sure she hadn’t accidentally told Delphine to screw off instead, she filled her plate with figs, half a grapefruit, and two hard biscuits.
Xandrian clapped as Bell finished putting away his gear and joined them. “Not as skillful as when I train him,” Xandrian drawled, glancing at Haven, “but you helped expose his weakness telegraphing the lunge, so it served a purpose nonetheless.”
Surai shared an amused look with Haven while Delphine performed a sign that Haven suspected meant cocky bastard or something very similar, considering she only used it after Xandrian spoke.
They had all gotten used to Xandrian’s arrogance, a trait Haven was beginning to suspect most Sun Lord’s possessed. Actually, most immortals with powerful magick, regardless if they were Noctis or Solis, seemed to be endowed with an overly large and inflated sense of importance. Take Stolas for—
No. She frowned at the poached egg on her plate, trying to scrub the Shade Lord from her thoughts. She refused to think about him this morning. Refused to wonder where he was or, worse . . . if he was off somewhere sleeping in someone else’s bed.
Perhaps the king had sent him more . . . sustenance.
Knowing Eros and his insatiable curiosity, that sustenance would be gorgeous.
Her gut clenched as her appetite shriveled to nothing. Stolas had said he didn’t mix feeding with pleasure, but he was a male, after all.
A male who’d just earned his freedom after years of imprisonment. A male who spent every waking moment either trying to build up his kingdom or tending to her instead of his own needs.
She forced a plump fig into her mouth. Forced herself to focus on the food as conversation swirled around her.
Chew. Swallow. Nod on occasion. Smile.
Pretend she’s not thinking about him.
Because thinking about him meant reliving last evening, which she’d already done all night, tossing and turning in bed as she replayed his words. His touch. The meaning behind both twisting and contorting until she couldn’t trust what was real or imagined.
“Any idea what the test might be?” Surai was asking Xandrian now.
Haven refocused on that question, the other thing that had kept her up most of the night. After informing Bell of the king’s plans last evening, she’d found Surai and Delphine in Surai’s room, gorging on a plate of shellfish, and told them the same.
No one seemed to have any clue how King Eros would test her.
Xandrian poked at his egg, nose wrinkled as he stared down the delicacy. “How would I know? Mortal kings are a mystery to me on the best of days. When they’re not predictably stabbing one another in the back over trinkets of gold and silver, they’re acting unpredictably, guided by emotion.”
“No one at this table needs a lesson on mortal kings,” she reminded him, her tone coming out grumpier than intended. “But you’re the only one here who has firsthand knowledge of the prophecy.”
Last night had all but confirmed her growing suspicion that she was purposefully kept uninformed about certain elements of the myth surrounding the Goddess-Born.
Xandrian dragged his disdainful gaze from the poor egg on his plate to her. “The prophecy? Not every answer lies in the texts.”
“How would I know that? I’ve yet to see any of them.”
“Neither have I. My work for the order was as a spy, meaning I had very little contact with any of the sacred scrolls over the years. But even if my dangerous position didn’t prevent me from such information, they’re scattered around the continents in secret places. Some have been translated and therefore changed, minutely, but still. Others are considered apocryphal works that are yet to be confirmed, while some highly guarded scrolls that were once considered gospel are now regarded as fakes.”
Haven pinched the bridge of her nose. The monk had been even less helpful on the few occasions she managed to corner him before he left. “Eros mentioned an offshoot of the prophecy last night. One that was considerably darker than what you’ve alluded to.”
Xandrian’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you shouldn’t listen to those who have reason to manipulate and trick you.”
“Perhaps if you gave me more information, I would know who to trust.” A white gull hopped over the cobblestones toward their table, and she tossed it her biscuit, uneaten. “When the texts mention me, do they speak of me as mortal or . . . immortal?”
Bell, Delphine, and Surai all exchanged glances. Steepling his hands under his chin, Xandrian sighed. “That’s complicated.”
“It’s not, though. Not really. It’s a word.”
“A