“What does that matter?” he asks, kicking the door shut behind us.
“You have princesses throwing themselves at your feet at every turn, as evidenced by what happened below. I think it highly likely your feelings for me would have waned in such a short amount of time.”
“Oh, that you think me so inconstant.” He tugs his coat off revealing the fresh lawn of his shirt.
“I don’t think you inconstant,” I snap, “but you know the truth now. You have no reason not to let your eye linger on others.” Tugging at the bracelets around my wrist, I toss them on a low table. “You’re my decoy. I want Malechus—and the rest of the court—focused on you.”
“Fine. How far do I take it?”
“How far… what?”
“These flirtations?” Keir tosses the coat aside as if it’s a challenge, and his shirt clings to his chest with static. “How far do I go, Zemira? Do I focus on one princess? Or maybe I dangle two of them on my knee…. Or would three suit?”
“That’s your decision. I don’t need to know how many.”
“No?”
“No.” Goddess-have-mercy, but suddenly I’m right back there in his arms, trying not to feel the flex and pull of muscle as he holds me. Pouring myself a wine, I try to take my attention off him, but all I succeed in doing is nearly drowning on my first gulp.
Keir watches me with those hypnotic eyes as he stalks toward me. “All these princesses that fling themselves at my feet…. I’m almost starting to wonder if you’re jealous?”
“What?” I choke on my next mouthful.
“That is the plan, is it not? When they wilt at my feet, I’m supposed to be entranced.”
“Yes.” The way he looks, serving him up as a distraction is the best idea I’ve ever had. Nobody will be looking at me. Nobody. The males will see a challenge, the females will want to conquer him…. There is nothing about this situation that could be bad.
Except….
I drain the goblet. More wine. I definitely need more wine.
“The very idea I would be jealous is ridiculous,” I tell him as I go in search of another flagon. “Besides, that’s not our biggest problem.”
“No?”
“Ismena looked horrified to see me,” I point out. “Not merely shocked, but horrified. She knows something about me.”
“The last time she saw you,” he points out dryly, “Calliope was trying to kill her. Even Ismena suffers from nightmares of that time.”
I arch a brow at him. “Does she? Has someone been peeking into his potential bride’s heads?”
He crosses both arms over his chest. “I owe those women a debt. Calliope came to my halls to murder me. She killed several of those women out of frustration and left the others with the sort of nightmares that will haunt them forever. I chased the nightmares away, nothing more. I can give them that, at least.”
My eyes narrow. It sounds entirely too altruistic.
I don’t like any of this.
An emissary from the Court of Storms would have been bad enough, but my former nemesis?
“What did you learn tonight?” he asks.
“Malechus knew Soraya to look at. He took one look at my face and I would swear he recognized me.”
My glamor’s good, but the more changes you make, the more magic you need to wield. It’s easier to make subtle shifts here and there and to restrict them to elements that don’t move very often. My mouth remains untouched along with my brows. My cheeks are a little softer, my eyes not quite as blue, and my hairline lacks its distinctive peak.
All in all, you wouldn’t pick my face out of a crowd of beautiful women. I’ve designed this face to be pretty but unmemorable.
And Soraya taught me the art of glamor.
“You’re sure he’s never seen you before?”
“Never.” And Angmar’s reward poster won’t be circulated this widely.
Has Ismena seen it? Has she put two and two together?
I feel like I need to get a good look at this reward poster. When I stole the trident from her brother, I lured him back to his bedroom with a smile and a wink, drugged him the second we got to his rooms, and then left him snoring on the floor, naked. It’s not my fault he was so quick to shed his clothes that half the royal guard saw his flaccid cock.
Since I was playing at the seduction game, I would have emphasized my features with glamor. Soft mouth. Long lashes. Curves that would have made a man trip over his tongue. I’m fairly certain I’d been wearing a long, blonde wig, with golden curls the color of wheat, and a pink gown that was cut to reveal slashes of skin in strategic places.
I doubt anyone looking at the poster would see the resemblance to me, but the concern has to be noted. And Ismena is the one fae who might be able to knock a candle into all of my plans and set them on fire.
“Tell me about your sister,” Keir says.
I curl my fingers around the wine and kick off my shoes with a small groan. Bliss. Scrunching and flexing my toes, I fist handfuls of the skirt that has suddenly tumbled around my feet, and venture to the fireplace. “Why?”
“Why not?” He sinks into his chair, one boot hooked up on his opposite knee. For some reason, he’s looking at my toes. “She did try to kill me, after all.”
“Was this before or after she kissed you?”
Keir’s eyes narrow. “You know I thought she was you.” He pauses, those dragon eyes turning to full smolder. “And I’m fairly certain your interest in me was a ruse.”
Fairly certain? As in, he’s not entirely certain?
“Why was she sent here? To this court?” he demands.
There’s something in his voice that stirs the magic within me. I want to answer him. It’s an urge that bubbles up my throat, where I trap it behind my teeth. He may own my services for a year and a day, but
