Page 70 of The Prince and the Ice King

“First of all, how dare you go about as usual when something clearly happened between you and the king!”

Jack tensed, keeping hidden behind the bend in the passageway.

“It was late!” Reardon protested. “I went to bed. Then, this morning, I wanted to be early for our audience.”

“Reardon!” Zephyr exclaimed, but their voices were drifting, meaning Reardon must be continuing on his path. “I heard you say you’re going to see him again tonight.”

Spymasterindeed, Jack thought.

Once he was certain the pair had moved around the next bend, he followed, keeping his steps silent and his pace even to not give away that he was there.

“Technically, I didn’tseeanything,” Reardon said, and then added in a softer private tone, “but I did share his bed.”

Zephyr practically squealed, while Jack continued to grimace, not that he’d expected the encounter to remain a secret. “Naughty princeling. What’s he like in bed? I’ve always wondered.”

“I-I can’t speak of that!”

“Sure you can. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“And as your friend, shall I remind you of what got you into trouble with your love the last time?”

Zephyr scoffed. “I have never been unfaithful to Nigel. I merely enjoy a nice view on occasion. After 175 years,” he muttered, “he’s more likely to get bored ofme.”

“You don’t believe that.” Reardon stopped; Jack heard the stutter of his feet and stopped his own forward progression.

“That I’m boring?” Zephyr returned to bright and undaunted. “Heavens no. I’ll pry those details out of you yet,friend.”

He poofed away, he must have, for Reardon sighed like he had at Jack, and the sound of retreating feet continued.

Back to invisible like a persistent wind, Zephyr was probably fully aware of Jack’s tailing now, but Jack didn’t care. He followed Reardon all the same, until the prince left the tunnels to enter the alchemist tower.

“Reardon!” Barclay pounced upon him.

“What happened?” Shayla latched on to him next.

Jack could see them all through his usual removed stone. To his surprise, along with Widow Caitlin and Liam, Josie was also there, the lot of them having gathered in wait for Reardon, the meddling traitors.

“Allof you?” Reardon voiced Jack’s thoughts. Then he looked around and realized, “No Nigel?”

“He’s about somewhere,” Barclay said.

“And what of Branwen?” Reardon asked, looking to Caitlin. “You’re his… scribe, he said?”

Caitlin had the grace to look uncomfortable, not that any of their coupling was news to Jack. He’d known from the beginning—Zephyr told him everything—and it had never occurred to him to question his court’s love lives.

They deserved reprieve from the curse. They weren’t at fault for causing it.

“Bran doesn’t generally enjoy group gatherings unless he can have a drink,” Caitlin said. “But ‘scribe’ is… accurate. He dabbles in verse, romance mainly, if you can believe it. He’s actually very good! But he doesn’t like others reading his work, or at least, not while knowing he’s the one who wrote it. He has many books in our library under false names. He’s not particularly fast with a quill, however, so he asks me to help.”

“He asksyou,” Reardon reiterated, seeming to enjoy the close press of his other friends on either side of him, “never anyone else, to help write down his romances?”

“He is a perfect gentleman!” Caitlin countered.

“Even gentlemen have wants,” Shayla said, and when Caitlin’s cheeks filled with color, she added, “andladies.”

“Not that we need you coming around for the show again,” Liam said to Reardon, electric arms visibly crossed in irritation and sparking liberally.

“Enough of all that,” Josie interjected, her golden form floating a safe distance in the corner. “What aboutyou, Reardon? What of my brother? Did you stay in his rooms all night?”

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