Page 80 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

Merrick stood outside her room when she opened the door, and with a grumbled “Let’s go,” he led her up the set of stairs the guard outside her room informed them would take them to the debate chamber.

Beads of cold sweat were rolling down her neck by the time they reached a set of white-painted wooden doors, andshe wiped her damp palms on the black breeches she’d pulled on.

She wasn’t sure what was appropriate to wear to a debate, so she’d settled on her usual black tunic and breeches but took the time to polish her boots and brush her hair until both shone.

She’d left it down, even though elaborate hairdos were the latest fashion, mostly because she didn’t have the energy to put it up but also because the thick locks felt like they could help shield her from whatever she was to face.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she hesitated with her hand hovering over the gilded doorknob.

“What are you waiting for?”

Merrick took a step closer, the heat from his body burning into her back.

She turned her head over her shoulder.

He’d also changed, and even though he’d dressed in a simple ivory shirt and dark trousers, his pearlescent hair falling in waves over his shoulders, there was still an otherness radiating from him through his glamour.

Swallowing, she hoped none of the council members were too familiar with the Fae and would assume—like the rest of the nominees and guards—that he merely had a Fae parent or grandparent.

Merrick nudged her, and she realized she’d been staring at him.

“I—” she started, but his hand reached out for her.

For a moment she thought he was about to comfort her, but then he placed his hand over hers and opened the door. “Best to get this over with.”

Why she’d thought he might offer her some soothing words, she didn’t know, but a rush of disappointmentslammed into her like the floor had this morning as she stepped over the threshold.

Forcing herself to keep her features neutral, she took in the room.

It was packed, with two dozen or so people milling about beneath a raised dais where five wooden chairs stood. The grandest chandelier she’d ever seen hung from the ceiling, its light mingling with the white winter sunlight sifting in through the windows lining the wall opposite the dais.

Lessia realized she’d underestimated the need to dress up when she caught Venko’s eyes from where he stood conversing with two older men.

They were dressed in elaborate jackets and doublets, with silver and gold embroidery delicately weaving its way up their chests and jeweled weapons hanging by their waists.

The women wore the latest fashion: expensive silk dresses—extremely impractical for winter but hugging their curves meticulously, with white ruffles that caressed their necks and peeked out from their short sleeves, contrasting beautifully with the vivid gowns.

Most dresses were colorful, lilacs and pinks and some beautiful greens and blues that stood out against the white stone walls of the room. Lessia pulled at her black tunic when two men gave her a once-over, disdain twisting their features.

A few more faces turned her way, and her cheeks heated when hushed giggles followed. Spinning around, she was about to hide behind Merrick, but he stalked right past her, joining the other companions by the wall behind the dais.

“You look like you’re about to be sick. Still not recovered from the cabin?”

Loche leaned against the wall to her right, and despite his amused expression, she made her way over, grateful thatshe’d at least have someone to talk to—even if he was planning on making fun of her.

“My guard thought I needed to train this morning, so I am mostly recovering from that.” Lessia ignored the soft laughs echoing behind her, keeping her burning face turned away from the crowd.

“Smart man.”

Loche brushed some dust off his jacket, and she trailed her gaze over him.

Like her, he hadn’t dressed up.

Instead, he wore the same jacket he always did, simple and black, paired with leathers and dark boots, his sword resting across his back and its hilt peeking over his shoulder.

When a particularly loud laugh reverberated through the room, a set jaw replaced Loche’s amused expression, and those piercing eyes shifted to his side.

“Would you like to enlighten us as to what’s so humorous, Malain?”

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