Page 38 of The Elven Spymaster's Thief

Casimir picked an argument with Illeron at least once a day about his workaholic tendencies. Considering the efficiency with which Illeron blew off his brother’s concerns, I suspected this daily pestering had been going on for years. And it wasn’t Casimir’s only repeated topic. Apparently, Illeron’s loneliness had been a perpetual sore spot between the brothers until I had shown up to steal the useless dagger. The spymaster had seen the opportunity to annoy his brother by making me his companion.

I shifted the book in my lap.

Illeron glanced my way, but I pretended to read. In truth, I was mulling over things.

I waited until he shifted his attention back to his work before daring to glance at him again.

Illeron was handsome. True, most elves were. It was something about their genetics, their magic, or something like that. I had seen many impossibly attractive male elves since taking up my role. But, Illeron triggered more of a response, an awareness, than any of the others. Perhaps it was because I was partial to the short brown hair that barely hid the pointed tips of his ears. Or, I had a soft spot for workaholics.

I laughed softly to myself.

The spymaster glanced my way and then quickly returned to his scribbling.

I had never thought of myself as a romantic. Growing up in rough circumstances, losing my parents so young, Solon leaving, and then fending for myself all drove sentimentality out of me. But deep inside, I still remember believing in the stories of true love my mother told me when I was small. Part of me had always longed for someone to love me enough to stay.

I eyed the elf farther down the table. Well, that was quickly turning into a longing for one particular elf to love me.

“Is there something on my face?” Illeron didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Your hair is standing up.”

He lifted his head at that.

I grinned cheekily at him.

He huffed slightly. His green eyes flared silver fire before he turned away.

I was reasonably sure I knew what that expression meant. He wanted to kiss me again. The temptation to inform him point blank that I would welcome it was intense. However, I knew that would end in his denying it. That strong thread of duty and self-restraint that made him perfect for his position would hold him back.

But he needed a break. It was evident in every line of his body. The tension hampered his productivity.

Wasn’t it my purpose as his companion to help?

My gaze fell on the small bouquet that the gardener had given me and the collection of pebbles from one of the fountains. I had discarded them on the table before me.

Before I could think better of it, I reached out, picked up the smallest pebble and slid it across the tabletop until it encountered the first pile of pages. It came to an abrupt stop.

Illeron didn’t look up, but his pen paused. Then it resumed scratching across the paper.

I slid the second pebble harder. It skidded under a stack of pages.

With the third one, I attempted a bouncing approach. I landed against Illeron’s left sleeve.

He ignored it.

Now wholly committed to getting a rise out of him, I tossed the next one. My aim veered off. I winced.

The small pebble beaned him on the head and then fell onto the page directly in front of him. It came to rest inches from where his long fingers splayed across the paper, holding it steady.

Suddenly, it felt like the air had disappeared from the room.

He stared at the pebble for barely a second before closing his fingers around it. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not.” I offered a snarky grin, but he wasn’t looking. Instead, he studied the stone.

“Then why the missiles?”

“I am bored.”

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