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He wasn’t scared of Guinevere.

But he most certainly was scared of the cantankerous librarians.

“I am reading.” He snapped the book in his lap closed. “Obviously.”

Guinevere took up most of the wide aisle, even in her fae form. It would have been laughable—and fucking terrifying—if she’d tried to fit through the narrow stacks as the dark lioness.

She didn’t plant her hands on her hips the way that Veyka did, to make herself even larger. No, Guinevere didn’t try to curry a particular image. She appeared exactly as she was.

And what she was—lethal.

Her nose twitched. Feline, even in her fae form. “We were supposed to meet ten minutes ago.”

Parys eyes the plate of fruit sitting to his right and wished it was cake instead. Which made him miss Veyka. For more reasons than one. He reached for a plum.

“Then I am only five minutes late.” He took a bite.

Gwen’s golden eyes sparkled—not with the ring of glowing desire that marked the passionate nature of the fae race. With frustration. Anger. Whatever.

“What is the point of setting a time if you already plan on being five minutes late?” she growled.

Parys shrugged—partly because he knew his nonchalance drove her mad. “It is called a grace period. Weren’t you called Guinevere the Graceful back in your home territory?”

She tensed. She didn’t like that—didn’t like that he’d known it.

He knew plenty about her. It hadn’t been that difficult once he’d gotten a couple of goblets of aural into the terrestrials who still remained at court.

The only daughter of one of the most powerful noble families in the terrestrial kingdom, she’d prepared her entire life to be the terrestrial heir. When the time had come to fight for the title, she’d cut down every female in her path. Including her own cousin.

“That title was in reference to my battle prowess.” One hand drifted down to the sword sheathed at her side. She still wore her goldstones uniform, even with Veyka gone.

Parys suspected she’d ask to be buried in the damn thing.

He took another bite of plum. “How graceful can lobbing off heads be?”

Guinevere’s grip on the sword tightened. “Would you like me to show you?”

Parys wasn’t afraid of her. Guinevere needed him to help rein in the elementals. Besides, she’d made a promise to Veyka and Arran. And if Parys had learned one thing about her in the intervening months since the terrestrial delegation’s arrival, it was that to Guinevere, a promise was written in blood.

So, he’d live. Even if she did stab him from frustration.

“At this point, I’d be grateful. I never would have agreed to sit at the Round Table if I thought it would lead to this much work.” A half-truth. Parys had known this sort of role was inevitable. He’d just assumed he would be serving Arthur, rather than his twin sister.

Unlike Guinevere, he had not trained his entire life for a place on the royal council. His mother had died bringing him into the world, her fae healing not even enough to save her. His father had been more interested in court politics than raising as on. So, Parys had made himself part of those court politics. His father still did not pay him attention. After Arthur’s death, he’d left the elemental court altogether.

Guinevere rolled her shoulders, forcing herself to relax her stance. “So that is your answer. Hide in the library. Drink and eat yourself to oblivion.”

“The food is good. You should try eating sometimes,” Parys said, tossing his hand in the direction of the tray.

Her lips curled upward in a sneer that revealed her canines. The mark of the terrestrial fae, elongated, one step out of the forest. “I eat.”

“I’ve never seen it.” And he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“And you see everything?”

“I see enough.”

“Just because you make a spectacle of yourself eating and drinking at every feast does not mean the rest of us feel the need,” she didn’t snap. But her composure was being tested, Parys could tell.