House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(57)

“All women?”

“All those who wish to fight for Nebba.”

“Even halflings?”

“Even humans, Mademoiselle Rossi.” He tilts his head, his gaze slinking over each one of my features, as though he’d never looked upon such an exotic face. Save for the hue of my eyes, nothing about me is exotic. “Just like your king.”

I look past King Roy at Dante who’s lowering himself into the seat at the head of the table between father and daughter. “You’re allowing women into the army?”

Dante halts mid-squat, palms flat on the table.

Pierre leans back. “I didn’t realize you still considered the Fae monarch your king.”

My faux pas hits me at the same time as Syb’s foot. Why the Cauldron did my mind hop to Dante when Roy mentioned my king?

“I don’t have a king,” I end up saying. “I have a queen. Have you ever met her, Maezza?”

“I had the chance to meet Priya once. When the wards fell two decades back, she paid me a visit to discuss an alliance. I turned her down.”

“May I ask why?”

“She suggested we join forces to take down the Regios, but the only thing I wanted, she wasn’t willing to give.”

“What thing did you want?”

“A Shabbin wife.” His gaze slicks across my face. “From her bloodline.”

My spine prickles. Yes, he added the word line, yet all I heard was the word blood. Although it isn’t uncommon for a king to want to wed someone of his status, I sense his desire to marry someone from my bloodline has everything to do with the strength of my lineage’s magic and nothing to do with rank.

“I hear Meriam is a free agent,” I suggest sweetly, and also . . . how practical would that be? “Perhaps you should find her, Your Majesty?” I turn toward the Lucin King. “Would I be too forward in supposing that you’d assist your future father-in-law in his search and”—since the term rescue doesn’t seem fitting, I swap it for—“capture, Dante?”

My suggestion is met with a stony-faced expression on Dante’s part. Pierre Roy, on the other hand, seems quite amused.

“I know for certain you’d have Lore’s backing, Maezza.” I wonder if Lorcan’s listening. “Come to think of it, it would make for great alliance-building.”

Eponine coughs, and since she’s setting her wineglass down, I imagine the bubbly liquid went down the wrong pipe.

Pierre slings one arm around the sculpted back of his armchair, swiveling more fully toward me. “We’ve got a real little diplomat on our hands, Dante.”

I glance toward Dante, whose jaw is slow-ticking. I wonder why my suggestion perturbs him. Shouldn’t he be enthusiastic for any and all help in finding the runaway witch who surely wants him dead by proxy? He may not have imprisoned her himself, but like Mattia suggested last night, she must have a bone to pick with every member of the Regio line.

“But I have to wonder”—Pierre tilts his head—“why go through all this trouble when Priya’s great-granddaughter sits at my side?”





Twenty-Nine





Pierre’s words stiffen my posture to the point where, when I shift on my seat, my skeleton creaks like old floorboards. “Oh, you don’t want me, Your Highness. I’m out of order.”

Pierre’s attention falls on my palpitating carotid. He better not be imagining slicing it open to harvest what runs in my veins.

“I’ve zero magic.”

When he doesn’t look deterred, I plant my elbow on the table and hunch, then seize the flaky bread roll beside my plate and squash it between my fingers as I carry it up to my mouth. “And I’m horribly uncouth. Unfit for any and all regal events.”

Before I can take a chunk from the bread, Imogen seizes my wrist and takes a bite. Since she doesn’t drop dead, I sink my teeth into the roll.

“Just ask Sybille,” I say around my mouthful of bread. “She claims I was raised by a den of serpents.”

Is it me, or have Syb’s eyes grown so round they’ve spread to other parts of her face?

I make sure to add spittle. I personally find few things more disgusting than spittle. “Meriam, however, would be a great match.” I slug down a loud gulp of water—after Imogen tastes it—then pound down the rest of my bread and wipe the buttery flakes down the front of my dress. “She’s had training, what with having been Dante’s grandfather’s concubine.”

Although he’s watching me eat, Pierre Roy’s face doesn’t contort in repugnance. “Delightful, aren’t you?”

Eponine coughs again. This time, since she’s not gulping down wine, I think she may be coughing to cover up her horror that her father would find someone like me delightful.

A smile tightens Syb’s features. “She has her moments.” Clearly, she doesn’t believe this is one of them.

Pierre’s smile only firms up.

I drain my water, then set the empty goblet back down beside my wineglass, which is being filled by the same halfling who tucked my chair under the table. “No wine for me, thank you.” I need my wits about me.

The halfling pauses mid-pour and glances at Dante as though to get his take on my liver’s fate. When he flaps his fingers, she backs up and circles the table toward Syb.