Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (55)
He nodded once but said nothing else.
I ate some more, mulling over all he’d said for a minute. “Why take Baneberry’s food and valuables?”
Kreed swiped carrots out of the way and snatched a potato with a sigh. “Their king has committed egregious wrongs.”
“My father,” I said, the words so mystically foreign they evoked a slight flutter in my chest. Regardless of what he’d supposedly done.
Kreed huffed, but said, “He seldom tries to stop us, and he’ll continue to lose the respect of his people by failing to engage with Florian besides that of defense.”
I frowned. “But why wouldn’t he engage?”
“Because he knows he won’t win, and no king nor queen of faerie wishes to be humiliated in such a way. Pride, of course.”
So Florian intended to force my father’s hand. For if picking at every thread to King Molkan’s pride, including wedding me, failed to encourage his surrender or retaliation, then Florian planned to do as he’d told me.
He would march upon Baneberry. He would take everything.
This soon-to-be husband of mine was growing more and more monstrous by the hour.
I kept those thoughts to myself, knowing to voice them would be futile.
Apparently, my stewing silence spoke volumes. Kreed turned and crossed his giant arms over his chest. Abundantly blessed with handsome features and muscle that pushed at the blue stitching of his tunic sleeves, he was not what I would expect to find hiding underground and cooking for a royal household.
“You hate him,” he stated.
I almost laughed. “Whatever do you mean?”
His lips twitched. “Just...” He scratched at his clean-shaven cheek. “Be mindful of where you stomp.” A look cast to the stairs beside me had me setting the spoon in my bowl. Kreed gave his brown gaze back to me. “A creature who has lost everything fears nothing, Princess.”
I refrained from wincing—at what he’d said about Florian and the ill-fitting title.
“Please don’t call me that.” Not only did it not sit right, but it reminded me of what I was to Florian. Another toy in this game he played with my father.
Kreed frowned. “You truly knew nothing about yourself?”
“Nothing.” I hopped down from the stool and scraped my leftovers into the compost. “And after wasting all these years wanting answers, I should have just left it that way.”
The twins barreled down the stairs as I set my bowl by the sink. Olin followed, muttering words I didn’t catch at their backs.
The steward glared at Kreed with a flaring of his nostrils. “Your spawn were annoying the newest and youngest member of our staff.”
Kreed hid a smirk behind his hand as he rubbed his mouth. He crossed the room and waved Thistle and Arryn on. “Get washed up and start on lunch.” He then looked at Olin and asked, “Annoying?”
“The poor thing was red in the face and hiding behind the mountain of bedding she was attempting to take to the washrooms.”
Kreed snorted. “I see.”
Olin shifted his weight to his other foot, his attention unmoving from the cook.
Tension warmed the already stuffy kitchen, and though Olin hadn’t so much as glanced my way, I had a growing feeling that I should quietly excuse myself.
I smiled my thanks at Kreed, then climbed the steps right as Olin hissed, “You’re conversing with the swine’s daughter?”
“She’s hardly his daughter when she’s never even met the asshole, Ol.”
“That doesn’t make what she is any less real.”
Kreed cursed. “She’s young, harmless, and just trying to understand all of this. Sharing a few words with her won’t hurt anyone.”
The softer and lower tone of Kreed’s voice, as well as the way he’d addressed the steward, had me pinching my lips together as I leaned back against the wall atop the stairs.
Olin’s response was snide. “Providing you don’t keep it a secret from Florian, of course.”
“Must you make everything I do a fucking crime?”
“It’s not my fault you’re as trustworthy as a fox in a henhouse.” Olin’s steps sounded below, and I ducked into the hall.
Zayla frowned and straightened from the wall. “What have you done now?”
“Nothing,” I said, smiling. Then shrugged. “Just a little eavesdropping.”
Olin grumbled something behind us as he exited the stairwell. When he passed, he said sharply, “Your beast has soiled the carpet. Take it outside before I have its head removed and hung above a mantel and her pelt made into a cushion for my feet.”
Zayla watched Olin head into the foyer and out the doors, murmuring, “Well, he’s certainly more surly than usual.”
“He found me talking with Kreed.”
She nodded, as if that made perfect sense, then whistled slightly.
I was tempted to ask her about it, but I had enough plaguing my mind. Not to mention a lovely mess to clean up.
Dinner was eaten in the kitchen while Kreed cleaned in a tense silence I assumed had nothing to do with me.
I wasn’t hungry. Food wouldn’t help to alleviate the tension in my head and muscles. The aches unsettling my flesh and bones. I ate what I could anyway, knowing I needed to and not wishing to offend Kreed.