Page 102

Soul mate bonds are always described as a magical thread tethering two people together. I never actually felt our bond—not as an actual, physical thing—but I never thought to worry about it either. Des has always felt like mine, even during all those years when I lived without him.

“And yet you’re still soul mates?” Temper says.

I nod, my chin rubbing against the backs of my hands. That was the one thing Des emphasized over and over.

You are my mate.

“All right, so then suck it up,” Temper says, slipping on her outfit. “At least youhavea soul mate. The rest of us have to do this whole love thing the old-fashioned way.”

I grab one of her pillows and bury my face into it. “Ugh, you’re right,” I say.

“Of course I’m right.” She sees the pillow in my hand. “Oh, uh, you don’t want to be cuddling that. I’m pretty sure it was used as a prop last night when Malaki—”

“Eugh!” I toss the pillow away while my friend laughs her ass off.

“Your face was deeper in that pillow than Malaki’s dick was in me.”

“I don’t want to hear this forsomany reasons.”

So. Many.

“He’shuge,” Temper says, flopping onto the bed next to me. “But, you know, just the right amount of huge.”

I groan. Really, why had I come here?

“And when he starts going at it,” she continues, “he’s like a jackhammer”—okay, that visual is way too vivid—“I just have to hold on for dear life.”

I push myself off the bed. “All right, story time’s over.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want to know.”

“There’s knowing and then there’sknowing,” I say.

No one needs Temper’s level of detail.

“Are you ready?” I ask her when she adds a pair of earrings to her ensemble.

“Gah, you’re so impatient,” she says. She shakes out her braids and grabs her things. “I’m ready.”

The two of us leave Temper’s room and head for the gardens below us. We cut through the palace grounds then stop when we come to a table and chairs. We take a seat, and for a minute or so after we sit down, we don’t talk, instead watching the fairies stroll.

“So,” Temper says, finally dragging her attention off the fairies around us, “where is everyone’s favorite criminal?” she asks.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” She and I know a lot of criminals.

Temper sighs. “The Bargainer.”

“Oh—more meetings.” Ones that are strictly for rulers. I should be there; I know the discussions will include the reports of Karnon’s captives. But tradition forbids me from joining, so here I am, twiddling my thumbs with Temper.

A human woman comes up to us carrying a tea set and a plate of little sandwiches, the crust removed from them. I tense when I see the branded skin of her wrist as she sets the tray on our table.

She’s enslaved.

Being served by her feels wrong. If she chose to be a waitress, that would be one thing, but this is something else entirely.

Her eyes are downcast as she begins to set teacups in front of us.

I try to wave away her efforts to serve us. “It’s all right,” I say. “We’ve got this. Thank you for bringing this out.”