Page 92 of The Ever King

She glanced at me. “If you’re thinking I bedded the king, I didn’t. I’m just saying that’s what people say. I earned my high rank by proving I was of use.”

The relief was potent, and I had no time—or desire—to unravel why. From a side door, Erik emerged, flanked by Larsson and Tait. The king dressed in all black, from the coat over his shoulders to the boots on his feet. Where had he gone to prepare for the feast? Did he have another room? Did he go to that woman he insisted was not his mate?

I lifted my chin, refusing to care until my heart almost believed it.

The lack of contrast of his attire only brightened the tangle of red and cold in his eyes. On the ship Erik never had his head uncovered, but here the thick waves of his hair reminded me of damp soil after a rainstorm.

The absence of weapons and his hat emphasized how lithe and tall he was, how beautifully vicious he could be.

Erik’s gaze roved over me, unashamed, as though he were soaking up every surface of my body. To be viewed in such a way was strangely intimate, and even more strange, I didn’t despise it.

Men back home looked at me, but most saw me as Valen Ferus’s daughter, a royal ambition to earn the eye of the earth bender king.

It was almost laughable how the man who robbed me from my home for a clear purpose of catching my father’s attention for drearier reasons, was the one who looked at me like a woman. Like he saw every fissure of weakness, every strength and imperfection, and wanted them anyway. Not because I was my father’s daughter. He wanted them because they were mine.

“Celine?” Larsson studied his shipmate and laughed. “By the gods, woman, I’ve never seen you not buried in oversized clothes. You’ve been hiding from us.”

The trance locking my gaze with the king shattered. Celine reached beneath her skirt and had a knife in hand, spinning it with a glare. “Taunt me, and it will be your last mistake.”

Larsson took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “No taunts, Tidecaller. Merely impressed you’ve managed to steal my heart in one night. How will I ever sail with you now?”

She elbowed him in the chest, drawing out a laugh, but accepted his outstretched hand. Tait was sullen and looked as though he’d swallowed something sour. There was an unease about the man, and I could not puzzle if he despised his king or was in a constant state of fearing for him.

Erik approached until our chests nearly touched. For a tense, drawn out pause he studied me, then slowly, took hold of my hand, and kissed my knuckles the same as Larsson did with Celine.

“Songbird.” His voice was soft as an approaching storm.

“Serpent.”

His eyes brightened. “This reminds me of another ball I attended not too long ago.”

My lips pinched. “Well, I hope you’re not expecting the same results. I assure you it will not be happening.”

An empty threat. Erik Bloodsinger could do anything to me, should he desire it, and no one here would ever stop him. I wasn’t certain I’d stop him.

“I’ve no need to take you,” he whispered. “You’re already mine.”

The king threaded my arm through his elbow. Despite his snide insinuations, I held to him as though he were the only thing keeping me upright.

Two guards opened the doors to the savory scents and riotous company of the feast. My stomach churned when Erik led us inside. Silence choked off the undertones of conversation, and all eyes seemed to dig into my flesh.

Blades adorned most belts, sometimes more than one. There were more men than women, but it didn’t matter. Everyone stared at me with confused rage. Sneers, glowers, sometimes muttered words under their breath followed me as Erik led us to the high table.

My blood chilled once I was seated. I dared lift my gaze, only to be met with the same sharp stares, bemusement, and no doubt murderous intrigue.

The air grew hot, like falling sparks bit into my skin. Walls were too near, too tight, too confined. A heavy hand fell to my knee. I startled, unaware my leg had been bouncing enough the silver clinked against the plates.

“You are Livia Ferus,” he whispered. The way his head tilted into me, no mistake, it would appear the king had his mouth all over my throat. I didn’t move away; I soaked up his every word as he went on. “Daughter of warriors, blood of the Night Folk fae, painter of windows, challenger of the Ever King. These people can do nothing to you.”

Our noses touched as he shifted away from me. A thousand words tumbled through my mind at what I could say, but none of it seemed right.

My heart rate slowed, and my breaths grew even again. The way he looked at me wasn’t rife with pity or annoyance that my skin grew flushed, or irrational fears attacked from behind too often. Erik gave me a subtle nod as if to tell me I was stronger than all that. I could take the attack, but still rise the victor.

Without much thought, my palm covered his hand on my knee and squeezed.

The scar on his lip twitched when his expression turned smug. “Changed a few pieces of your impossibly long title, but I thought they suited.”

He sat back, eyes forward, pulling away.