Page 74 of Gemini Wicked

An intimacy from which I’m excluded.

“Lucius.” Without shifting his gaze from me, Maxim rubs his whiskery jaw affectionately into the wolf’s shoulder to scent him, then sidles to one side to let him pass.

Aries pads past the wary dragon into the kitchen, his rangy frame respectably attired in houndstooth trousers and a tweed coat with suede patches on the elbows, wild chestnut curls bound in a civilized knot around his scholarly face.

He is bearing a neat sprig of clipped leaves.

“Fresh mint from the garden,” the wolf explains to my curious face, “for your herbal tea. I, er, understand the Fae don’t care for coffee.”

My nostrils flare to savor the welcome aroma of mint. In this one’s expression, without the alluring complication of Zara looming between us, I see nothing but grave courtesy and a lively interest.

This is no entrapment.

This mortal world is… different.

This wolf means to offer me a gesture of genuine kindness.

My tense shoulders relax a notch. I incline my chin in a regal nod.

While Ronin joins Neo at the stove and starts frying eggs with a silent ferocity, the wolf calmly adds the sprig to a glass tea press, then pours boiling water from a kettle. The familiar tang of hibiscus flowers twines through the scents of coffee and aggression that perfume the pregnant air.

Lucius brings the tea press and a proper cup to me. I have laid aside my gauntlets, so I accept these offerings with the careful courtesy one gives these small rituals in Avalon.

Even an innocent cup of tea can be dangerous.

But it’s true that I thirst.

Xhevith and I flew half the night through the portal at the standing stones—after I slew my loathsome cousin—in order to reach this place.

I study the tea flowers and mint leaves swirling in the slim glass cylinder of boiling water, then lean forward to give a wary sniff.

While everyone looks expectant, I survey the room—now wreathed in another weighted silence—with lifted brow.

Neo lowers his spatula and mouths, Thank you.

Ah yes.

Mortal manners.

In this world, I am not a king.

“Thank you,” I tell the wolf stiffly. “For your hospitality.”

“You’re quite welcome, Your Radiance.” The headmaster’s alert face softens in a smile. His eyes are lovely, the color of warm sherry. They flicker over my wary frame and linger on the crossed blades that jut over my shoulders.

I’m far too guarded, in this ungodly land, to disarm.

“That tea needs a moment to steep. Do come and fill your plate from the stove,” Lucius says kindly to my defensive face. “We don’t stand on ceremony here. We all serve ourselves on school mornings.”

“I do not dine without my bride,” I say stiffly.

At this mention of Zara, a muscle flexes in the wolf’s jaw. A wicked spark of red flares in his suddenly hostile gaze.

Near the door, the dragon bares his teeth in an unfriendly growl.

“Zara’s… getting ready for school with the girls. As you may have gathered, we had some excitement here last night. They’ll be along shortly,” Lucius says with careful control. “Rest assured you’ve nothing to fear under my roof, Your Radiance. As long as you harm no one, then no one here will harm you. You have my word as your host.”

Clearly this scholar knows something of Faerie custom. Still, he’s no Fae to be bound by his sacred word.

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