Page 36

“No.” I shake my head, my hand curled around Griffin’s arm. “I want to catch those bastards. They’re nowhere near done. The things they are developing in that lab are too dangerous.”

Erik’s eyes darken, but before he says anything, there is a knock on the door, and a man enters.

“Havier.” I smile at him in greeting.

“Little Miss.”

A large, hulking shifter with deep brown skin and an incredibly kind smile, Havier is one of the two stewards of the palace. Leanna always referred to him and his counterpart as butlers, but Jerry corrected me. The two stewards oversee the management of the palace, each tasked with different roles. Havier always used to bring me snacks when I was working.

“I’m glad to see you back, Little Miss.” His voice is deep as his eyes crease with his smile.

Little Miss. It’s a nickname he came up with. He always called me that, and I never questioned it. Next to him, I look positively tiny.

“Thanks, Havier.”

“Lunch is served in the dining room.” Havier looks between Griffin and Erik before bowing deeply to the former, wordlessly.

Griffin nods at him lightly, but I don’t see any recognition in his eyes.

Erik stands up. “Let us talk over our meal, in that case.”

He leads us down a wide corridor toward the dining room, his shoes clicking softly against the gleaming marble floor. The hallways are so familiar to me, yet at the same time, I feel like an interloper.

When Erik opens the tall double doors to the dining room, I stop short.

The long oak table is covered in food. Roasted meats, platters of vegetables, baskets of warm bread, bowls of steaming soup. It smells like heaven, rich and buttery and so comforting that my knees nearly buckle.

“Come. Sit. Eat.” I catch Erik looking at his older brother, the corner of his mouth tensing, and I wonder if it’s because of how thin Griffin looks.

Griffin’s hand, warm and steady, finds the small of my back and nudges me gently forward. I let him guide me, too dazed by the sheer amount of food to speak.

We sit near the center of the table. Before I can even reach for a spoon, Griffin plucks one up and starts serving me.

“Griffin—” I protest weakly as he heaps a thick slice of roast onto my plate, then piles potatoes next to it like he’s been appointed my personal caretaker.

“You’re too thin,” he mutters, not looking at me.

Heat creeps up my neck. I catch Erik watching us with a spark of amusement in his sharp, gray eyes, but he says nothing—just raises a brow slightly.

I pick up my fork, feeling oddly self-conscious under Griffin’s quiet scrutiny. His knee brushes mine beneath the table. Not an accident this time.

Trying to focus, I spear a piece of potato and lift it to my mouth. It’s buttery, rich, and practically melts on my tongue. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.

Erik leans back in his chair, eyeing me more seriously. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

I swallow, the bite turning heavy in my throat.

“Yes.” I set my fork down carefully. “About the Silver Ring Organization. They’ve been working on something. A formula.”

Griffin’s hand stops in midair, a piece of bread halfway to my plate.

Before I continue, I grab his wrist, forcing the bread down to his own plate and glaring at him. “You need to serve yourself, too. You weren’t exactly being wined and dined there, either. Eat.”

“But you—”

“Eat,” I order, and he sighs, reluctantly picking a piece of roasted ham and putting it on his plate. I add a few slices of turkey bacon and catch him watching me.

“What?” I glower at him. “Only you are allowed to put food on my plate?”