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AREK

M orrow sits next to me while Lara and Kyrie talk in quiet voices.

I felt her pull away from me; I know I did.

“Can’t look away from her, can you?” Morrow asks, a slight smile on his face that turns into a frown a second later. “How long did you know…”

He trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish.

I know what he’s asking.

“Nearly the whole time.” Since she broke me out of prison. Since her sass and smile turned my world upside down. “I didn’t want it to be true.”

He nods, swigging from a carved stein. Shae and some of the other Fae that have helped me around the castle brought more food and drink up to the room, and we’ve made quick work of it.

“Are you… alright?” he asks me, blue eyes narrowed.

I go still, trying to figure out an answer to that question.

Instead, I grunt, jerking my head ambiguously.

He doesn’t give me the mercy of accepting that for an answer, cocking one eyebrow at me instead.

“I will be.”

“You’re full of shit,” Morrow says, frowning harder as he shoves a piece of shortbread in his mouth.

“She hates me, or wishes she did,” I tell him.

He winces, then chews slowly, finally swallowing. “Have you, you know, been romantic?”

I blink. “I’m not the type of male to discuss?—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Morrow says hastily, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere than sitting with me right now, having this conversation.

That makes two of us.

“I meant, have you, you know… wooed her?” His nose wrinkles, like simply suggesting it embarrasses him.

“I—”

“I don’t mean to intrude.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “The audacity of me asking the god of death if he’s bothered trying court his mate, gods help my soul. Forget I ever asked?—”

“Enough.” The word rumbles out of me more menacingly than I meant it to.

Morrow blanches, then shoves another shortbread into his mouth, washing it down with more honey mead from his stein.

He didn’t mean sex.

Morrow, the white knight of order, truly meant to ask if I’d courted Kyrie.

“You are right to ask,” I finally answer. “Forgive me for misunderstanding.”

He doesn’t answer, just watches me carefully as he drinks.

I cut my gaze to wear Kyrie sits, far across the room from me, deep in conversation with Lara and Caedia. Dario’s staring at a tapestry on the wall, eating noisily, probably thinking about how much the piece would fetch if he stole it, the bastard.

“I shouldn’t question anything you do.”

“You should always question your gods,” I tell him forcefully. “Always. Any immortal or mortal in power who cannot answer your questions or will not answer them honestly does not deserve your faith.”

“We both know that questioning the gods is not what the knights of Lojad are taught to do,” Morrow says, the light of humor in his eyes. “Nor is this the normal sort of questioning a god might receive.”

“Is it the type of questioning a friend might receive?” I ask, genuinely curious.

It has been so long since I have called anyone but another Fae a friend.

And the Fae don’t dare question me like Morrow is.

“I haven’t courted her,” I say curtly, ignoring the way Morrow tries and fails to come up with an answer to my question. I haven’t needed friends in centuries, no reason to start wanting them now. “And you know my people don’t consider me a god. I’m not one. Just because humans worship me like one doesn’t mean anything. It’s just power.”

I shrug a shoulder.

I have never been comfortable with the strange designations humans made about me.

Unlike Sola, who craves worship, who craves it with the cruelty of a true sadist.

Unlike Dyrda, who wants to be cosseted and pampered by her loyal followers.

Lojad and Nakush accepted it too, maybe not as easily or readily, but neither have deigned to muck about in the mortal world the way I have.

“Women like to be courted,” he interrupts my thoughts, studying me as he peels a grape off a stem. “They want to feel wanted. More than just for their bodies, you know. I can tell by the way you look at her that it’s much more than that, anyway. Mates.” He says the word with an air of wonder, and it hits me again, how fucking lucky I am to have Kyrie.

I am an idiot for not thinking of this.

I frown, scratching the scruff on my jaw. “I’m not sure how to court a woman I stabbed through the heart then turned into my wife and mate by magic.”

Morrow barks out a laugh, raising an eyebrow as he pops the grape in his mouth, swallowing quickly.

“I can’t say I have advice on that, my friend.” He slaps a big hand on my shoulder and stands. “But I know that your woman has expensive tastes, and that she’s spent most of her life being afraid and hurt and alone, missing a family that her god murdered. I’m sure you can think of something to help her feel loved. Then the trick is just to keep doing it.”

He grins down at me while I chew over what he’s said.

I certainly haven’t done anything that could remotely be considered courtship.

I skipped straight from keeping her at arm’s length to being unable to live without her taste and forcing her into life beside me.

I wince, standing up and taking stock of the petite redhead I’ve made mine. I know her, inside and out, and I should have known that trying to woo her might be the answer to the strain I’ve put on our new bond.

Well, I will have to rectify my lack of effort immediately .

But first, I’m going to need to enlist some help.

She tosses her hair over a shoulder, fixing me with a defiant, fiery green stare.

Make that a lot of help. I eye Dario, who’s fidgeting next to a bookcase, looking uncomfortable, and decide he’s just the man for the job.