“I hate you,” Fin whispers, but the lie must cause his throat to close up, because he winces and adds, “hyperbolically, of course. Just please make her go away.”
“Sure. I’ll just make sure to train my non-eye on her. You know, let her get a good look at the fleshy bit of skin.”
“You are the best sister-in-law a male could ask for. You know that, right?”
Normally, I might feel guilty about purposefully trying to scare off one of the many girls who fawn over Fin.
Such is not the case with Imogen.
As she approaches, I make a show of waving my hand at her dramatically to get her attention.
“What are you doing?” Fin glowers at me. “You don’t even act that excited to see the people you actually like.”
“She’s going to come over here anyway,” I whisper through the side of my mouth. “Might as well make it uncomfortable for her.”
The conversation goes about as I might have expected, with Imogen refusing to acknowledge my existence except when propriety demands a one-word answer from her.
Eventually, Fin decides he’s had enough and scolds her openly for her rudeness, at which point Imogen rushes away crying.
The whole interaction leaves me with a gnawing sensation of guilt for some reason, and when I remind Fin I don’t need to be defended, he tells me, “Yeah, well I’ve already gotten that ‘I don’t need you to defend me’ speech from Lydia, and frankly, she’s scarier than you, so I’ve got to take my brotherly protectiveness out on someone. Besides,” he says with a sly grin as he peers up at me, “you weren’t doing a good enough job scaring her off.”
I throw a crumpled piece of parchment at him.
He tosses it back, hitting me in the eye—the good one, too.
CHAPTER 12
ELLIE
I like to think of myself as the type of person who comes to meetings prepared.
Attentive. Pen and parchment in hand. Ready to listen, absorb, then succinctly state my opinion.
“Princess Elynore?” says a mildly scolding voice.
I snap out of the trance I’ve let myself wander into. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
King Marken sits at the head of the table, looking as regal as ever in his freshly pressed blue robes. Silver cufflinks shimmer at his wrists, matching the thread woven into his sleeves and collar. My father-in-law cranes his head at me, scanning me up and down with those stone-gray eyes of his.
“We were wondering if there have been any recent developments regarding Dwellen-Naenden relations.”
I blink, swallowing as I refocus my attention on the present, but the male across the table cuts me off.
“Yes, we’re all wondering just what could possibly be delaying the return of your husband and the Naenden king.”
From the tone of Casper Thornwall’s voice, I’m guessing he’s not wondering as much as he is assuming.
Casper Thornwall is Evander’s cousin, the son of King Marken’s sister. He’s fae, too, meaning he’s beautiful, but there’s something sickeningly perfect about his features. He’s almost dizzying to look at, with all the straight lines: the bridge of his nose, his jawline, even the way he styles his hair slicked back. Casper has Evander’s coloring, tanned skin and turquoise eyes, which makes me irrationally angry. I don’t particularly like the fact that looking at Casper reminds me of Evander.
I trace my fingers around a knob at the base of the oaken table at which we sit. I found the little knob the first time I attended one of these meetings, and it’s been a comfort to me ever since.
“We’ve yet to receive contact from my husband and the King of Naenden,” I say, measuring my words. “It seems most logical to assume their travel is delayed due to the winter storm that recently hit Mystral.”
A cruel smile slashes across Casper’s mouth. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what my cousin is up to. Trying desperately to get back home to his wife. Now, if you had asked me a year ago what I thought the cause of Prince Evander’s delay would be…” Casper whistles, earning several hoots and chuckles from the other advisors stationed at the table.
They like to do this. Like to imply that Evander is off warming the beds of prostitutes, his love for me quenched by nothing more than the passing of a few months.
That’s fine.
Their claims would probably bother me more if I doubted what Evander was up to, but I don’t. The only reason they feel the need to mock my marriage is that they’re jealous of my relationship with King Marken.
Never mind that I would gladly pawn off the responsibility of having to interact with Marken if I could.
That, and I get the impression Casper considered himself next in line for the throne before I came along. I think he hoped that, since Marken possesses such hatred for his two living children, he would eventually decide his favorite nephew was a better fit for ruling the kingdom.
Poor Casper.
I ignore him, turning my attention to Marken. “There’s still concern regarding the Queen of Mystral’s involvement with the Rip.”
Before the king can respond, Casper snorts. “The supposed Rip.”
I address Evander’s cousin through my teeth. “The King and Queen of Naenden can attest to the Rip’s authenticity.”
“Are we really going to trust what the Queen of Naenden thinks she sees with that one eye of hers?” asks Casper.
Never in my life have I witnessed such a self-satisfied grin on the face of someone so idiotic.
“Pray tell, how do you think eyes work?” I ask, never quite prepared for the conversations I’m subjected to when Casper occupies the room.
