yawn. “Do let me know if one of the servants attempts to stab you with a brush and I’ll be at your defense in an instant.”
She made a decidedly unladylike snort, and through the pillow he heard her murmur at the servants to depart. Seconds later, the pillow lifted upward only to fly back down with blinding speed to strike him in the face.
Killian gave her a lazy smile. “Is that a new dress?”
He barely managed to get his arm up in time to prevent another blow from the pillow.
“You could at least pretend,” she said, then dropped a letter on his chest. “Read this.”
Even without opening his eyes, he knew what it was: correspondence between her and the absent High Lords. Initially, her letters’ purpose had been twofold: to convey Malahi’s desire to replace her father on the throne and to suggest that her hand in marriage would be the reward given to one of the men who helped make it so. With that achieved, her letters now dripped with flattery and innuendo, all designed to make the High Lord receiving them certain that he, or his son, would be the one Malahi chose to stand in the god circle with and swear herself to.
Sighing, Killian opened his eyes and glanced at the salutation, recognized the handwriting, and tossed it aside. “I told you, I’m not helping you with your correspondence with my brother. The rest, yes, but not Hacken. I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“But he’s the cleverest and I can’t tell if he’s being genuine.” Malahi picked up the letter. “You understand him.”
It was Killian’s turn to snort. “That I do not. We can barely stand to be in the same room together.”
Malahi huffed out a breath. “Why don’t you understand that half the reason he dislikes you so much is that he’s jealous of you?”
“Hacken thinks I’m an idiot. He’s told me so on several occasions.”
“And he’s not wrong. You most certainly are an idiot. But neither am I wrong about him being jealous—he’s no better than the rest of them.”
“You’re talking about the wealthiest, most powerful men in the realm, Highness. I’m nothing more than a glorified soldier. Albeit one with deep pockets and the right name.”
The pillow descended again with violent force.
“You,” Malahi said, once she was through beating him, “are the handsome, god-marked warrior with at least a dozen songs written about him. All my ladies swoon when you walk into the room. You’re the one they imagine riding in on a white horse—”
“My horse is black,” he interrupted, which she rewarded with another smack of the pillow.
“On a black horse to save them when they are in distress.”
“Why can’t anyone ride in to save me when I’m in distress?”
“Killian.” She leaned over the bed to meet his gaze. “My point is, you can do things that they cannot, despite all their power and wealth and privilege. Don’t think for a heartbeat they don’t resent that fact, or that their resentment didn’t factor into them standing by when my father planned to execute you.”
“They didn’t act because they were afraid, Highness. You’re braver than the lot of them.”
Her cheeks colored, and she looked away. “I hate it when you’re sentimental. It irritates me.”
“So sorry.” Reaching up, Killian caught hold of her waist and lifted, flipping her upside down and ignoring her shrieks of protest as her skirts tangled around her face before dropping her on her back on the bed next to him.
“You messed up my hair,” she said, fumbling to get her skirts back around her ankles. She was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “You must hold your tongue around Helene. I know you don’t like her, but she’s High Lord Torrington’s heir. One day she’ll be High Lady, and I’d like to be assured of her support.”
“That support is hardly predicated on her opinion of your bodyguard.”
Malahi’s jaw flexed, and she opened her mouth, then closed it again before saying, “You’ll be the commander of the Royal Army, which is something she will care about.”
Killian shrugged, turning his head to stare up at the ceiling. “Have you decided which one of them you’d prefer to marry, assuming they allow you the choice?”
“I’ll choose no one until after the war is won,” she answered. “And then I’ll choose the man I feel is best for Mudamora. The man the people will want as their king.”
The bed shook as he laughed. “Then you best prepare yourself for a life