Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (44)

I studied the rock-hewn walls adorned with brass sconces and gilded paintings of the sea. “What is this place?”

Florian sniffed the wine twice. “One of the best seafood restaurants in the city. A hidden gem, if you will. It was my father’s favorite place to take us for many years.” He poured a small glass, then lifted it to his nose to sniff again.

“Yet you believe they might poison you?”

“I believe nothing until it is proven,” he said so flippantly, it made the slight ache in my head worsen. “And eons of history have proven it’s wise to always be cautious, no matter how much any creature or place provides comfort.”

Staring at the glass of golden wine he gently set before my empty plate, I wondered what had made him so rigidly cautious. He was a male of great power who ruled a kingdom of Folkyn. Perhaps it was because of his position that he felt he had to be.

I understood little regarding politics, nor had it ever interested me, but I did know that those in positions such as he did not keep them by being anything other than unapologetically ruthless.

“Comfort,” I said, mulling over the word as I lifted the wine to my mouth. The king watched me take a small sip, his eyes upon my lips when I licked them. “I don’t know if such a thing truly exists.”

“It does,” he said, his eyes rising to mine. “And it kills.”

I held his gaze as those words blistered, questions turning through my mind. I was about to ask the most important one, regarding this news of my family, when he unbuttoned his coat collar and asked, “Is this your first time drinking wine?”

“No,” I said, thinking back to the time I’d indulged my curiosity over Rolina’s preferred method of escapism. “My guardian drank a lot. Sometimes, she’d fall asleep and leave some left over.” My limbs tightened at the memory. “There wasn’t enough left to fill half a glass, but she still noticed.” I took another sip to give myself something to focus on—something to keep me from falling prey to another memory. “She was furious.”

“She hurt you.” The low words were not a question.

I still nodded, for he’d already guessed as much. I set the wine down and tucked my clammy hands within my skirts beneath the table. “Rolina preferred to escape me and her grief via toxins, but most of the time, it only made it worse.”

“A rather gentle way of putting it,” he remarked snidely.

“I suppose,” I said, casting my eyes from his probing gaze to the tabletop.

He watched me for some time, a long finger circling the base of his glass. “And how did you escape?” he finally asked, so softly, it felt like a brush of his fingers over my bare flesh. “Books?”

I smiled, giving my eyes back to his. “Guilty.”

His mouth curved, those endless dark blues unrelenting upon my every feature. So much so, I felt cold when they fell away and he served me a slice of the herbed fish. “Lemon?”

“Please,” I said, slightly croaked.

I was tempted to remove my coat when he squeezed the fruit. Liquid poured from his iron grip, matching the flood of heat pooling low in my stomach.

I didn’t need to meet his eyes to know he’d handed me a knowing look. The murdered slice of lemon was dropped cruelly to the side of the entrée dish.

“You are too pure of heart,” Florian commented. “Considering.”

I blinked. “Considering?”

“The woman abused you.” Then, as if mystified, he asked, “How?”

Though he waited, I could find no answer for him. I picked up my cutlery and kept my eyes fastened to my plate as we ate in a silence that was anything but comfortable.

Mercifully, the tension was tamed by the arrival of a bushy-haired male.

He introduced himself to me with a wide smile and a ruddiness to his cheeks that met his brown eyes and made me instantly wish to trust him. “Don,” he declared with a dramatic flourish of his hand as he bowed to both of us. “Welcome to a piece of my soul, beautiful lady.”

The king looked at Don with his elbow on the table. His talented fingers skimmed his jaw, a smirk at his lips while the jovial male regaled me with tales of his beloved restaurant.

“... And my father was also a great fisher, but me?” He laughed, hearty and thick. “Oh no. The goddess cursed me with terrible seasickness.” His eyes twinkled when I laughed. “Or did she bless me? For I have always been a master cook, my dear, never you doubt it.”

“Father.” Jessilba appeared behind him, wide-eyed and seeming almost concerned. She clasped his elbow, tugging. “Come along before you paint yourself a liar. The squid is done.”

Don sputtered a myriad of colorful curses. Bowing with two jerks of his rotund form, he hurried back to his kitchen through a door beyond the bar.

I watched him go, feeling lighter from his presence.

That lightness bubbled when I found the king studying me, that smirk now matching the contemplative look in his eyes. “You have a musical laugh.”

Unsure if that was a good thing, I only stared while my cheeks grew warm.

“Like birdsong beneath the rain,” he murmured, almost as if to himself while lifting his glass of wine to his lips.

His throat dipped as he swallowed, and I imagined what it might feel like to run my tongue over his Adam’s apple.