House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(50)

“I did not, but I’m glad someone’s taken up kitchen duty, or we would’ve ended up eating only raw food.” Gia starts toward the table but does a double take upon seeing Lorcan. “Mórrgaht.” She gives him a deep nod. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

“I will. It’ll give us some time to catch up.”

“I’m starving.” Riccio drops into a chair and piles meatballs doused in a pungent tomato sauce onto his plate. When he realizes no one else has joined him at the table, he says, “Hope you don’t mind if I start eating.” He’s already stuffed an entire meatball inside his mouth.

Lorcan flicks his hand. “By all means.”

“We’re waiting to see if you drop dead.” Syb sinks into the chair across from Riccio, whose tan has turned as crimson as Catriona’s shiny barrette.

“Oh, Gods, he’s choking.” I start to take off toward him but Antoni reaches him first and smacks him between the shoulder blades.

Instead of making the mouthful spill out, Riccio’s throat jostles with a swallow. His complexion remains mottled for horribly long seconds.

“He’s still alive. That’s a good sign, right?” Syb says, eyeing the meatballs.

“It depends on the poison.” Smoke swirls off the black leather encasing Lorcan’s chest.

I’m not sure when he moved, but he’s at present standing in front of me, so close that his smoke skitters over my skin.

Riccio reaches for a pitcher of water. Instead of pouring himself a glass, he drinks straight from the jug. “You’re all absolute bastards,” he mutters, setting the empty crystal recipient down so indelicately that it crackles. “Seriously, Syb, what the fuck? Why the underworld would you say such a thing? Why would Catriona poison us?”

“I didn’t mean literally. I meant it like she’d be awful at cooking.” As she fills her stemmed glass with wine, she smirks. “You should’ve seen your face.”

He seizes a meatball and pitches it at her face. She startles when it smacks her forehead before slithering down the bridge of her nose right into her décolleté. “You loggerheaded louse! How old are you?”

As she fishes the meatball from between her breasts, Mattia has the misfortune to snort a chuckle. Syb whips her head toward him, the mother of all scowls shining through the glistening tomato smear.

Mattia coughs into his fist. “Seriously, Riccio. That was not—” Another chuckle shoots out. He attempts to disguise it as a cough. “Not—” He tries once more to reprimand his cousin, but once more fails. Between puffs of laughter, he chokes out, “I’m sorry, bibina.”

“Oh, you’re going to be plenty sorry later, bibino.” The way she mutters the affectionate term speaks volumes on whatever plans they had for after dinner.

An entertaining bunch, your friends. Lore’s comment makes a smile flip the corners of my mouth. “How do you feel, Riccio?”

“Fine.” He shoves back his dark-brown hair, then leers at Syb, “Better.”

“It’s a shame nicer garments haven’t given you nicer manners,” she mutters.

“Because you think a nice dress—”

“Enough.” Antoni seizes the back of the chair at one end of the table and pulls it out. He glances toward Lore, probably debating whether to offer it to him.

He must decide against it because he sits. Then again, there is another end. Sure enough, that is the direction Lore heads toward, but before sitting, he pulls out the chair beside his and looks at me.

I nibble on my lower lip, realizing that he is making a statement, but Antoni hasn’t offered me the seat beside him.

Perhaps I’m being a gentleman.

The fact that he needed to precede his statement by the word perhaps tells me all I need to know about the reason behind him pulling out the chair.

Lorcan’s chest seems to grow broader beneath his leather cuirass. And if Antoni had offered you to sit beside him?

This is his house, isn’t it?

Lorcan’s jaw is so tight that I expect him to burst into dark smoke and soar off into the night. Do I strike you as the sort of man who lets another win, especially by default?

You’re a king, Lore. You already have everything—a kingdom, loyal subjects, a fiancée. Antoni has this house—that you bought him—his friends, and this cause—which seems intricately tied with yours.

Lore’s pupils don’t pulse; they detonate. Do you plan on offering yourself to him to make him feel more adequate?

I don’t plan on offering myself to anyone. Before we can create more of a scene than we’re already making, I take the seat he’s scooted back for me, but I make sure my expression displays what I think of his little cock-swinging.

Nothing little about my cock, Behach ?an.

My cheeks smolder with annoyance. It’s an expression. I wasn’t— You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I start to rise but freeze when Lore picks up my hand and flips it, then holds it to his nose.

Did you cut yourself?

“No, why?”

“Why, what?” Syb asks, leaning across Mattia to peer at me.

Lore sweeps his tongue over the scarlet smear on the calloused base of my ring finger.

Lore! Although I should’ve probably been alarmed by the fact that I have blood on my hand, I cannot help but focus on the fact that he’s licked my hand. It’s probably just tomato sauce from Riccio and Syb’s food brawl. I try to pull my hand away, but he holds onto it, his cold smoke gliding between my fingers like silk.