Page 110 of A War of Three Kings

“What are you doing? You can’t sit on the ground!” A red flush of embarrassment creeps up his face and over his bald scalp. “You’re my guests. It would be a dishonor!”

He is so flustered that he doesn’t notice the dark look Zinnia shoots at his fingers around her arm. Her eyes flick to his face. “We need to sit somewhere that won’t have us falling and hurting ourselves when we leave our bodies.”

“The chairs! At the table! Take mine if there isn’t enough, but don’t sit on the ground like a beggar.” Lord Adalwolf all but drags Zinnia to a seat beside Cyprien and pushes her into it, despite how she looks like a riled-up cat. Then he shoots an anxious look at Drake to make sure he does the same.

It is almost comical to witness the bear of a man so stressed, especially when little seems to fluster Lord Adalwolf. I struggle to hold back a grin.

Drake pulls out a chair, his eyes glittering as they land on Aldrin. “Will you protect my honor while I travel?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t fall flat on your face, though a knock to the head might do you some good.” Aldrin smirks at him.

“I’m not sure I should trust you.” Drake dumps himself in the seat. “Keira, make sure he doesn’t put a bruise or two on my pretty face.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t think he would risk Klara’s wrath like that.”

Drake shrugs. “I don’t know about that. He’s been on the pointy end of her rage enough times. It’s you he doesn’t want to disappoint.” He cracks his neck from side to side as he gets comfortable. Everyone around the table stares at our exchange with wide eyes.

“Stop mouthing off, Drake, and get to work,” Aldrin cuts in, flicking his wrist and looping air wields around both Drake and Zinnia, tying them to their chairs so they cannot fall forward when they leave their bodies.

“Shame you can’t put a gag on him.” Cyprien drums his fingers on the table as he considers Drake.

“Don’t tempt me,” Aldrin shoots back.

Lynna claps her hands together and lets out a loud cackle, her entire face lighting up and making her look younger than her late thirties. “Oh, Keira, I can see how you became fast friends with these ones! And maybe a little more with?—”

“Can we get back to the war we are planning? Please!” my father cuts in.

Lynna shoots me a mischievous glance, as though we are two young girls with juicy secrets to share.

The silence stretches out as Drake and Zinnia lower themselves into trances. The only sound is Caitlin crunching on an apple on my other side. First, their bodies slouch, and then their heads loll to the side. All the tension leaches from their muscles and Aldrin wields more ropes of air to stop them from sliding out of their chairs.

“Are we supposed to just believe whatever these fae say?” Lord Tomas feigns a whisper to Lord Bradford, glancing sidelong at the pair, as though he has forgotten both Aldrin and Cyprien are at my side.

A black rage flashes to a swift boiling point within me, bursting out all at once. I stand rapidly, almost toppling my chair to the ground, and slam my hands on the table. “Enough, Lord Tomas! I am sick of hearing your constant slurs and disrespect toward our allies.”

A smile grows on his face, like this is the reaction he wanted. “And why is that, my dear? Have you perhaps become over-involved with one of the fae?”

His eyes slide to Aldrin, and it only pitches my fury higher. I want to murder anyone who makes him feel even slightly uncomfortable, the consequences be damned.

Aldrin places a calming hand on my arm and motions for me to take my seat. We have work to do before I derail this entire session with that particular announcement.

“What purpose would we have in lying to you?” Aldrin sounds bored as he crosses his arms in front of his muscular chest, his biceps rippling. “Did we not prove our loyalty to this alliance on the battlefield already?”

“I don’t know how fae minds work,” Lord Tomas says.

“Clearly,” Cyprien grunts.

“It’s funny, Tomas—I don’t remember seeing you on the battlements during the battle,” Aldrin growls. “Perhaps you’d like to take a place beside me in the next? You can question my loyalty after you fight at my side.”

“Lord Tomas, don’t antagonize our friends here.” Countess Lynna rolls her eyes at him, happy to disregard his constant prejudice.

It is Lord Bradford who leans in toward the smaller man, frowning deeply. “Would you insult any of our other allies in this manner? Are battles not fought over lesser slights? You are either with usallor against us all, Lord Tomas. Like it or not, you have chosen your side in this war, and it is in partnership with these good fae.” He turns to Aldrin, sunlight dancing across the silver strands in his dark hair. “Do not mistake Lord Tomas’ attitude to reflect those of the rest of us.”

A deep red shade turns purple across Lord Tomas’ face and his mouth works as he stammers. I realize it is not Lord Bradford’s words that elicits this reaction in him, but the simmering death glare that Aldrin pins him beneath—narrow-eyed, unblinking, brimming with violence. I forget just how imposing he can be, dark eyebrows slashed downward and lips pressed into a thin line.

“Do I need to throw you out of this meeting, Tomas?” my father cuts in. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have a voice in this war if all you use it for is to sow discord.”

A deep satisfaction fills me as the lord jolts at my father’s words.

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