inside the golden ring he wore as he toyed with his earring, his gaze fixed on the dark waters beyond. In that moment, with his unbuttoned collar, breath smelling of cheap tavern wine, and eyes loose with alcohol and probably days of little to no sleep, he didn’t look like a king who could hold together The Broken Three for a single night, much less convince them to ally with her.
Then again, she cringed at what Eros saw in her. Her bare feet and loose, tangled hair, mostly free now of its pins and whipping in the gentle growing breeze; her own fatigue showing in the hollows beneath her eyes; the sharpness of her collarbone that gave her a half-wild look.
She probably more resembled a vengeful siren come to devour his heart than the Goddess-Born from his stories.
“You say you would never join the Shadeling,” he said, “but just yesterday I swore I would never risk my kingdom to join with a mortal outlaw claiming to be the Goddess of prophecy.”
Her heart lurched sideways. “And now?”
“Now, well now everything rests on this mortal proving she is who she claims.”
“And how does she do that, exactly?”
His eyes were almost empathetic as he regarded her for a long moment. “Logic and history say that you are simply another heretic, neither savior nor destroyer. A mistake of nature being used by forces vying for control of the realm. But, if you were the prophesied child of Freya and Odin . . .”
He shook his head as if the idea was simply too far-fetched to entertain.
Then he picked up the near-empty bottle of wine, gathered the steel cups, and set off for the ladder, strolling uncomfortably close to the roof’s edge. “Tomorrow, meet me at the docks at dusk.”
“For what?”
“Your chance to prove yourself.”
Wiping the dust from the back of her dress, she padded after him, the metal cool beneath her feet. She made sure to keep a safe distance from the edge. The last thing she needed was to fall and have Stolas save her. “So a test? And if I fail?”
He paused. His broad jawline came into view as he glanced back at her. “Then you leave the mortal lands immediately, sparing my wife any more of the cruel false hope you peddle, and promise to never return.”
20
Despite the rhythmic lull of the waves outside her window, Haven slept fitfully. When she finally did slip into a deep, dreamless sleep, Bell woke her shortly after for training, which she forgot she’d promised.
He milled around her room as she yanked on her pants and boots, hopping from one foot to the next.
“Long night?” he teased. “You disappeared right after the dancing started and then, shortly afterward, so did the gorgeous winged male in the room.”
Wedged against the wall, with her boot propped against the dresser, she finished tying the worn laces and threw him a dark look. “Was that before or after you and Xandrian fled to your own private balcony?”
She’d searched for Bell last night after the meeting with Eros, only to find Bell and Xandrian on a small balcony, huddled over a book and whispering. She’d waited until he came strolling back to his room hours later before divulging her conversation with the king.
Bell stopped examining an oil diffuser made from an abalone shell and cut his eyes at her. “Believe me, it’s not like that. He’s helping me refine the poison I discovered in Solethenia for our soldiers. We’re close to finding a medium that would retain its potency but allow us to make one hundred times as much.”
“Huh. Fascinating. For over two hours?”
He busied himself making her bed for her, tucking in the corners and fluffing her pillow. “Really. He made it painfully clear in Solethenia that he’s incapable of a relationship.” Bell shrugged, toying with a golden pillow tassel. “Which is fine because now that I know him, he’s . . . he’s . . .”
“A narcissistic, puffed up peacock with an inflated ego that probably doesn’t match his you know what?”
Bell’s head fell back in a startled laugh. “I was going to say emotionally unavailable, but that too.” A knowing look came over his face. “Oh, you’re good. I almost forgot I was interrogating you.”
Haven sighed as she struggled with her hair. Bell had insisted that the daughter of Freya couldn’t wear a simple braid, which just happened to be the only one she knew how to do. “There’s nothing to interrogate. Stolas is bound to me