Page 17 of King of Storms and Feathers

“I take no credit for the meal,” she said. “Your thanks, if you insist on giving them, are owed to our new kitchen worker who suggested the combination of dill with barley, beef, and lemon, a meal she remembered from her home. Apparently.”

The king’s silver gaze landed on me, raking my body in a languid motion. “This girl?”

The Sayeeda nodded. “Yes. The one that nearly ruined your favorite cloak.”

The shrew. Was she trying to get me killed? It wasn’t my fault the guard forgot to take the king’s cloak off me before he pushed me into the water.

“Perhaps the king might consider not wearing his favorite clothes while inspecting filthy gilt markets,” Raiden said with a teasing grin.

Arrow’s lips curved as he crossed gold-banded arms over the breastplate of golden feathers covering his broad chest. The rest of his torso was bare, revealing the dormant, pale-red feather glyphs that marked him as king. They circled his arms and trailed over his stomach before disappearing beneath dark leather pants that hung low on his hips.

My gaze lingered on the feather on his left cheek. Tiny sparks of gold moved along the beautiful filigree pattern, as if it was coming alive under my inspection.

According to Grendal, on the day of an old king’s death, the Light Realm heirs inherited their glyphs along with their crowns. Blood magic, she’d said, the skin marking a painful process that laid the new kings low for days, if not longer.

I imagined Arrow writhing in pain on the day he was crowned, the Sayeeda wiping his sweat-soaked brow with her golden hand, and tried to remove my gaze from his aggravating form. But it was nearly impossible to look away from all that tanned skin on display.

For dust’s sake, he was the king, not a court entertainer. Why couldn’t he wear clothes that befitted his station? Or at least wear a few more of them?

Warmth curled in my stomach, a feeling that seemed to increase the longer I perused the Storm King’s muscled body and the alluring curve of his lips. My mind raced, desperate to recall any carnal experiences I might have had with men in the past.

All I could remember was witnessing the coupling between a mare and a stallion and the intense energy that had infused the air before the act. Although the memory was mildly fascinating, it gave me no real insights into the frequency or quality of my own mating adventures.

If I even had any.

Either way, I was furious with my body for responding like an animal to the Storm King’s unfortunate masculine beauty.

I felt certain that a special type of magic must have oozed from his pores, designed to make him irresistible and garner him an unfair number of potential mates. Which was cheating.

Someone uttered the name that the servants had given me—Green—for the color of my eyes.

“Sorry,” I said, turning to the Sayeeda. “What did you say?”

“Not me. The king asked you a question.”

Damn. I took a breath and met his inscrutable gaze.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you want us to believe that you somehow remembered a meal you once ate,” he said, “but can’t recall the name of the city you lived in. Is that right? Seems strange to me.”

My throat dried, and I swallowed to moisten it. “Yes. That’s true.”

“Can you describe what your home looked like?”

I lowered my gaze and shook my head.

Raiden grunted, a sound of disbelief.

The king said nothing, but I felt the weight of his stare chafing my flesh, just like his cloak had done on the carriage journey back to Coridon.

Finished with her needlework, the Sayeeda stood and bowed to the king, handing him the cloak. While staring at me, he flicked the garment around his shoulders, brought the material to his face, inhaling it as if it was a fragrant desert flower.

So, he had a thing for his Sayeeda. I wasn’t surprised. Despite her cold, merciless manner, she was an exotic beauty. But really, there was no need for him to sniff the cloak she’d touched in front of everyone. It was off-putting in the extreme and curdled my empty stomach.

Flustered, I looked away and concentrated on stacking clean pots, crashing them together and making a mess of the job.

A heavy presence resonated behind me, and I gasped as calloused fingers gripped my chin and tugged my face around.

Silver eyes narrowed above me. “When you remember where you come from, human, I want to hear about it. Understand?”

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