I looked up. His eyes were once again sparkled with shards of amusement. For the nth time, I was glad no High Court had been called in my lifetime, the High Lords forbidden true rule while the Prince slept. I didn't know if Iwould have survivedthe acting.
Actually, scratch that. I knew I wouldn't have survived. The Low Court maintained in the Prince’s absence was dangerousenough, and we were confined only to ruling our Houses and maintaining our districts.
“Eighteen?” he prompted. “You are so young, though, we'll soon run out of years and then I'll have to think of a different way to amuse myself with you.”
I wasamusingthe Prince. It pleased him to extend that amusement.
Don't kill him yet. Not yet. Not in front of Baba, who would be cut down.
You could try,Darkan said, voice searing.It would be more entertaining than watching you make yourself ill with anxiety and compound it by drinking your weight in wine. Because, of course, that makes everything better.
You’ve never said anything about my drinking before.
You have to learn to handle Court, Aerinne. You have to learn to handle the Prince.
Any advice?
He paused, and his voice gentled.Be yourself. Now, pay attention. Your worth is being weighed.
“You mean drawn and quartered,” I muttered.
“Eighteen?” Renaud said again, fooling no one with the languid tone, not with the ice crystals forming in his eyes. I recalled this was the voice he used right before he killed.
Those ice crystals pricked at my temples, grew in the pit of my stomach.I recalled he didn’t like repeating himself.
Hastily, I did the basic math and forced myself to relax. Even numbers meant skipping year twenty-one. A small favor.
I couldn't lie, I sucked at omission, and revealing the events of my twenty-first birthday would get me executed.
ChapterFourteen
Kobold got your tongue?Darkan purred as I took my timedecidingwhatto say about ageeighteen. Well, what not to say mostly. That—hadbeen a wild year. I avoided even a casual look down the table, their predatory eyes and mystical garb turned ghoulish by the shroud of night.
This is astupidconversation,I complained.
Youdecidingwhatis and is notstupidis laughable.
Why are you being so mean to me lately?
Of course he didn't answerthat.
“If age eighteen offers scant amusement, we could discuss twenty-one,” the Prince said. Absently, he lifted his wineglass, fingers caressing the clear stem, and it filled with liquid.
In my mind, I wrapped my fingers in his shirt and shook him like a rag doll, then flung him into one of the massive trees strung with the stupid twinkle bell lights. The white gold glow cast an ethereal light, highlighting the starkness of the Prince’s cheekbones. His blood would shimmer like liquid jewels. If I didn’t know better—and I did—I would think he was luring me into a confession.
What did he think he knew?
And if he knew. . .why was I still alive?
Unless he was about to pull a Carrie on me. I’d watched that movie three times in New York, and decided the author was Fae.
Pressure increased another drip.
“WhenI waseighteen,” I said, the clink of dinnerware surrounding us, “Montague sent an operative to seduce me for the first time. Fun. He was my first boyfriend.”
I hadn't fucked him. I also hadn'tbetrayedany secrets, and I still nursed insult my enemy thought me that dumb.AsifI wouldbetraymy House over pillow talk.They'dhopedI’dbe vulnerable because while in New York for university with Juliette, we were away from the protection of our Fae family, and in theory primed to make all sorts ofpoordecisions.
Wehad. Just not thepoordecisionsthe enemyhad hopedwe’d make.
