House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(49)

Antoni comes to a stop mere paces from me. His gaze slips over my coral dress in a way that makes Aoife tense beside me. “Do you have everything you need?” Although his tone doesn’t drip with warmth or gentleness, it’s not as biting as it was when I showed up earlier today.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Aoife slips the wine into my hand. “Is fine.”

That snaps Antoni’s attention onto her. “We’ve no intent to poison Lorcan’s precious curse-breaker. Please relay that information to your king.”

Aoife doesn’t nod, merely glances toward one of the sitting areas, and a small smile warps her tense expression. “He hears, Antoni.”

My heart fires off a series of quick beats when I spy Lorcan lounging in one of the armchairs like a king on his throne, one ankle hooked over his knee, the opposite elbow digging into the armrest, two long fingers supporting the smooth edge of his jaw.

Since I don’t remember seeing a throne room during my trek through his realm, I wonder if the shifter king even owns a throne.

No. His golden eyes burn a path straight for me. For I do not believe that a kingdom is best ruled by sitting on one’s ass.

That spreads a grin onto my mouth. A bird swing, then?

His lips bend with the ghost of a smile.

“Not that we’re not honored by your presence, Mórrgaht”—Antoni sounds anything but honored—“but what brings you here?”





Twenty-Five





Lorcan’s piercing gaze comes to rest upon his Crow. “Aoife needed a rest.”

My guardian turned tutor gives him a sharp nod before heading toward a window and melting into smoke that coils between sections of the drawn drapes.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing someone shift into smoke,” Syb murmurs to Mattia who’s got one large arm draped around her shoulders.

I’m unsure if I’ll ever get used to seeing her and Mattia together, even though they’re admittedly quite sweet.

“And none of your many other Crows could make the trip to replace her?” The hard edge has returned to Antoni’s voice.

Lorcan rises from his seat. “Since I can come and go as I please, I decided to come. Besides, I hear you’re harboring a new rebel and was impatient to make her acquaintance.”

Catriona’s chest seems to still as the shifter king prowls closer, circling her once, before coming to stand beside me.

“Catriona Madaro, most reputed courtesan in Luce.” His gaze licks up her hourglass figure, from delicate ankle to ruby hair clip, and although I wear an equally pretty dress, I suddenly feel like a child playing dress-up.

She rolls her shoulders back. “Lorcan Ríhbiadh, most feared monarch of the sky.”

Although I catch Riccio copping a look at the plunging seam of flesh between Catriona’s squashed breasts, Lorcan’s eyes return to her face and stay there. “I hear you volunteered to put food on the table.”

“I need to pull my weight.”

Lorcan ties his hands behind his back and walks over to the oval dining table, which he lazily rounds, occasionally leaning over to sniff at some fugitive wisp of steam. “Tell me, Signorina Madaro, how does one learn to cook overnight?”

“Overnight? I’ve been feeding myself for years now.”

“With food from the tavern and from the bakery beside your house. Your kitchen has never been used. I took the liberty to check on my way over.”

“You had no right to enter my home uninvited.” Although she keeps her volume low, Catriona’s tone betrays exactly how she feels about Lorcan’s intrusion, as does the rising color in her cheeks.

Lorcan disregards her disgruntlement and pursues his questioning. “The window was cracked. Did you recently get into a fight?”

Lore? I set my wineglass down on the marble console pushed against the back of one of the many sofas. Catriona has only ever been nice to me. Is this interrogation truly necessary?

He holds my stare. I do not trust the Faerie.

Half-Faerie. And you don’t trust anyone. I soften my words with a gentle smile.

“If you must know, a sprite was spying on me while I was disrobing. I tossed a book at the glass.”

“You read?” Riccio asks.

Her nostrils flare. “Yes, I read. The same way I cook.” She begins to back up. “I’m done being insulted. Enjoy what I put on the table. I’ll see the lot of you in the morning.”

As she whirls, I step past Lore. “Catriona, wait.”

She halts and glances over her shoulder. “What?”

“Stay. Please.”

Her lips pinch. I reach out and touch her hand.

Her gaze slips past me to scan the sea of faces. “Not tonight, but I will see you in the morning.”

She slides her gloved hand out of mine and leaves, her shoulder bumping into Giana’s. With a murmured apology, she vanishes up the stairs.

“What was that about?” Gia asks, in a fresh getup of pants and shirt.

“She cooks.” I nibble on my lower lip as my hand falls back along the folds of my dress. “We were surprised. She took it—not well.”

“Did you know she could cook, sis?” Syb steals her wineglass from Mattia but he’s already drained it.