“How could I not?” he replies, letting the smile hang on his mouth in a clear play of realigning the conversation. “You used to make me mute so I couldn’t tell on you to Mother and Father.”
Her lips twist. “You deserved it.”
“Probably,” he concedes.
The prince frowns. “I thought you had the power to pull voices toward you? To hear every whisper in the room?”
Well, shit. I need to remember never to speak secrets anywhere near her.
Midas cuts him a sharp look, but the prince is so oblivious he only shoves a spoonful of stew into his mouth.
“My magic can do many things,” Kaila says cryptically. “Some people who annoy me enough with the abuse of their voice lose the privilege of having it.”
My gaze cuts over to a red-faced Niven. Beside me, Midas’s foot taps on the floor six times in tense aggravation.
Niven nods. “My power will develop soon, and it will benefit Fifth Kingdom. My advisors estimate that I’ll have stronger magic than even my father. Perhaps even more than anyone in this room.”
I nearly snort aloud. If the prince notices the steam coming from Midas’s and Kaila’s ears, he pretends not to notice as he keeps going, obviously trying to win Most Pretentious Little Prick Prince prize in all of Orea. He’s a shoe-in.
“Now, King Ravinger…there’s power,” Niven goes on, looking up and down the table to see who agrees with him. Nobody meets his eye. “Too much, if you ask me. His rotting magic leeched into Fifth’s lands when he got here. You probably saw it on your way in. That, and his loitering army,” he says before slurping another sip of stew. “We were forced to give over a piece of land or face his army’s attack.”
As if on cue, Slade strides into the room right then, dark voice whipping out without pause. “I think you got the better end of the deal, don’t you?”
Chapter 19
AUREN
Every single person at the table stiffens at Slade’s sudden appearance. But me…my body seems to relax for the first time since I came in here. My ribbons loosen, their lengths slipping out of their drapery, ends slinking beneath the table like they want to slither right over to him.
I get a bit of tunnel vision as my attention locks onto him, and my lips go warm, once again remembering the press of his mouth and the nip of his teeth.
Great Divine, that kiss.
His green eyes sweep the room, onyx hair perfectly disheveled and body encased head-to-toe in black tailored clothes with a simple brown leather strap around his waist. His gaze doesn’t land on me exactly, but I swear I see the slightest twitch of his lips curve up.
Slade walks into the room with all of the swagger befitting his uncompromising confidence. Behind him is his Wrath, each of them in full armor, including helmets. The only reason I can tell it’s them is because Osrik’s hulking form can’t be missed, and neither can Lu’s featherlight tread. Judd walks just behind her with a relaxed swing of his arms, while the fourth in the group…
My eyes flick back and forth from Slade to the Rip look-alike. Slade swaggers, but Fake Rip stalks. With booted steps striding forward, curved spikes protruding from the arms and back of his armor, he looks every bit the army commander I’ve come to know.
Except for one thing. No aura pulses around him. No inky presence of his essence hovers in the air. This person is definitely an impersonation. The question is…who the hell is he?
“King Ravinger,” Midas declares, watching as the four Wrath take up spots against the wall of the dining room, Ranhold’s guards shuffling out of the way to accommodate them. “When you didn’t arrive at the stated dining time, I assumed you had other obligations.”
A verbal jab, letting it be known that Midas doesn’t appreciate Slade’s tardiness.
“Pardon,” Slade replies as he sits down across from the prince and begins helping himself to the platters of food. “I didn’t intend to leech off of Fifth Kingdom’s dining niceties, but time got away from me.”
Niven goes as pale as his chowder, but for once, the prince has the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
The passing minutes are so thick with tension that it would take a knife sharper than the one at my place setting to cut through it. Everyone eats and talks while I push around my food and bob my head politely whenever someone says something, while my internal clock ticks.
The monarchs are all sliding looks at each other when one isn’t looking, their words nothing more than riddles fluent in derision or rife with fake flattery. The only one as quiet as me is Slade.