Page 168 of Heat of the Everflame

“There’s a plan?” Luther asked.

“Oh yes. Queenie’s plan. Agreatplan. We discussed it last night.”

Alixe sighed. “He means the plan where he gets to drink all night and sleep with the Centenaries to coax information out of them.” Her eyes rolled skyward. “He’s been reminding me all day that it’s Her Majesty’s plan, so I can’t overrule it.”

Taran nodded excitedly. Zalaric glared.

“Yes, Taran, you can enjoy yourself tonight,” I said. He fist-pumped the air, and my smile finally broke free. “You too, Alixe.”

She looked uneasy. “Are you certain? We’re going to be heavily outnumbered.”

I shrugged. “The Queen had a clear chance to kill me at lunch. If she didn’t strike then, I doubt she’ll try now. As long as we keep playing her game, I don’t think we’re in danger.”

Taran pounced and threw his arms around my ribs, crushing me against him. “Of all the Queens I know, you’re my favorite.”

I clutched at my dress to keep from spilling out. “Thanks, Taran. That’s a high honor.”

He gripped me tighter until I squeaked for air.

Luther cleared his throat. “Cousin, please stop grabbing Her Majesty’s chest in public. It’s bad enough you’re sleeping in her bedroom.”

I stiffened and pushed Taran off. “He fell asleep. Nothing happened between us.”

Luther’s frown deepened.

Taran barked a laugh and prodded me with his elbow. “Don’t worry, Lu’s not really jealous. He knows you’re not my type.”

I pretended to look offended. “Whatisyour type? Wait, let me guess—a tall, blonde goddess with giant breasts and a tiny waist?”

Alixe started coughing.

Zalaric blinked.

Taran grinned. “Not exactly.”

His eyes shifted to something over my shoulder and grew two times in size. “Wine,” he breathed reverently, lurching toward the bar like a doomed sailor caught in a siren song.

Alixe and Zalaric shared a look and followed behind him, leaving Luther and I alone. I stared at my hands, my feet, my dress, everywhere but at his eyes. All the while, his heavy gaze stayed on me, watching in his all-seeing way.

The silence became unbearable, and the words tumbled out of me. “I came by your room earlier.”

“I’m sorry I missed you. I must have been at the bathhouses.”

“You weren’t. But you were... occupied.” My stomach reeled. “With two Centenary women.”

I finally, reluctantly, agonizingly dragged my eyes up to his.

His expression was dark and carved in stone. A muscle twitched on his sunken cheek. “It’s not—”

He stopped. Looked away.

His silence stung, but I forced myself to wait. Any second now he would explain, and then we’d make a joke of it, him teasing me about Taran while I ribbed him over... whatever it was, and then I would scold myself for ever having worried.

He retreated a step.

“I’m sorry I missed you,” he repeated.

The words came out like an empty clang, painfully curt yet reverberating without end.

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