Page 140 of Kissed By the Gods
I resist the urge to throw up on his shiny, plum-colored boots. Instead, I focus on why I’m here—to forget. And if I’m able to learn a little about the royal family while I do that? Well, that’s a boon, too.
I shift a little, leaning closer.
“Is that what you are? A member of the royal family?”
He fingers the brooch on his jacket. “I wouldn’t be able to wear this if I wasn’t in line for the throne.”
I give an appreciative hum, which I’m sure is what he expects. Princess Rissa wears hers high on her shoulder.
“So, you’re a prince, then?” I ask.
His eyes flash with anger. “Not quite. I’m the king’s nephew, Daimor Chasen.”
Sensitive subject for him. There’s apparently a lot of anger that Rissa is the king’s chosen heir. It’s the first time a Faraengardian king has allowed a woman to inherit the throne, instead of passing it to a male cousin or a nephew when there’s no son to inherit.
“Are you next in line, after Princess Rissa?”
The anger grows, leaping out of his eyes and onto the air. It’s spicy and bitter. “Yes.”
I tap one of the brooches I don’t recognize, and the ting of my nail against the metal is swallowed up by the racket in the room. This brooch has a beetle on it. There’s something about that bug that is disturbingly familiar.
“And this? What does this one signify?”
“Curious little thing, aren’t you?” He smiles at me, and I don’t like it. It’s condescending, and he answers me in a tone that matches. Supercilious. “It’s the symbol of the king’s blood oath. It’s a badge of honor I wear proudly—to be bound to the king.”
Oath-binding magic. Horror creeps over me like a low, cold tide. This was the bug that ate the soldier the day they came for Seb. That man was bound … to the king? I’m about to ask more,when the man flicks a finger out, tracing the scar on my temple. I tense.
“I’ve never seen anything so disturbingly beautiful.”
I slap his hand away. “Beauty is not an invitation to touch.” I’ve gotten better at controlling my own strength. I don’t break a bone, but I do leave a red mark. He flushes an angry red, but leans back in his chair, an arm thrown back, hooking on the backrest, his feet spread out.
“Is it not?”
Oh no. Absolutely not. He reminds me too much of the captain who burned Irielle. I’ll ask Thalric later about that last brooch. I push my chair back, and it’s apparently an invitation. Another man comes up to my side before I’ve even fully stood up.
This one is less flashy. The fabrics of his clothes are still exceptional, but the sleeves only puff the tiniest bit, at the cuffs near his wrists. He only wears four rings across his ten fingers. He, too, wears two brooches. The bug brooch—he’s bound in an oath to someone, I’m assuming the king—and the one that I’m not sure what it means. He has dark hair and brown eyes. His boots are black, and that seems like an improvement.
“Do you need some assistance, Leina?” Thalric calls from his spot against the wall.
“That depends,” I drawl, facing the newcomer.
He quirks a dark eyebrow. “On?” His voice is low and rich. Alluring.
“Are you a pompous prick, too?” I ask the new man.
The king’s nephew gives an outraged huff, coming out of his chair in anger, but he’s already being escorted away. Apparently being royalty doesn’t get you much here, except a better place in the line.
The dark-haired man shoots me a grin. “Rarely pompous. Often a prick, but never to a beautiful lady,” he says.
I decide I like his eyes and his honesty. When I sit back down at our table, he sidles up behind me.
“I’m Roran Chasen, House of Briarhelm.”
I wing an eyebrow up at the family name. But he’s not wearing the royal brooch. “Are you the king’s nephew, too?”
He laughs. “No. Simply a distant cousin.”
“I’m Leina.”
