A hush falls over the other customers, with us as the epicenter. I raise my free hand to stop Greg’s advance.
I twist my wrist to break Rian’s easy hold.
Trina, now all but pinned to her chair with the three of us looming around her — Greg at her back, Rian and me to either side — flinches and swallows a disconcerted cry.
“You do not touch a member of the royal household without permission.” The quiet but coldly delivered command rumbles through Greg’s chest as he looms over us. “And even courting …” He sneers the word rather unprofessionally, clearly implying he heard every word of our conversation. “You certainly don’t do it in public.”
Rian swallows, looking young and unsure of himself for the first time since I’ve known him. Which, granted, is all of three meetings now, and only two of those in person.
I tug down my sleeve, smoothing out any hint of crease in the jacket cuff with a touch of my essence.
Trina’s nostrils flare. She leans slightly away from me.
She can scent or sense my power. And I’m an unknown mage to her.
I could be deadly.
I can, in fact, be deadly.
I just never choose to be so.
“My apologies,” Rian says — to me, not Greg.
I interrupt before he can continue. “I’m the one who foisted myself upon you,” I say coolly, even though I don’t feel at all steady or poised. “I’ll leave you to your conversation. It was lovely to meet you, Trina. Though I’m sorry about the circumstances.”
See? I can remember some of my fucking etiquette lessons. Enough to get me out of this very public and very uncomfortable situation.
“Sully,” Rian says, pained.
But I’m pissed now — whether or not it’s appropriate to be mad — so I just lift my chin and smirk at the wolf shifter. “Your mother is right, Rian. I have courting to do. And you’ve already made your intentions clear.”
“But I haven’t made … Mirth is my choice.”
I just nod stiffly, turning away. Greg steps just ahead of me to clear a path through the still-quiet cafe. A light murmur of voices rises behind me. I think Trina says something to Rian, but I don’t hear the exact words.
The glass door swings shut. The cool, damp air is a welcome relief on my face.
Greg glances back to see if I’m still following him like a good boy. His eyes glow softly with his essence.
“What did Trina say?” I ask despite myself. Despite me hating this sort of drama, mostly because I don’t know how to navigate it without tearing out hunks of my own soul.
“She said, ‘Oh, Rian. That’s not how bond groups work. You can’t just choose whoever this Mirth is.’ ”
“And what did he say?” I sound like a lovesick schoolboy, even though I have no romantic interest in Rian at all. Or attraction, for that matter.
Greg frowns slightly. “He didn’t answer.”
I nod. “Right. Let’s get home to Mirth.”
He nods in agreement, directing us toward the SUV waiting around the side of the building. The cobblestones are slick underfoot. I also should have worn a coat.
The driver steps out to open the back passenger door for me.
“Greg,” I murmur, slowing. Thinking suddenly about something I should have thought about much earlier.
The royal guard shakes his head once, still scanning the immediate area for threats even as he anticipates me. “Your conversations are private.”
“You don’t include them in your reports?”
