Page 48 of A Sin So Pure

I imagine he does it to unnerve me—sitting where I should be, invading my space, and making me stand in front of him like I’m a guest in my own home.

It’s something I would do, though I think the repercussions of me sitting on Silas’s throne would be very different.

The Unseelie King does what he pleases, which I respect. Even if my approval ofwhathe does is up for debate.

“Your Majesty,” I say in greeting.

He doesn’t acknowledge my presence at first, but when he looks up, it’s easy to understand why the humans often mistake us for demons; rimmed with dusty white lashes, Silas’s near-black irises contrast the rest of his pale features.

It’s unnerving to be the subject of his attention.

“Nora,” he greets with a slow smile, leaning back in his—my—seat. His tone is rich and deep in the way that the cliffside sea is: deceptively beautiful and utterly dangerous. “I got your message.”

I pull off my coat and hang it on the rack next to the door.

As I walk towards the twin leather chairs that sit opposite my desk, I jab my thumb over my shoulder.

“Want a drink?”

“I already helped myself to one.” He salutes me with a glass of whiskey that emerges from a swirl of shadows and into his waiting hand. He inspects the glass. “I didn’t think your taste ran so close to your predecessor’s.”

I recline in one chair, leather-clad fingers gripping the armrests.

“I don’t entertain enough to warrant buying anything new, and now I’m used to it.”

Silas snorts, eyes glinting as he takes in my poised position in the armchair—relaxed back and ankle crossed over one knee.

A standoff of sorts forms in the silence between us. One where he expects me to fold under his gaze, to trip over myself to win his favor, or fall in line as a good little soldier he views the Sins to be. Because that’s what we are to him. Pride taught me as much; he hated how he was pressed beneath the Unseelie King’s thumb, free to do whatever he pleasedexceptfor when Silas said otherwise.

It isn’t freedom at all, only the illusion of it.

I’ve never operated under the assumption that we’re anything but chess pieces for Silas to position across his checkered board. My only goal is to be freer than a pawn, a rook, or a bishop.

I want to be as free as a queen. And as powerful.

So, I wait.

I called him here, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious as to what he has to say. What questions he’ll ask. How he’ll handle the way I push him and if he’ll call me out on it as he did at the Sins meeting.

What can I get away with in private?

He breaks the silence first.

“Taste for liquor aside, you are quite similar to the former Pride,” he says. The words sound thoughtful on his lips. He’s considered them carefully. “I had my suspicions when you came into the position, given the rumors on how you handled business under him. But it was never quite clear, the vision of who you were going to be as the new Pride. Like you were blurred around the edges, and I needed better focus.”

Silas stands and rounds the desk. He perches on its edge, not quite in front of me, but slightly to my left. It gives me the impression that he wants to be close enough to intimidate, but nottooclose.

He crosses his oxford-clad feet.

The stance is threatening in the way that only casual power can be—all subtleties and grave mistakes before you realize you’ve stepped into a trap.

I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers wrapping around my biceps defensively. Suspicion roils in my gut.

“Is it clear now?” I ask. “Who my version of Pride is?”

Silas cocks his head. The move is akin to a fox, black eyes studying me to decide whether I’m predator or prey. I am careful to keep my face a blank mask of indifference, but there’s something in the way he examines me that sends pinpricks up my neck.

“No, you’ve still got me baffled.” He smiles, and for a brief moment, it reaches his eyes. He sips his drink with a playful shrug. “Which means either you’re going to do great things for this Court or very bad things.”

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