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Raziel cursed underneath his breath.

Tonight was definitely going to end up in a fight.

Chapter Eighteen

MER

Duke Keventin was a snake.

The man spoke like he was the deciding authority on every subject, but beneath the arrogance was cunning. And that was dangerous.

Mer spooned a little bit of savory pureed soup into her mouth and took a sip, hiding her wince at the pumpkin flavor. She’d hoped it would be carrot instead. There was something about the mushy orange gourd that rubbed her the wrong way. Was it supposed to be sweet or savory?

She forced herself to swallow the soup and set her spoon down gently while tuning out the conversation around her.

Twenty-five people sat at the long rectangular table that ran down the middle of an opulent room. Mer blinked at the gold candelabra sitting on the table, so shiny her reflection glared back at her. She leaned to her left to see around the monstrosity at the young woman who sat across the table from her—Keventin’s daughter. Her olive skin shone in the light and her sleek black hair curled gently around her round rosy cheeks. Shenever looked up from her plate but continuously fiddled with her spoon and stared into her soup like it held the answers to the world.

Mer cocked her head, studying the girl’s bone structure.

Scythian.

What was the duke doing with a Scythian daughter? Scythia had its borders open for the first time in five hundred years, and the girl looked to be all of thirteen or fourteen? That was well before the Warlord’s War. Had Keventin married a Scythian refugee? It was clear the girl’s mother had to be of that origin.

Just how did the duke procure a Scythian wife?

Mer sighed. Too many questions and not enough answers.

She gave up trying to catch the young woman’s eye. How did humans have conversations with each other when the table decorations kept one from even seeing their dining partners? It was unreasonable, to say the least.

Picking up her crystal goblet, she slanted a glance at the king to her left. King Raziel sat at the head of the table, looking at ease, as if this were his own home.

Mer took a deep sip of her wine and relaxed slightly. At least humans knew how to brew their spirits.

“No love for pumpkin?” the pretty man at her right asked.

Mer turned to him—Gideon, she’d heard him called. “It’s vile,” she confessed.

Mirth made his lips twitch. “It’s not my favorite either. No gourds beneath the sea?”

“No. At least, not sweet ones.”

They fell silent as servants entered the room and quietly took their bowls.

Good riddance to the pumpkin soup.

Mer sipped her wine, observing the staff over the rim of her glass. While they were all dressed in finery, it was the gauntness of their faces and the emptiness in their eyes that made herskin crawl. These weren’t happy workers. She narrowed her gaze at Duke Keventin as he gestured lazily and smiled a little too broadly while regaling his story.

This man didn’t take care of his serving people.

That made her dislike him even more.

The duke caught her attention, and her stomach dropped when he sent her a rakish grin, licking the edge of his glass before hiding the gesture. Mer fought not to react. The indecent man was propositioning her while the king sat between them.

While she loathed Raziel, the pompous lord did not know that.

“What do you think, my queen?” Keventin asked with an oily smile.

“Of what, my lord?” she drawled, swirling the wine in her glass. A chill ran down her spine at the way he saidmy queen. It was possessive.