Page 79 of Kiss the Filthiest King

"Whatismy rank?" I ask out loud.

Caenan seems to withdraw into the shadows, taking his job of bodyguard seriously when someone else is with us, but when we're alone, it's more like we're hanging out. He's seated on an armchair opposite my sofa, with a book of his own, and doesn't seem to mind my many questions.

"Your rank?" he repeats.

I shrug. "My sister's the high queen. What does that mean?" Amused, I ask, "Am I a princess?"

"Not a royal one. The only other royal in existence is your Loch, and he's keeping it under wrap, so he's not, technically, titled prince."

"MyLoch?" I snort. He's certainly not that.

Caenan ignores my interruption. "Traditionally, the title of a prince—or princess—may be bestowed on anyone ruling over a principality, such as the court of bones, hence why Valdred's a prince. As for you…bottom line, you'll have whatever rank your sister bestows. I would suggest not demanding such a high one, however. The last thing you need is to incur the jealous attention of the court."

"Right. But this book is saying I can't talk to someone unless they say hi first, basically. In my case, who can I talk to?"

"For your safety, I'd say no one. Make my job easier."

I return to my book, but a question pops back in my head, and I can't focus until I ask, "What's your rank?"

He looks over at me. "Why?"

"I guess I'm wondering whether I should curtsy and stay silent until you address me."

He rolls his eyes. "This is acourtetiquette manual, to help you navigate outsiders. There's no need for any formality amongst your own circle. You're the queen's sister; I am her mate's…" He hesitates. "Second. Best friend. Adopted son. Pick whichever one you fancy. All are accurate. In any case, we're an extended family of sorts, and therefore, none of this nonsense is needed."

"So youdoadmit it's nonsense!"

He’s the one who insisted I read it, the jerk.

"Certainly. It's also the only way you'll survive."

I sigh, utterly tired.

"My father's court was a principality," he says gently. "As his youngest son, I was considered gentry, though no formal rank was given to me. It's customary to offer children their estates upon their seventh year. I was with Ryther by then.He, by naming me his second and empowering me to rule in his absence, made me the unseelie prince."

Something in the way he speaks tells me that this confession is somewhat private; that not many are privy to the details of his youth to that extent.

"So I could marry you and become a princess, then," I tease.

He tilts his head. "Could you?"

I'm blushing for some reason.

I do my best to return to my book, my heart beating a little faster.

I flush, yet again interrupted in the middle of a sentence. Trying to read on the rules of propriety in the high court is complicated enough without constantly being interrupted by screams of pleasure, moans, the sound of a bed banging against a wall.

"Oh, bloody hell, will theyeverstop?" I grouse.

"Afraid a little pleasure?" Caenan teases.

"No, but there's nothing fun about listening to it when I'm not having any," I retort.

There's something else, though. An echo of the memory of what Ryther did to me the other day. I hated it. I hate him for it. But watching him with my sister…

It was intense.

Hot.

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