The second they were dumped, rather unceremoniously, into that airy room of ivory, sun-kissed marble and gold, King Elhaem’s guards descended. The soldiers wore loose white clothes tied with purple sashes, and they tapped the butts of their spears into the floor as they approached.
By the runic prayer tattoos to the Selkie Queen covering their dark arms, they were former sailors.
Haven almost felt sorry for the men as the realization of who—and what—they were about to fight dawned on them. It didn’t help that Xandrian curled his two fingers and suddenly a wall of frothy waves rose outside the open walls. Ready to crash down at his command. Or that Stolas’s wings were flared so wide that the tips on either side scraped the walls, the points of his incisors peeking below a curled upper lip.
To their credit, the men didn’t waver. If it came to a fight, she decided, she would end them mercifully.
“Whoa, easy, everyone. Easy!” Bell pushed forward, hands held up as he tried to calm the guards. Using every scrap he probably knew of Sancrit, the common language of the Broken Three Kingdoms, he explained who they were.
When Bell was finished, the sailor-turned-guards raked their gazes over Haven before settling again on Stolas. Their spears lowered a few inches, the charms hanging from the base of the spear tips tinkling.
It was progress, at least. All they would get if Stolas kept goading them with that taunting grin.
Provoking poor mortal guards? she said, soulspeaking into his mind. They would hardly be worth the fight.
What? he purred innocently back. I’m smiling at them. I thought mortals liked that?
If by smiling you mean baring your fangs like a mountain cat about to pounce, then yeah, you’re nailing it.
Then what should I look like?
Less like yourself, she snapped.
“Bravo.” Everyone’s attention jerked to King Elhaem. He was striding down the dais steps toward them, clapping softly. Sunlight sparked inside the rubies and diamonds of the rings adorning each finger.
The proclaimed King of the Broken Three territories was nothing like Haven expected. Eros Elhaem was young, no more than a decade older than her, for starters. And unlike King Horace, whose body had been bloated and spoiled by too many delicacies and not enough stairs, King Eros moved with the lithe grace of a man who had lived off fish and little else for years.
This king was very capable of wielding a sword—or an army, she would bet.
A brocade silk tunic in gold and turquoise draped almost to his knees, as was the mortal fashion, but failed to hide the muscular swell of his thighs. Tapered at the waist by a belt of abalone shells, the tunic’s colors were striking against his tanned olive-brown skin. Instead of the long, elaborate braid plaited in gold that sailors preferred, his onyx hair was cut short, two thick, simple braids cresting his skull.
A single gold hoop dangled from his ear—the only hint he’d ever hunted over the open sea.
And he was handsome—shockingly so. Those dark eyes teeming with a feline intelligence that made his nickname suddenly seem . . . imposing instead of silly.
The Smiling Cat indeed.
Eros appraised Stolas first, those cunning eyes taking their time as they shifted to Bell, Xandrian, and finally Haven.
There his gaze lingered, long enough to conjure a low growl from Stolas. And when Eros finally flashed his teeth in a smile, it was anything but welcoming. “How lucky we are to have a visit from four of the most infamous players in the realm. A fallen Lord of the Netherworld, a traitorous Sun Lord, a kinslaying would-be king, and a—”
“Careful how you address her,” Stolas drawled, the grave warning beneath that mannered tone making even Haven shiver. “The ivory walls of this room have a wonderful airiness that would be lost if I had to paint them with your blood.”
Xandrian cursed under his breath, and she caught the spark of magick flickering inside Bell’s half-closed palm.
Subtle, she snapped, slamming her words into his mind, hard enough that his jaw ticked.
This king doesn’t respond to subtly, was the only reply she got.
Perhaps breaking in had been a mistake. Perhaps—
Distant laughter broke her thoughts. Childlike laughter. If she could hear it then . . . she discreetly cut her eyes at Stolas, following his rapt attention to a balcony on the other side of the chamber.
Two small children in expensive silk dress similar