Like right now.
I sighed dreamily.
“You’ve got that expression on your face again,” Ryan said. “I don’t even have to look at you to know.”
“I would have so many of your babies,” I whispered fervently. “You don’t even know.”
Ryan started choking quite loudly, but everyone ignored him, used to his weirdness by now.
There was a door on the other side of the bookcase made from the wood of an ash tree. It was said that it’d been given by the Meliae, a sort-of wood nymph, hundreds of years before when the castle had been constructed. The Meliae had disappeared into the realm with the elves, leaving behind little tendrils of magic. Dimitri and his fairies were descendants of the Meliae, though they refused to ever talk about it. Fairies were secretive assholes, and I didn’t expect that to change anytime soon.
There was an ancient sigil carved into the door, even older than the tongue of magic in which we spoke. Morgan said it’d come from a time when people lived only in the trees, reading bones and stones like they were able to tell the future. It was two lines forming a peak like a mountain, with an off-centered S shape in the middle, bisected by three slashes. I did my best not to touch it, as it always made my skin feel like it was vibrating unpleasantly.
Morgan traced the sigil, the same green glow following his fingertip. Once he’d completed the sigil, another lock clicked and the door swung open.
Inside was Good King Anthony of Verania and his son, the Grand Prince.
Both of whom did not look very impressed.
The King was a barrel-chested man with long flowing white hair that fell on his broad shoulders and a kickass mustache that I had to hear Gary wax poetically about at least once or twice a week. Granted, it wasn’t that much of a hardship, and if I’d met the King in another life, I’d probably have no problem in calling him Daddy.
Not that I told anyone that.
Ever.
Except for Gary and Tiggy, because let’s be honest, I told them everything.
Which, of course, meant they told the King. In the middle of him hosting a dinner with all his heads of state. To say the silence that followed was shocking would be an understatement. Morgan’s face had been in his hands, Justin had been disgusted, the King smiled widely, all while Ryan looked like he was conflicted about his duty to protect the King versus wanting to demand they fight for my honor right then and there. The sex had been really damn good that night. With Ryan. Not with the King. I couldn’t even look at the King without blushing for the six weeks that followed, especially when he would wink at me every time he saw me.
He wasn’t winking now, though.
“I don’t know why I have to get shoved in that blasted room like that,” he said, looking adorably irate. “I have a sword, Morgan. A sword. It’s very large, I’ll have you know. Many people think so.”
“I bet he does,” Gary whispered near my ear. “Probably takes two hands just to hold it up and everything.”
“It does seem like it’d be pretty big,” I mused.
“Mine’s bigger,” Ryan said with a frown. “I measured.”
Gary snickered as I patted Ryan on the shoulder. “Of course it is.”
Morgan sighed. “Anthony, we’ve been over this. As the King of Verania, you have one job when there are possible attempts on your life. You hide. The fact that you fought Darks in your own throne room was enough to send your court into a tizzy. The heads of state demanded you never again do such a thing. I know you can protect yourself and others, and so do they. But it doesn’t matter to the King’s Court.”
The King waved Morgan’s words away. “A bunch of ninnies,” he said. “Just because I have a crown doesn’t mean I can’t pick up a sword. Why, kings of old would lead their armies into battle, sleeping and eating and fighting alongside their soldiers.”
“We aren’t at war,” Morgan said.
“We’re at something. Why are the alarm bells ringing if we’re—”
The bells stopped ringing.
“Well,” the King said. “This is certainly awkward. Am I to assume this has been a false alarm?” He glanced over at Ryan. “Perhaps a training drill I wasn’t made aware of? Again?”
“My liege,” Ryan started, only to be interrupted when Gary sneezed a sound remarkably close to “Kiss-ass.”
I punched Gary in the throat. “Let him do his job,” I hissed at him.
“Oh please,” Gary said. “You just like it when he acts all Knight Commander-y. Forgive me if I don’t want to stand next to your power boner for the next ten minutes.”