Page 77 of The Sovereign: Part One
In front of Lourdes, she set a porcelain dish of pan-seared salmon with white truffle puree, resting atop a bed of saffron-infused lentils, the delicate fillet glistening beneath a drizzle of citrus beurre blanc.My plate followed, then Roan’s heartier dish, a slow-braised verath flank, and finally, Bellam received charred fennel and wild mushroom risotto, its surface adorned with a lacing of smoked pecorino and micro herbs.
With a final glance, Andress stepped back, waited a moment for any further instruction, then bowed, leaving once again.
“I want a firm confirmation for you for the gala,” Lourdes reminded us, setting down her leir.“It’s in the Empyrean Crest, of course, and more importantly, at our estate, which should be reason enough to attend.”Her gaze targeted me.“Say you’re going.”
“We’ll discuss it,” I said smoothly, glancing at Maxim.
“I admit, I’m intrigued,” he said, leaning back slightly.“We should make an appearance, Isara.”
A beat of silence followed.Not long enough for most to notice, but heavy enough to shift the air.Roan, Bellam, and Lourdes exchanged quick glances, the moment so brief it could have been overlooked if I hadn’t felt it settle in my chest.Supplicants didn’t typically assert preferences.They followed, adapted, anticipated.But Maxim had expressed something more—a direct desire.
For a brief moment, my mind raced, the ease of my expression at odds with the sharp flicker of concern beneath it.Had they truly noticed, or had I imagined it?Had Maxim?I pushed the thought away.
Roan’s voice, light and self-assured, broke through my momentary unease.“Bellam, my sister’s assessment is unimpeachable.The gala is fast approaching, and I find myself in need of suitable accompaniment.The remaining selections are rather limited.Surely you don’t want me arriving with Nyara Bourguet or”—his nose wrinkled—“Pythia Dunwell.”
Bellam offered only a flat expression, refusing to take the bait.“Either seem like perfectly acceptable choices.”
Roan extended his hand across the table, his voice threaded with sincerity.“You know it’s you I wish to take.”
“Bellam, do take pity on him,” Lourdes chimed in.“You’re the only one who might endure his company for an entire evening.Besides, we’ve become fast friends.I want you there.”
Roan turned to his sister, his expression caught between surprise and profound gratitude.
Bellam exhaled sharply, her lips pressing together in a way that meant she was weighing whether or not it was worth arguing.Roan and Lourdes both stared at her expectantly.Finally, with a sigh of resignation, she lifted her leir and took a slow sip before setting it back down.
“I’ll go,” she said finally.“But I’m taking the Skith.”
Roan grinned.“I concede to your terms.I’ll collect you from Ridge port.The Skith doesn’t extend all the way into the Empyrean Crest.”
Bellam thought about that for a moment, and she attempted a polite expression of gratitude.“Thank you, Roan.That’s very… kind of you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Maxim sat across from me at our dining table, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his leir.There was something inherently different about having him here now, no ticking clock governing his presence, no imminent departure shadowing the evening.Domestic Previews allowed him to stay as long as we pleased, just not overnight.That final line remained unbroken—for now, at least—a trivial barrier between procedure and permanence.
He cast a glance at the enormous bear slouched toward the window, its dark, beaded eyes lazily keeping watch over my favorite seat.A smile tugged at his lips as memories of our day at the carnival played out behind his eyes, mirroring the ones drifting through my own mind.
“He’s… big,” I murmured.
Maxim chuckled.“I still can’t get over you trying to wedge him into the transport.”
“I should’ve just let you handle it.”
“Yes, you should’ve.But now he’s home, taking up half the living area.He’s practically a landmark.He deserves a proper name.”
“Hmmm… Colossus?”I waited while Maxim chuckled.“Mochi?Max Jr.!”
Maxim’s gaze snapped to me, one brow lifting.Amusement mingled with uncertainty in his olive-green eyes.“Max Jr.?”he echoed, his tone a blend of disbelief and mock offense.“We look nothing alike.”He gestured toward it.“Our complexion may be similar but look at him.He’s got a lazy eye.”
I bit back a grin, tilting my head as if genuinely considering it.“I don’t know, you’re both tall, warm, and wildly talented at making me feel safe.”
He exhaled slowly, a man summoning patience.“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve run a scan.He’s not my son.”
“He is now,” I said, shrugging.“It was your idea to bring him home with us.Look at Max, Jr.He loves his new name.I can’t wait to introduce him to our guests when we entertain.”
A low groan rumbled from Maxim’s chest as he shook his head, but the hint of a grin betrayed him.“Isara… darling… love of my life.I would cherish any other name you chose.Mochi, for instance, beautifully honors your heritage.Your papa will be overjoyed.”
I folded my arms, smirking.“You can protest all you want.Max Jr.is here to stay.”
