Page 241 of Primal Bonds

“Is he?” Sindre sipped his wine. “He accepted her geas. I can tell you this—he’s not in the castle. I assume he left with her.”

“I see.” She set down her roll and stared at her half-eaten fish.

Further down the table, a man laughed, and her stomach turned over, the rich food threatening to come back up. That these fae could sit here in their expensive clothes and jewels, and eat and drink and laugh as if Luc meant nothing.

Her fangs pricked her gums. The cat wanted to taste some fae blood—and she was tempted to let it.

Fane set down his fork. She shot him a fierce stay-where-you-are glance.

A hand touched her back. Arne, in a quick gesture of comfort. “Did I tell you the story about the human and the pot of gold?” he asked the king.

“Yes,” said Sindre, “but I don’t think our guest has heard it.”

Marjani released her breath. She only half-heard the story, a long, involved tale of a man who’d do anything to get rich, even trap an elf, but she silently blessed Fane’s dad for giving her a chance to calm herself.

The elves cleared away the second course and served the next, a small steak surrounded by mushrooms in a wine sauce. The meat was so tender it practically melted in Marjani’s mouth, but she only managed to eat a few pieces.

A few more courses followed, interspersed with tiny glasses of sorbet to clear the palette, but Marjani couldn’t even pretend to enjoy the food. It was funny, during the Darktime there’d been times when she’d been so hungry, she’d have done almost anything for a meal like this. Now, though, she just wanted this interminable dinner to be over.

She checked her quartz. The energy level had reached thirty-five percent, still too low.

At a nod from the king, the elves cleared the table. A cheeseboard was passed and after-dinner drinks served.

In an unguarded moment, she glanced at Fane. Their gazes snagged, and she felt his concern.

That’s when it hit her. With Luc gone, Sindre had nothing to hold over her—except Fane. What if the king realized they were mates? Or at least, that the bond was a possibility.

He uses mates against each other. Hurts one to bend the other to his will. And it wouldn’t be her that Sindre would hurt—it would be Fane.

She wrenched her gaze from Fane’s, heart thundering in her ears. From somewhere far away, she heard Sindre say, “Are you finished?”

She nodded and they rose, followed by the rest of the company. They drifted to the couches and sat in small groups, but the king guided her to a more private spot near the leafless trees. The place between her shoulder blades itched—behind them, Fane was watching.

“Your dinner was satisfactory?” Sindre asked.

“Yes.” She forced herself to focus on him.

“Good. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Clothes. Jewelry. Just speak to Jewel or one of the elves. You’ll find I’m a generous man.”

“Are you?”

His gaze was on her mouth. She nervously moistened her lips, and he leaned close, his mouth a whisper from hers.

“Emeralds,” he murmured. “Or rubies. They’d look stunning with your skin and eyes.”

Arne and Fane approached from the side. Fane had that determined look on his face, the one that said he’d decided on a course of action and nothing would change his mind.

Her stomach lurched. She was running out of time.

She angled her body toward Sindre. “Emeralds?”

“Mm.” He stroked a cold finger down her cheek.

She captured his wrist and made herself smile up at him. “Why don’t we go somewhere less…crowded?”

Behind her, she heard Fane’s sharp inhale.

Sindre’s answering smile was smug. “You read my mind.”

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