge to circle him for a glimpse of his well-rounded backside and a better look at his tail.
In a matter of hours, he transformed from combat-weary fighter to well-groomed gentleman. Hell, he even changed the ring in his dark snout from silver to gold. While he can’t be considered handsome in the human sense, he’s strong and powerful.
I blink once, twice. He needs me to save his entire realm. He needs me. The realization is heady, empowering, and dangerously addictive.
When I chose to stay last night, I felt as if I made the decision blindly, groping along for the best solution when I couldn’t see either impossible future. I’d chosen the fun one because Leander is the first man to celebrate and now encourage my love of games.
But now, watching a king shift on his hooves and tug at his collar, as though he’s willing to make whatever sacrifice he must to impress me? I’m humbled, honored, and damn near giddy.
Game on, indeed.
It’s time to make my move.
9
LEANDER
I shouldn’t have allowed Darnell to talk me into this charade. Prettying up only makes me a monster parading in fancy clothes.
From Meg’s wide gaze, she suspects I’m posing as a fairy-tale prince from her realm’s stories instead of the beast I am. She hasn’t answered my invitation to take her to the market. Instead, she stares as if scrambling to think of an exit strategy.
All the scrubbing, fur trimming, nail cutting, tail brushing, and endless wardrobe changes won’t make me a better man in my human’s eyes. After leaving the art supplies at her door and running away, rather than staying to see how my gift might’ve scored in our flirtation game, I should’ve waited for her to make the next move.
She wets her lips and opens her mouth. “You look…”
“Ridiculous.” Thank the gods I didn’t let Darnell talk me into the frilly collar or a ribbon to tie back my hair.
“No.” She rushes forward, the damned demon cat tucked against her breast so firmly that his fur sticks out sideways. I would like to be smushed where Oggie has made himself so comfortable. “You look great.” She paints a sunshine smile on her face. The tiny crinkles around her eyes and the sparkle in her gaze hit me like a knockout spell.
“As do you. Stunning.” I’d thought the blue dress the prettiest one I’d ever seen, but this green? Gorgeous. The emerald around her neck pales in comparison to her beauty.
“Thank you for the art supplies. They were the perfect gift.” She stares at me as if I’ve given her a basket of jewels.
My ego needs more of this, all of this. “So, I won the round?”
“I’ve not made my play yet.” She twists her mouth into a smirk, and I want to kiss the mischief from her lips.
“The market,” Bess hollers. “She needs to go to the market. You can’t rush the lady into making her move.”
“Yeah, don’t rush me.” Meg leans closer. “Do you have time to take me? I know you’re busy with king stuff.”
“Not too busy for you.” By her expression, I said the right thing. Perhaps this matching thing won’t be so hard. “Shall we go now?”
“Yes, please.” She takes my arm, and I don’t even begrudge Oggie for staying curled on her other side. Not with her light grip on my sleeve making me want to rip off this flouncy shirt to feel her fingers on my skin. I’m starved for her touch, starved for her. Each press of her curves against my arm, every curious expression that crosses her face, the way her lips curl around her words—these small moments feed my ravenous beast in a way I hadn’t imagined possible.
When we step into the busy and bustling market, her lips part. “Oh, Leander.”
