Page 37 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

Lessia lifted a hand and poked him in the chest, noting how tense the muscles were beneath his leather tunic, even if his expression painted him as bored.

“What is your problem? I haven’t done anything to make you dislike me.”

She mentally applauded herself when her voice stayed strong.

Apparently, ignoring or being nice to him wasn’t working. Perhaps if she served him the same treatment as he did her, he’d at least respect her.

“Come on, Loche. She won’t bother anyone.” Stellia placed a small hand on his shoulder.

But Loche ignored her, only kept staring daggers at Lessia. “I said no, and it’s final. She’s not coming.”

She narrowed her eyes, keeping his grayones hostage.

Loche glared back at her, and the mumbling around them quieted as their eyes battled in silence.

She would not give in.

Loche’s face showed no emotion as his eyes burned into hers, and she kept her own features blank, fighting against the thoughts that swirled inside.

What had she done to him?

She had never spoken to him before today, and he acted as if she deeply insulted him by her mere presence—as if she’d committed a grave personal offense.

A small voice in her mind reminded her that shewasthere to spy on him—that her king had her betray all Ellow by forcing her to do this.

A wince twisted her features, and Loche’s eyes flared triumphantly.

“Fine!” Lessia snarled as she averted her gaze. “I’m going to bed anyway.”

When Loche spun around, she couldn’t stop herself from hissing “Bastard.”

Turning his head over his shoulder, he smiled, a vicious hint to the curled lips. “I’ve been called worse, darling.”

She balled her hands to restrain herself from slapping him across his smug face.

Peeking around him, Stellia winced. “Sorry, Fae-girl. Maybe next time?”

She didn’t have time to respond before Loche dragged Stellia with him out the door, slamming it right in her face.

Chapter

Eighteen

Lessia stomped up the stairs to her room, not bothering to check if her evil shadow followed, and threw herself on the bed.

What was Loche’s damn problem?

It’s not like he had been the obvious choice in the election last time, from what she’d gathered about him.

A bastard-born orphan who’d come out of nowhere shouldn’t be the one to judge her this harshly.

She could understand Craven, a noble whose family had influence over Ellow even before the royals were overthrown and who probably still harbored a deep hatred for the Fae because of the destruction they’d caused during the war.

Even though he really should be blaming the shifters—the ones who’d deceived them all, turning Fae and humans against each other before either realized they were being played—she could understand that the Fae had been the reason for so many lives lost.

But Loche?

She didn’t understand it.

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