Page 139 of Until the Stars Fall

Just as I’d hoped it would.

My stomach grumbled loudly in the quiet room, reminding me I had missed supper. Perhaps Mrs. Bishop wouldn’t mind me popping into the kitchen like I used to when I was younger, when my nights were spent having fun in taverns rather than trying to keep our kingdom from collapsing. Taking the bottle with me, I stumbled out of his apartment and shut the door behind me—at least, I was pretty sure I shut it.

When had our property gotten so big?

I didn’t remember it ever taking this long to get home before.

When I finally arrived at the palace, it was quiet, and I slowed my steps so as not to make too much noise as I made my way downstairs. My father wouldn’t take kindly to my making a scene. Again. I chuckled at how ridiculous I must have looked that night, standing there in front of all our guests, trying to think of a reason not to kill Lieke.

Looking around, I wondered how I’d ended up at the kitchen so quickly, but it was no matter. I was here, and I could smell our cook’s delicious food even from the hallway. I leaned my shoulder against the wall and tapped the lip of the bottle against the kitchen door, closing my eyes as I waited. The door swung open faster than I’d expected, but when I opened my eyes, my mouth fell into a frown.

“You’re not my cook,” I said, pointing the bottle at the female who seemed altogether unimpressed that her crown prince was standing before her.

“Neither are you,” she said around her scowl.

Recognition dawned on me, and my brows shot up I leaned my head closer to her. “I know you. You’re Laura.”

“Lola,” she corrected with no amusement on her face.

“Right, that’s what I said.”

Laura or Lola—or whatever her name was—angled her head to one side, studying me more than I should have allowed. Before I could order her to stop, she smiled sweetly, though I got the distinct impression there was nothing sweet about this female. “I knew it was only a matter of time before she drove you to drink.”

A string of laughter bubbled up from my chest as I lifted my hand, still holding the bottle, and placed a finger to my lips. “Don’t tell anyone, Laura, but my bride doesn’t like you very much.”

The female’s smile faded, her eyes icing over. She sneered. “The feeling is mutual.”

I dropped my gaze to the dark blue stone lying against her chest.

“That’s not yours,” I said, glancing briefly up to her eyes.

She clutched the stone in her hand. “It is now. She gave it to me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

Mischief played upon her mouth before she said, “In exchange for getting to take your brother his dinner.”

Of course.It was always about Brennan.

Peeling myself off the wall, I set my jaw as I stared at her. “You know what? I don’t think I like you very much either.” Before she could react, I grabbed her wrist with my free hand, squeezing hard until her fingers released their grip on Lieke’s necklace. Tossing her arm to the side—a tad miffed that it didn’t smack into the door—I snatched up the necklace and tore it from her neck. Forgetting about my hunger and my quest for food, I stepped back, turned slowly around, and headed upstairs.

CHAPTER 72

Lieke

I was still crying when I returned to my room. Thankfully, I hadn’t met anyone along the way, and Gretchen wasn’t here to ask the reason for my sobs. Falling into bed, I buried my face in my pillow, letting my tears flow freely and silently and for as long as they needed to.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the room was dark when I sat up to the sound of knocking at my door. My heart took off running ahead of me as I walked slowly to answer it. At first I assumed it was probably just Mrs. Bishop, here to insist I eat something, but somehow—even before I opened the door and found him standing there with his head hanging low toward his chest—I knew it was Connor.

Dressed casually in his black trousers and grey button-up shirt, he looked much like he had the first time I’d opened the door to him. Except this time his hair was mussed—one stray piece hanging haphazardly into his eyes—and his shirt, while tucked in, hung loose. The top three buttons were undone, revealing enough of his chest and tattoo that I nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Connor?” I said sheepishly, not intending it to come out a question.

He lifted his chin just enough to bring his eyes up to meet mine, and a smile crept lazily across his lips. “Sapphire,” he breathed out.

Under any other circumstances, I probably would have giggled, but with how we’d left things this afternoon, I was more worried than amused. “You’re drunk,” I said.

He lifted a nearly empty bottle toward me as if offering to share, but he said nothing. Gingerly I took the bottle from him and invited him in. When he stepped forward, though, he stumbled, catching himself on the doorframe. He shifted slowly, running his hand up the wood to grip the molding overhead. His movements were so smooth, they almost appeared intentional. Almost.

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