Page 27 of Crown of Ellova: Vol 1

I take a deep inhale of the buttery tartness of the cookie before breaking one in half and shoving the piece in my mouth in a graceless fashion, too starving to care. “A lemon and sage cookie.”

“Sage, huh? I can’t remember the last time I had that.” His expression is thoughtful.

Leaning against the counter, he inspects the flaky, pale yellow cookie before taking a bite. He closes his eyes as he lets out a small groan at the delectable treat, and I can freely stare at the injuries on that handsome face. The swelling has gone down but the discoloration on his strong jaw remains.

Leon removes two golden cups from the hanging shelves and pours us two generous servings of wine before holding out one for me to take. We raise our glasses to each other.

“To meeting outside that dreadful ballroom, Leon.”

“To finding my way back to you.”

CHAPTER 12

Our glasses touch, the sound echoing around the room as we take large gulps of the sweet wine.

My eyes have drifted to Leon’s mouth, and he takes another bite of the cookie. Licking his lips, he looks at me and I turn quickly to place the chicken thighs in the now-sizzling pan. A small potted plant of rosemary sits next to the sink, and I pull a few pieces off, ready to throw them in the pan with the butter when the meat is almost done cooking. The kettle announces its readiness with a hissing steam and I set it off to the side of the stove, silk tea pouches waiting in the cups as the water pours in.

My head aches. I need to get back to the palace as soon as possible. There must be something in one of the Ink Court’s libraries on removing unwanted magical items. The crown does not belong on my head but it belongs in Ellova, with the fae. It stole so much magic from Ellova before the war.

If I had the strength, I would leave now, but the journey back to Nueena would be impossible. The crown’s magic brings an unending pressure from within that exhausts me, the heaviness making a home inside my body.

All I can do tonight is get enough rest to make it back to my other home in the palace tomorrow, so I focus on Leon.

Leaving my side, Leon starts to wander around the room, gazing at the art on the walls. Twisted yarn with frayed ends holds bronze planters above our heads; the plant’s bright leaves descend over the edges, draping past a soft emerald-colored couch near the window.

He holds up the charcoal sketch of the necklace I will be making for the coronation ball. The outline is of a teardrop emerald with small diamonds all around it. Putting it down, he moves on to the novel I read before bed. It’s a thick cherry-red book about two lovers with not much plot. He flips through a few pages, his thumb saving my place. He raises one neat eyebrow as he reads a passage.

I point to one of the chairs. “Sit down.”

He follows my instructions as I grab a medical aid box from under the bed and a clean cloth from the kitchen. I give his boot a light kick to get him to open his legs to make room for me. He leans forward and spreads his knees wide, grinning up at me. I try not to think about his strong thighs as I move between them and apply a thick green healing paste to his bruise and swelling. The paste works swiftly when it touches his skin, and his injuries fade under my fingertips. He is looking at me with an intensity that I want to look away from, but I find myself staring back. I’ve thought about him every day for two years but never imagined him here, in my home, so close to me.

Once his injuries have healed completely, I wipe the magical salve off and he looks like he always has, infuriatingly handsome. He looks at my lips, and I step away from the intensity swirling in his gaze. The chair creaks and I see the tight grip he has on the edges of his seat.

“Can you grab me two plates from the cupboard, please?” The question comes out a little strained and I clear my throat.

He gets up and opens the cupboard with a laugh. “Is everything you own gold? You have more gold in this kitchen than half the court.”

“Family heirlooms.” Hopefully, he doesn’t ask me to elaborate.

Turning back to the stove, I add the rosemary and extra butter to the chicken. I take a swig directly from the wine bottle, drinkingdeeply before lightly shoving the bottle at his chest. He drinks, watching as I dice up a zucchini and add it to the pan with the chicken. I busy myself with cutting some soft purple cheese and spreading it on the flaky brown bread I baked this morning. Once everything is cooked, I make us both our plates, which he takes to the small table while I bring the teacups. A blue crystal vase sits in the middle of the table with a cheery floral bouquet.

“Do you have any diamond-encrusted silverware around here?” Leon asks.

“No, I prefer to eat with my hands. It keeps me humble.” I sit down, pretending not to make a move to get anything.

He laughs at my joke.

I stare at him. “A few years in the castle and you are too good for your hands?”

“Says the woman with a kitchen full of gold.”

I make a poor attempt to hide my smirk but go to the kitchen and bring back the cookie tin, cutlery, and a pair of tiny gold teaspoons for the small pot of sugar.

Guests so rarely visit me here. It is nice to have company.

Hiscompany.

He eats a forkful of zucchini, even though it’s searing hot from the pan, and makes little noises of pleasure. As he makes his tea, he adds heaping teaspoons of the sugar crystals to the dark liquid.

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