I tug at the hem of his shirt, searching his eyes. “Is there a reason you didn’t invite me? I thought we made an agreement to—”
Killian cuts me off. “That was before Daniel died. Before…”
Comprehension washes over me. “Before you became a King.”
He nods, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Things are different now. How I operate and present myself…it’s important. Those pricks in there are nothing but posturing and ego. It’s a part of the game I have to play.”
It’s a part of the game I told him he was born to play. Regardless, an insecurity scrapes its way through my chest. “You don’t want your fucktoy around.”
His reaction is so fast that I feel his hands before I see them, framing my face in a hard grip. “Never think that.” There’s an angry furl to his brow that I know isn’t meant for me, but still makes my stomach clench nervously. “Everything I do is to protect what’s mine—foremost, you.”
There’s a ferocity to his words. An unmistakable intent. This isn’t about keeping me out of things. It’s about keeping me safe.
“This is new,” he continues, eyes pinging back forth between mine, “and I need to get a feel of things before I make my moves.” He tips forward to press our foreheads together, all that hardness draining from his eyes. “But one thing is for certain, you are part of this. Part of me. Part of us. Just give me time to find my footing here. Give me time to make sure I can protect you.”
I let out an airy laugh, hooking my hands over his powerful forearms. “Patience isn’t my virtue.”
“We’re LDZ royalty, little sister.” His mouth tilts up into a smirk. “We can’t afford virtue. I’ll settle for some trust.”
Well, geez.
When he says it like that…
“Okay,” I sigh, fingertips dragging against his arm as my grip falls away. “Go back to your meeting. You can tell me about it later, can’t you?”
“Of course,” is his answer, followed by the brush of his thumb against my bottom lip. He stares at it there for a long moment, but doesn’t dip down for the kiss I’m waiting for with bated breath. It might have something to do with the question forming in his eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you still love me?” The rest of the question is unspoken, but I hear it anyway. Like this. As a man that deals with these people. As a King.
I push to the tip of my toes, erasing the distance between us. “Yes.”
The kiss is short, but it takes my breath away. In all this time, I never would have thought I’d get Killian like this. Tender and slow and so sweet that it lingers into an ache.
Satisfied, he slips back into the room, leaving me in the hallway. I feel lost for a moment, all of my men inside while I stand out here, waiting to be invited. I want to think that I’m necessary—part of what’s happening behind that door—but the hard truth is that I’m not. The Lords have been setting up these chess pieces long before I even thought to see the checkerboard beneath my feet.
I hear something behind me and realize Ms. Crane is in the kitchen. Because apparently I’m a glutton for punishment and insist on doing all the wrong things today, I enter the kitchen.
When she turns, making eye contact, she asks, “They kick you out of their little circle jerk?”
“No.” I say, a little too defensively. “Things are complicated.”
“You got that right,” she mutters, walking over and opening the cabinet over the stove. She pushes up on her toes and grabs an ornate bottle of something I suspect is alcoholic. “Shit’s gonna get worse before it gets better. That’s always the way, little fucktoy.”
“Do you know who those men are?” I ask, looking over my shoulder. “I don’t recognize all of them.”
“You see one asshole, you’ve seen them all,” she answers, casting a glare toward the hall. “You can tell by their shoes. You know the difference between good and evil, don’t you?” She gives me a meaningful look. “Fashion sense.”
Snorting, I suppose, “Tristian is a snappy dresser.”
She raises the bottle in a salute. “Exactly.”
Perching on a stool at the island, my shoulders slump. “Why is he in there talking to those monsters, anyway? He doesn’t need their approval.”
“He’s not looking for approval. He’s just lookin’。” She snags two glasses out of a different cabinet and sets them on the island in front of me. “All of this is theatrics. No King can rule without allies, can he?” She tips the bottle, filling the two glasses. The writing on the label is Japanese, but one word stands out in English: Sake. “I’m cultured,” she says, seeing my expression. “You should see me fuck in a kimono.”