There’s a roaring in my ears, and my power coils and snaps at my skin. Yet I hold it all back. I learned control a long time ago—I had to.
“What can I say? They make good jerky out there. I’m a repeat customer,” I drawl.
Midas’s lips tighten ever so slightly that I’m not rising to the bait. It’s obvious now that he has assumptions and inklings, but he’s fishing for more information.
“Since Deadwell is no longer Fifth’s concern, I’m confused as to why you seem so interested in it. As you said, it’s not a very pleasant place,” I add.
“No, certainly not,” he agrees with a tip of his head. “And my people will be out of Drollard Village the moment they finish drawing the new boundary lines, of course. It belongs to you now, and I think it’s important that we respect what belongs to others.”
And there it is—the knot he’s trying to weave. Always so many steps to get the perfect loops he likes to tie.
If I didn’t already have a tight leash on my reactions, I might have wavered again and given away too much. I need to get my shit together. I know better than to let my guard down while in his presence.
Temptation ferments on my tongue. The forbidden knowledge of his greatest secret is baiting me like a worm on a hook. The king in me wants to do it, to meet Midas on his playing board and tell him that I know his secret too, and his is a hell of a lot more damaging than mine. I’d enjoy kicking his arrogant feet right out from under him and putting panic in his eyes. But I hold back, because as gratifying as that would be, it would negatively affect Auren, and that isn’t something I’ll allow.
“What do you want, Midas?” I say with a sigh. “I have affairs to see to.”
“Then I’ll speak plainly.” Midas has lost the fake pleasant look on his face. “Deadwell is yours? Well, Auren is mine. I want your army commander to stay away from her.”
I knew something was going to come of his little power play at the dinner.
My gaze goes impassive. “You were the one who had him carry her to the harp. He has no interest in her.”
But I fucking do.
Midas’s lips press together in a hard line. “My people will leave Drollard Village when your commander leaves Ranhold.”
Last loop, pulled tight.
“Deadwell isn’t yours anymore, so you can pretend that you sent your advisors there in an official capacity, but I want them out of my village,” I remind him.
“It’s within my rights to re-mark boundary lines after a land exchange.”
Leaning in close, I let the fucker see the magic lines crawling up my neck. He can never look at it without flinching.
I need him out of Drollard. Every second he has eyes there is time for him to find out more shit I don’t want him knowing. No one has ever uncovered the secret I’ve kept buried there, and I sure as hell am not going to let him of all people gain entry to one of my only vulnerabilities.
Since he’s shorter than me, I lean my head down, albeit exaggeratedly, so that he can feel smaller than me as I look him in the eye. “I don’t like when people try to coerce me, Midas. It would serve you well to remember that I still have my army on your doorstep. Do you really want to get on my bad side?”
“Not at all,” he says easily, that annoying amiable tone back in his voice. “It’s about respect, is it not? As allies, we respect what belongs to others.”
The fact that he thinks he owns Auren makes me see red.
Just then, the old man leading around the gaggle of saddles interrupts with a bow. “Your Majesty, I have a few questions we need to address for the ball.”
“Of course, Odo,” Midas replies to the robed man before turning back to me. “I must see to some affairs,” he says, regurgitating my own damn excuse. “I’ll let my people know they can leave Deadwell at your earliest convenience. Although, I think they’re rather enjoying getting to know everyone there.” He sends me a smirk that makes me want to knock his teeth out. “Enjoy your night.”
Midas turns and walks off with his man, the saddles trailing after him in a sweep of perfume and swaying hips.
I can feel Osrik shoot me a look, but I shake my head imperceptibly, and then we stride out of the room, both of us knowing better than to speak until we get outside. Even when we pass through the main castle doors and are greeted by the stark night air with nothing but fog and frost, we wait.
Seething silently, the two of us pass through the front gates of the wall, where Ranhold’s soldiers spring to attention and open it for us in haste as soon as they see us coming. I don’t know who scares them more, Osrik or myself.