Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (19)

“Florian.”

“King Florian.”

His nose crinkled ever so slightly. “Florian.”

“Oh,” I breathed, officially mortified. “Understood.”

He hummed as if amused. “You’ve been busy.” When I finally met his glowing dark gaze with a frown, he elaborated. “The market.”

“What of it?” I asked, feigning confusion—for visiting the market was nothing but normal.

The king of Hellebore dragged his teeth across his lower lip. Apathy and that strange cold heat pulsed, then leaked from him. After a moment, he huffed lightly. “You were hunting for something. I wish to know what it is.”

“Why?”

“I wish to know everything about you,” he stated, and so matter of fact, it took a moment for those words to sink beneath my skin.

It trembled in response, my fingers curling into the thin fabric of my gown. “There is really nothing much to know.”

“Humor me.” He turned to fully face me. “For now.”

I did the same, leaning into the lowering back of the divan. “For now?”

“I loathe repeating myself.”

Indeed, a tiny crease formed between his brows.

A huge risk, yet I supposed there was no better time than now to take it. I supposed there wasn’t going to be a good time for something so audacious as attempting to ask assistance from a king.

I chewed my lip, then released it when I decided on saying, “I would like to ask something of you first.”

His expression didn’t change. His eyes didn’t leave my face, roaming every feature with slow study. “Ask,” Florian clipped.

Fear drummed in my chest.

I silently prayed to the goddess that it did not quake my voice and cleared my throat. “If I am to meet with you,” I started, then corrected, “if I am to meet only with you, then I wish for something in return.”

Surprise cracked his facade, but only slightly. “Gold is not enough for you, daring creature?”

Heat infused my cheeks once more. “Some things cannot be purchased, no matter how much I wish and hope and try.”

“That is why you were poaching known criminals at the market.”

The word criminal alarmed me. At the same time, I hoped Hal was okay. “I was sent away.”

“And that is why he still breathes.”

My eyes bulged, and I forgot who I was seated with. “You followed me?”

An impatient and slow blink was all the response he gave.

Of course, such a thing was beneath him. Florian likely had loyal people everywhere—including the market.

His silk shirt, buttoned only to mid-chest as his other had been, gaped when he lifted a knee to the chair and leaned closer. He slid an arm along the back, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together right beside my shoulder. “Tell me of these things that cannot be purchased.”

His scent and pheromones crawled over and into my body, making my words meeker than I intended. “Will you consider my request if I do?”

Mouth quirking, the king said, “You are not exactly in a position to barter for much of anything, sweet butterfly.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Your aroma and your delicate...” He paused, then said flippantly, “Beauty, shall we say.”

My cheeks and neck caught fire, and I ducked my head as I scrambled for lost words. He was referring to my lack of experience with, well... anything. I knew that, but for some reason, I still liked it—liked whatever he called me far more than I should. Perhaps because it was not done out of hatred.

Perhaps because it was not Flea.

Emboldened, I lifted my head. “Why come to the middle lands for pleasure?”

“Why not?”

I scowled. “That is not an answer.”

He raised a brow, and I tensed.

He noticed, and perhaps decided to keep what was sure to be a scolding behind his closing lips. A moment later, he said irrefutably, “You are quick to grow highly anxious.”

“You are a king.” And it would be wise for me to remember that.

“Let us not pretend it is merely because of me.” My eyes narrowed, but he spoke again, his tone milder. “We shall get to the matter of my visits with you in good time, but right now, I wish to know what it is you seek so that I might take your request under advisement.”

I wasn’t certain I breathed as I studied his unmoving features. Mother maim me, he’d meant it. He wouldn’t punish me, then, surely. Not when he wanted to know.

My heart shook, hope bursting the confession from my chest and past my lips. “I want to go home.”

King Florian didn’t blink for the longest time.

After enduring that intense midnight stare for an agonizing half minute, I feared I might vomit my heart into my lap. I had to look away. I gazed down at my trembling and twisting hands.

A finger curled under my chin, lifting it.

Those depthless eyes searched mine, and I hadn’t realized I was on the cusp of tears until he studied the damp awaiting to fall with his head tilted. “When making a request that means so much to you, leave your heart out of it.” His thumb glossed the edge of my lower lip. “For there are many who will find endless pleasure in robbing you of such rare innocence and wonder.”