Page 82 of A Bargain with the Fae King

“Of course,” Sigurd replies simultaneously.

Galen pales, shifting on his feet, not meeting anyone’s gaze. I don’t blame him. This is awkward at best.

“Well,” Sigurd says with exaggeration. “If we’re all fine here, then I’ll return to the party. Good night.” He gives a little mocking bow before turning and walking off.

Riven lets him go, but I don’t miss the hard set of his jaw or the way his eyes stare daggers at Sigurd’s back as he swaggers off into the crowd.

We don’t return to the party.

Thank God.

My gown, which I’d thought so fantastical at the beginning of the evening, clings to my curves. The lace itches. The make-up, which had once been heavenly, is thick and pasty.

I want out of it, all of it.

Riven’s stiff posture says more than words could. Fitting, since he doesn’t utter a single one as we walk through the halls back to our room. Palpable anger rolls off him for the second time today.

Great, just great.

It’s not directed at me, but I had a part in it. I knew it’d be hard for him to face his hated counterpart and carry on with another court here. And seeing Sigurd with me twice in one day…

I shake my head.

Silence threatens to smother me once the doors to his room close behind us. A few flickering lanterns join the dim moonlight illuminating the space. Pine wafts in on the night breeze, ruffling the curtains of vine at the edge of the balcony.

Riven stomps off into the bedroom without a word.

A heavy sigh is all I can manage as I stare at the threshold, waiting for a man who doesn’t return.

Good job, Lia. Just great.

Instead, I decide to wash my face. That ritual always clears my senses and calms me. Besides, my pores need to breathe again.

A full pitcher of water waits by a bowl in front of the mirror across the room, the same one where Karin worked her practical magic hours earlier. I fill it, listening to the soothing sound of water as it trickles into the porcelain.

My chest feels lighter with Riven’s necklace unclasped and set off to the side.

One swipe of a damp cloth after another, I wash away the emotions of the day.

The heartache from Riven’s story.

My interactions with Sigurd.

My worry for May, lost somewhere out there, and our family who undoubtedly still searches for us back home.

I still, a gasp caught in my throat, when I catch sight of Riven in the mirror. He was so quiet I didn’t hear him return. He watches me, clad only in loose pants that hang low on his waist.

Talk about a distraction.

Heat prickles my skin as he draws close. Without a word, he plucks one of the golden leaves from my hair. Another follows. Slowly, carefully, like a child plucking wildflowers, he removes each one and untangles the pins to let my hair fall free.

“I can smell him on you,” he says.

I wince and hug myself. No need to ask whoheis. I turn to face him as the last of my hair falls free.

I’ve never seen him look so weary. Even when he’d returned from resetting the wards, barely conscious and unable to stand, he had more spunk than he does now.

Riven scrubs a hand down his face. “You looked pleased to be dancing with him. You smiled even.”

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