Page 67 of Wingless Crow: Part 1

Several men in the gray royal-guard uniforms lounged around. Four of them played a card game at a round table by the far wall. One reclined in a chair by the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, an open book in his hands. One sat on a long couch with a plate of food in his lap and a steaming mug of tea on a small table nearby.

This seemed like a break room for the guards. But I assumed they were here to guard the High General instead of the palace.

“Wait here,” Alcon instructed, heading to the door opposite to the one we’d entered through. That one must lead to Voron’s private rooms.

I perched my butt on the vacant end of the couch. The guard sitting on its other end grunted something in greeting. I nodded in reply, and he continued eating his food. The rest tossed curious glances at me and my swan but didn’t ask any questions.

Alcon returned.

“You can come in, Lady Sparrow.” He held the door open for me.

Gripping the plate in my fingers, I hurried across the room, through the door, and into yet another sitting room.

It was roughly the same size as the other. Aside from the fireplace and comfy couch with armchairs, it also had a desk with a tall-backed chair in front of it. Three sets of crystal doors opposite the entrance must lead to a balcony or an outdoor terrace, but the view was obstructed by the designs etched in the crystal panes.

Ash-gray vines grew from the floor between the doors. Magnus was perched on one of the branches, eating seeds from the palm of his master, who stood by one of the crystal doors.

“Morning, Sparrow,” he said, turning to face me.

Holy gods of all the worlds, but the casually dressed Voron, relaxing in his personal space, was the most fantastic sight.

He wore a long, silver-gray robe over a white, partially buttoned shirt and black pants. The outfit exposed his neck and a narrow strip of his chest.

I promptly dropped my gaze to the gray rug on the floor. There was no need to feed my imagination. It was bad enough that I’d been fantasizing about his forearms for days now.

With my eyes down, however, his feet came into view. Voron was barefoot. His toes sunk into the soft rug, and I suddenly wished I could kick my tight silk slippers off too.

“Is this for me?” he asked, since I hadn’t uttered a word, not even a greeting. His eyes were on the swan in my hands.

I cleared my throat.

“Oh… Yes. Um… Brebie said you like meringue.” I thrust the plate in his direction.

Magnus finished the seeds. Voron brushed his hands against each other before coming closer.

“Brebie sent you?” He scowled at the swan, then snapped its pulled sugar neck and dipped its head into the whipped cream.

I held the plate out for him, since he hadn’t taken it.

“No. I came to ask you for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” He put the swan’s head with the whipped cream into his mouth. The candied sugar crunched between his teeth.

I took it as a good sign. He’d accepted my offering. He didn’t even question if I’d added anything to the food, which must mean he trusted me.

Or maybe he simply didn’t care?

He must have some other protection against the harmful magic beside the necklace he’d given to me. The slim silver ring around his pinky, for example, could be warded, too. It looked too plain next to the other rings he wore, too simple to be worn by someone of his status.

Tilting his head, he looked at me expectantly.

“Well,” I rubbed my chest. The beads of his necklace pressed into my skin under the scarf. “I wanted to apologize for being a bit abrupt with you last time… And the time before that—”

He blew out a breath, growing impatient.

“What do you want, Sparrow? You came to ask me for something. Just ask.”

I gripped the plate tighter, risking snapping it in half.

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