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An electric heat passes through my fingertips and floods my entire body.

For gods’ sake!

“Let’s go,” I say, tugging him along after me. I retreat into tutor mode. “You may tuck my hand into the crook of your arm or hold it upright, like so.” I demonstrate. “When we reach the carriage, you’re to hand me up into it. When we exit, you will do so first, before reaching to help me do the same.”

He scowls as we walk. “I didn’t realize ladies were in need of such help.”

“We’re not. Think of it as an opportunity for men to think about someone other than themselves.”

One of the footmen lowers the hidden steps to the carriage, and Eryx hands me up into the seating area before following within. I note that Argus and Dyson join the coachman in the driver’s seat, both dressed in the livery of footmen to blend in. Just a quick shout away.

I take one cushioned bench, Eryx the opposite, our bodies facing each other, but our faces looking pointedly away. When the carriage lurches into movement, I feel Eryx’s eyes on me.

With nothing else for it, I turn.

“What?” I ask.

He looks as though he’s unsure of what to say, but he settles on “I thought it was rude to wear white to a wedding?”

I smile but say nothing else. Eryx has no idea of the relationship between me and my sister. He wouldn’t understand, and I have no desire to explain it.

“At least it’s not pink,” he mutters.

“What did the color ever do to you?”

“It’s distasteful—and you can close your mouth right now. I don’t wish to hear your comment about me being just as distasteful to match.”

I close my mouth, almost embarrassed that he predicted my comment perfectly.

“Remind me how long of a ride it is to the palace,” he says.

“A few hours.”

He massages his temples. “I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

That’s rich, considering he’s the one who is inhuman and can kill me with those sharpened canines. Though his teeth look perfectly normal at the moment.

His eyes snap open, and he catches me staring at his mouth.

Again.

“Something you wanted?” he asks, his voice lowering.

He keeps looking for a reaction from me. What does he think? That I’ll scream? I suppose I’ve led him to believe that I’ve been hiding in my room because I fear him, rather than plotting his demise.

Perhaps I should fear him, but so far, the only thing that I’ve found terrifying is Argus’s suggestion of killing me. Eryx’s monstrous shape doesn’t concern me.

And why the hell is that?

“I want answers,” I say.

“Not going to happen.”

“Oh, come now, Eryx. How does answering a few questions do any harm? I’ll start with something simple. Does it hurt when your canines lengthen?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you normally keep your hair long to hide your ears sharpening into points when you lose control?”