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“That is a loaded question, Milady. You may want to rephrase it.”

She finally turned to face him, finding him leaning against her doorjamb in that infuriatingly casual way of his. His brown hair brushed his cheekbones, and he was in his usual black attire.

With a glare, she asked, “Why did you seek me out at this particular moment in time?”

His lips twitched, the only sign that he found her agitation amusing. “Niara said your wound is completely healed.”

“That does not explain what you are doing here.”

“You have slept a lot these past few days.”

“I was instructed to rest.”

“Because you have proven you follow instruction so well,” he retorted dryly.

“I follow instruction when it suits my needs.”

Razik’s eyes flashed, his pupils shifting to vertical slits for a fraction of a second before he got his power back under control. He cleared his throat, and her head tilted at the mannerism.

“I am going over to my father’s estate. I thought you might want to go with me,” he said.

“Why would you think that?”

“I thought you might want to get out of the castle after being cooped up for so long.”

“I do, but not with you.”

“I think there is something we need to discuss, and it would be better done at the estate rather than in a castle full of busybodies,” he countered.

“Unless you need to refill your power reserves, which can be done right here, there is nothing else we need to say to each other,” Eliza said, turning away from him and facing the window again.

“Wrong,” came a low growl in her ear. How could he move so silently that she hadn’t even heard him? She was Fae. She should have been able to hear him no matter how quietly he moved. She didn’t get a chance to reply when an arm slipped around her waist, and she felt herself being pulled through the air as he Traveled them.

Her bare feet landed on a soft rug, and she found herself in another bedroom. This one was smaller than his rooms at the castle, but it was definitely his. The same earthy colors accented the space. He spun her in his arms, forcing her to tilt her head up to look into his face.

She glared at him. “You cannot simply haul me to wherever you desire me to be.”

“Part of becoming my Source was agreeing to trust me,” he retorted, his voice low and tinged with anger. “When you avoid me, that is not trusting me. When you refuse to tell me you are upset with me, I cannot trust you.”

He released her, and she took a step back from him, folding her arms across her chest. “This Mark on my arm does not mean I immediately trust you.”

“No, but it does mean you actively try,” he countered. “It does mean that you do not hide in your rooms when you are upset with me. I do not play such games.”

“I am not playing games,” Eliza bristled. Her finger came up, poking him hard in the chest. “I became your Source so you could better protect my family when you took them to the Southern Islands. Instead, you bartered with Alaric and left one of mine across the fucking sea.” Razik opened his mouth to say something, but she wasn’t done. “Furthermore, I owe younothing. I volunteered to be your Source. I chose it, and everything that comes with it. You do not get to tell me how I navigate that.”

“My negotiations were not personal, Eliza,” Razik said, watching her closely. “Those were political moves that needed to be made. I was there on behalf of my king and my kingdom. Negotiations are no place for emotions and feelings.”

“Then I guess that’s the difference between us,” she replied, lowering her hand. “My becoming your Source was entirely personal. It had everything to do with feelings and emotions and nothing to do withyou.”

“You are the leader of your Court’s armies, Eliza. I know you understand the reasoning behind how I proceeded with negotiations.”

“Of course I understand it. It does not mean I have to like it, and it does not mean I cannot be upset about it. Cyrus is across the sea, being held prisoner, enduring only the gods know what, and I can do nothing. The rest of my family are facing their own crises right now, so you are the only one left for me to irrationally rage at until I can plunge my sword through a seraph or Maraan.”

Her breathing had escalated during that verbal tirade, and she knew her cheeks were tinged with red in her anger.

“You are delightfully vicious,” was Razik’s only reply, that slight smirk returning.

“Why are you smiling? This is not funny,” she ground out.