Page 141 of Kissed By the Gods
He flashes that grin. “I know who you are, Leina of Stormriven.”
“I had no idea I was so well-known.”
He gestures to the room, which is so overflowing with bodies it’s like a hive on the brink of collapse, buzzing with heat and chaos.
“They’re all here for you,” he says. “Every night they come in droves, hoping to catch a glimpse of the only female Altor. The one kissed by the gods. You’re not well-known. You’re renowned.” His eyes scrape down, from my curly brown hair to my laced-up combat boots. He raises his eyes back to mine with a cheeky grin. “And trust me, Leina of Stormriven, you do not disappoint.”
I decide I’m very glad to be borrowing Elowen’s dress. It fits in here in a way I do not. I lean back in my chair, my head buzzing from the noise and the smoke. And maybe, too, from the attention.
“And you, Roran Chasen? Are you here for me, too?”
He leans forward but doesn’t touch me. “I’m here next to you, aren’t I?”
“How did you get past the guards?” They still form a line around our table, a veritable wall of muscle and blades. They’ve not let anyone else pass. It wouldn’t do much to deter an Altor. But then, they’re not there to stop Altor.
“I’m a charming guy,” Roran replies. That quick smile again. It’s nothing like Ryot’s. Ryot’s smile is a glimpse into who he isbehind the shields; a window into something deeper. Roran’s is too smooth and practiced. I shove the thought away. Far away. I’m not thinking about Ryot tonight.
Nyrica leans across the table. “Don’t be a cagey bastard, Roran.” Nyrica taps that mystery brooch on Roran’s chest with more force than necessary. Roran grunts at the impact. “Roran’s a gifted.”
Now that the Stormriven men know that I’d never heard of the gifted, they’ve been a lot more aggressive about explaining the various gifts. The brooches, though, are new to me. Gifted Altor don’t wear them.
“Roran’s a velvet voice, which means he has an ability to sway others,” Nyrica finishes.
I do a quick scan of the room for more of those brooches, but I don’t see another.
“Gifted civilians are required to wear them, if their gift can be weaponized,” Thalric explains. “Like Roran’s here.” Thalric slaps Roran on the shoulder, but it doesn’t exactly look friendly.
Roran laughs, and the velvety sound is so obvious it’s a wonder to me that I didn’t figure it out on my own.
“Let’s not be dramatic, Thalric. I’m no weapon.” His eyes shift to me. “Not like you.”
Thalric keeps his eyes on me, ignoring Roran. “Walls up around this one, Leina.”
I nod and spread mental fingers around the obsidian shawl around my mind. There’s no soft velvet sneaking through. There’s just attraction. Normal, no-strings-attached desire. Something that sounds like a relief after the exhausting push-pull around Ryot.
“Do you want to play a game?” Roran asks.
My shoulders relax, and a true smile blossoms across my face.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. It’s called two truths and a lie,” he says. “I tell you two things that are true and one thing that is a lie, and you have to tell me which is the lie.”
I grin, knowing I have an advantage in this game. “Alright.” I push out with my mind, seeking his emotions. He’s shielded, but not like an Altor, or even like the king or Princess Rissa. It’s not a curtain wall; it’s more like a … wooden fence.
He holds up a ringless finger. “One. I’ve danced in the rain.” True. My smile widens. He holds up a second finger. “Two. I’m great at massages.” True. Or at least, he thinks it’s true. “Three. I’ve never thought about kissing you.” Lie.
“Oh, that’s horrible,” I tell him, but there’s laughter in my voice, and he grins like he knows he’s been caught.
“Well?”
“Three is very clearly the lie, in your opinion. But,” I interrupt before he can reply, holding a hand up. “I’ll have to ascertain the truth of your skill with a massage myself before I can make a final determination.”
“That’s only fair,” he replies. He flags down a servant circling with food and snags a plate of breads and cheeses down for us to nibble on. He doesn’t acknowledge the man otherwise. That grates. I murmur a thank you, but he’s already disappearing back into the crowds. I squint at the necklace that looks terribly tight around his neck. How odd.
“Your turn,” Roran says, distracting me.
“Mmmm. I hate being stared at. I’m not ticklish. I’ve never danced with a stranger.”
