A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(67)

“Are the women?”

His expression turns resigned. “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow.”

“I can go shopping by myself. I’ve been to Sinta City before.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not leaving the castle without me.”

“You have other things to do. Send Kato. Or Flynn.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

He goes from resigned to belligerent in a heartbeat. “Do you need me to say it in—”

“Sign language won’t be necessary,” I interrupt, scowling. Disgruntled, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I’ll show these people how a curtsy is done, even if I am wearing soggy boots and a bloody pair of pants. Literally. There’s blood on them, and I can’t get it out, no matter how hard I scrub. At least it’s not mine.

I take a step forward only to get jerked back.

“Are there things men need to know about court etiquette? Things I need to know?”

I huff. “Men just stand around looking ferocious, frowning, and flexing their muscles. It’s very unfair.”

Griffin chuckles and raises his hand. I flinch—old habits die hard—and he frowns at my reaction. He smooths his hand down my braid, his calluses snagging on strands of hair. The tips of his fingers brush the side of my neck, and their roughness makes me shiver.

“You should really stop resisting me,” he murmurs.

I swallow, fighting the urge to step away. Or step closer. Gods! What is wrong with me? I hardly recognize my own voice when I speak. “Why?”

He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Because you don’t want to.” He slips his hand around my waist, and his lips graze my cheek, soft and warm.

I freeze, disturbingly aware of how my body tries to gravitate toward his. When he lifts his head, his gray eyes are stormy and full of things I can’t have, or even think about. My heart starts thumping, the wild, erratic pounding leaving me breathless. I step back, grumble something about arrogant warlords, and straighten my clothes, which were straight to begin with. Looking smug, Griffin offers me his arm. I ignore it and step into the room first, breaking etiquette just to get away from him.

Still hot and flushed, I dip into a court curtsy. It’s less pretty without the flowing folds of a dress around me, but it’ll have to do. I hold the pose. And hold. My thighs start to burn. “Alpha Sinta is supposed to tell me to get up!” I hiss to Griffin.

“Egeria!” He mimes something I see out of the corner of my eye.

“Cat!” she cries. “Please stand.”

I do, suppressing a groan of relief.

“That was a lovely curtsy.” Kaia beams, clapping. Definitely the youngest. So enthusiastic, and completely inappropriate. “Can you teach me?”

Griffin gives one of her loose curls an affectionate tug before taking an intricately woven hellipses grass crown from the leather pouch at his side. Kaia looks delighted, and there’s an odd pang inside me when I realize he must have made it for her. “That’s part of Cat’s job,” he says, positioning the circlet on his sister’s head with exaggerated care and concentration. “She’ll teach us all about court etiquette, especially you ladies.”

Egeria smiles warmly. “Where did you learn court etiquette, Cat?”

“In Castle Fisa.”

“What were you doing there?” She sounds genuinely interested, and a little awed.

“Mostly getting tortured,” I answer. “Loads of fun.”

Everyone gapes while I look over Piers and Anatole. Gods! I thought Nerissa was old. Griffin’s father looks like he can’t even stand up. Piers resembles Griffin except he’s not as solid or weathered, and there are ink stains on his fingers even though he was out patrolling today.

“Tortured!” Jocasta finally breaks the silence. “How awful!” She’s close to me in age. Like all the siblings, she has dark hair. It’s braided and pinned up. Brilliant azure eyes set her apart from the varying gray tones of the rest of the family.

“Never happened to you?” I ask as if getting tortured were as common as lamb stew.

Her jaw drops before clacking shut again. “Griffin would never allow us to be tortured.”

Something twists in my chest. I wonder what it’s like to feel that secure.

“Please sit.” Egeria indicates a chair between Griffin and Piers, ranking me above everyone except for Griffin and herself. I don’t say anything. Griffin is still standing and pulls out the chair for me.

Servants dressed in traditional tribal clothing begin piling my plate with dolmades, fat green olives, and glazed dove breasts. I stop them. Etiquette lessons begin now—for everyone. “Alpha Sinta is served first, then Beta, and so on. I’m last.”

“But you’re our guest!” Egeria protests.

I almost snort. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Isn’t she?” Egeria looks at Griffin, apparently confused.

He shrugs, and I grit my teeth. “You’re the royals,” I say. “You’re first.”

“I fail to see how being royal changes the rules of hospitality,” Egeria huffs.

Hopeless. They’re all hopeless. “Is that how things are done in the tribes?” It occurs to me that I know as little about their way of life as they know about mine.