Page 45 of The Cursed Crown

“Well, poison isn't the way to do it." She wasn't entirely immune to the strongest ones, as her last night in the Old Keep had proven, but she couldn't be killed with it.

An imp child dashed by and waved at her, grinning wide enough to show her pointed fangs. Rissa waved back.

"Oh?" Khal wasn't done with his lecture. "So, say I slip you drops of elvenbane. How hard would it be to cut your head off while you're passed out?"

She hated that he was right. "Well, I'm not passed out."

Another fae approached and bowed low, before walking on his way. She inclined her head to acknowledge him.

"By chance. You shouldn't have taken a stranger's loyalty for granted."

Rissa found that she didn't like being told what to do by Khal any more than she did Rydekar. She lifted her chin. "She wouldn't have poisoned me in public, with that many witnesses."

Stranger after stranger passed before them. Rissa noticed how they made a point of reaching her corner, just to greet her. She still couldn't quite believe it, despite the repeated occurance. This whole week didn’t align with what had been her reality up until then.

"All those witnesses are loyal to her court, except for me, and maybe that buffoon." He waved toward Teoran, who was dancing a reel with two court ladies, played by an impromptu gathering of musicians.

Rissa smiled. He certainly knew how to enjoy himself. "Aren't you going to eat?" she asked Khal, if only to change the subject.

He shrugged, though he must also be starving.

Khal was never one to refuse food from what she'd observed in their short journey. Guessing the issue, she told him, "No one is going to mess with you for being unseelie."

He snorted. "Right."

Rissa sighed, before hopping off her perch. "Come. Let's get you fed. I don't have any use for a withering knight."

The throng of folk parted to make way for her. "We can wait our turn," she stated.

The fae smiled, nodded, and let her pass in front of them till she'd reached the cook. "Your Grace. Can't get enough of my mechoui?"

"I could eat this every day," she admitted. "I'd love a little more, but only if there's enough to go around."

The cook puffed his chest. "Oh, there's plenty for everyone to have seconds." He cut another piece for her, and then served Khal generously.

A thin puck armed with a ladle filled the shallow bowls with the stew.

Chin lifted, the man stared pointedly at Khal. "Well? What do you say, stranger?"

Put on the spot, Khal cut a small piece of meat with his hands before stuffing it in his mouth. His eyes widened. "By the gods! Whatisthis?"

The cook's baritone laugh reverberated in the air. "You tell your southerner friends we cook the best meat here in the north, you hear? If they don't believe you, send them to me. I'll set them straight."

Rissa left them to discuss herbs and stuffing, lost in the finer art of cookery. Instead of returning to her lion, she roamed the square aimlessly, encountering bows and curtsies till she was snared into a sudden, unexpected jive.

Laughing and struggling to keep hold of her bowl, she let Teoran swing her through the square.

Again, an unwelcome reminder of Rydekar edged at the corner of her mind. He was the last person she'd danced with, after all.

Dancing with Teoran was nothing like dancing with Rydekar. She had fun, her heart light and filled with laughter. Rydekar's embrace was the opposite. Nerve-wracking. Too hot and too cold all at once. Disturbingly engaging her core.

"I'm getting dizzy." While that wasn't entirely true, dizziness was the least of her problems.

She was getting wistful, missing a man who certainly wasn't thinking about her right now.

"We've had a long day," Teoran said, slowing their dance to a stop. "I'll see that Sura has her people show us to our quarters."

She thanked him, letting him approach the queen, who surveyed the square from the steps of her residence.

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