Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(60)

Attention that was diverted to other things seeing as it wasn’t exactly close to our lodge and we’d had to ride there on Apollo’s horse.

And to ride there on Apollo’s horse meant him lifting me up on it to sit sidesaddle and him mounting behind me, his arm then snaking around my waist, pulling me deep, holding me close to his body, my behind snug in his crotch.

Sitting with him that way felt nice.

Scary nice.

Which felt scary good.

God.

Further making this somewhat short journey epic was him doing it the entire time with his lips at my ear, pointing out different shops or cafés I might later peruse should “we” find ourselves in Vasterhague with time to enjoy it.

His deep voice sounding intimately in my ear, the smell of him in my nostrils (he wore cologne that night; it was subtle but it had hints of cedar and musk, and mingled with his natural smell that was all man, it did a number on me), his arm tight around my belly, by the time we made it to the restaurant (what I guessed was around ten blocks) at his horse’s slow canter, I was in a state.

Luckily, the restaurant took my mind off that state and I was able to behave with decorum while having my cape taken away, being led to the table where Apollo pulled out my chair, being seated and handed a menu as Apollo ordered, “Bring us a bottle of Belle St. Michel and ask our waiter to give Lady Madeleine time with the menu.”

The maître d’ bowed and moved away.

I didn’t look at the menu.

I looked at him.

“What’s Belle St. Michel?” I asked.

His eyes went from his menu to me. “Do you have white wine with bubbles in your world?”

“Champagne?”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Belle St. Michel is champagne from a region in Fleuridia.”

I grinned at my menu, thinking, Fabulous. Fleuridian champagne. This night just kept getting better and better.

“That pleases you?” he queried and I knew he caught my grin.

I looked back at him. “I like Fleuridian wine.”

At that, his lips tipped up and he looked down to his menu, murmuring, “A lady with excellent taste.”

It was meant as a compliment but it struck me, and not in a good way.

Because I was that lady.

I was exactly that lady. The kind of lady who knew just how excellent the quality was of my boots and cape. My dress. This restaurant. Fine wine. I knew all that and more very well, in this world and my own.

I worried my lip with my teeth, perused the menu, and became aware of eyes on me. Peeking around, I saw Apollo and I getting furtive glances, the patrons here too well-mannered to stare outright.

They knew him here. And Ilsa.

Fabulous.

Oh well.

Whatever. It wasn’t the first, it wouldn’t be the last and because of that, I’d have to get used to it.

I might as well start now.

The wine came and I set my menu aside to watch it being served.

And I saw there was no taste testing exercise to go through here. The waiter just put down delicately etched, flat-bowled champagne glasses in front of Apollo and I, popped the cork and poured.

He then took orders. This time, Apollo allowed me to order for myself.

And then the waiter was away and I was alone with Apollo and champagne.

I went after the champagne and took a sip.

Beauty.

“What you expected?” Apollo asked and my eyes went to him to see he was asking this with his gaze on me over the rim of his wineglass and, like everything about him, that was hot.

He took a sip as I answered, “Better.”

His eyes smiled as he swallowed and set the glass aside.

It was then, it hit me that our date had commenced and I felt my palms start to get wet.

But here I was, in a new world and I knew one thing. I had no choice but to make the best of the situation.

In fact, I’d been doing that from the beginning.

And one could say that, so far, with a few minor blips that were mostly my fault, I hadn’t done too badly.

So I set my glass aside, linked my hands in my lap and sought an easy subject of conversation.

I decided on, “What’s your horse’s name?”

He sat back in his chair and leveled his eyes on me.

Again, a simple movement, a simple posture.

And totally hot.

“Torment,” he answered.

I blinked because, although that was a kickass name, it was also a strange one.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“His sister guides your sleigh,” Apollo continued.

“What’s her name?” I inquired.

“Anguish.”

I blinked again.

Then I threw out a hand. “Those are, well…interesting names.”

“They were born of the same mare at the same time. Rare and dangerous,” he told me. “Usually, if a mare produces twins, one or both of the foals or the mare will perish during birth. If a foal was to survive, it would be small and sickly and not last long. Unusually, Torment and Anguish both were strong healthy foals, if still small.” He reached to his glass and took a sip, finishing his story as he put the glass back to the table. “However, they killed their mother at birth.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.