Page 15 of Courting the Tiger King

WREN

Golden eyes had haunted Wren’s dreams. It had been a surprise to learn that his mate was human. Such matches were not uncommon, of course, but he’d been so sure that Selene had been telling him his mate would bear his stripes. Maybe the goddess had meant metaphorically. After all, Lady Zennon must have been a warrior indeed to take on four assassins and live to tell the tale. So perhaps her stripes were beneath her skin, adorning her soul.

Wren sighed, leaning back in his chair as he waited at the long table that had been laid out for breakfast.

The Lady seemed pleasant enough, attractive, he supposed, with her dark hair and pouty mouth.

So why did he still dream of golden eyes?

Sonnet, Gabriel, and Skye had joined him at his request as they awaited Lady Zennon and her companion to arrive and Wren found that he was nervous. What if they had nothing in common? What would they talk about? What if the Lady didn’t want a mate?

“Are you certain the spell worked as intended?” The words slipped from him before he could think twice and even Skye looked affronted that Wren was questioning magic.

“Of course it worked.” Sonnet rolled her eyes. “If it had failed, I certainly wouldn’t have stuck around.”

“It’s just that?—”

The doors to the small dining hall swung open, cutting off his words, and Wren swallowed before standing to greet his guests.

Lady Zennon was remarkable in a dress made of indigo that fluttered around her form as she walked, slits in the sleeves showing off the creamy white skin beneath, but when she smiled up at him he couldn’t help the feeling that something waswrong.

He smiled back nonetheless and reached automatically for her hand, brushing a kiss across the delicate knuckles before withdrawing and turning to her companion.

Bright eyes ensnared his and for a second he couldn’t breathe. He shook himself out of the stupor and smiled, looking awkwardly away as he accepted Lady Neah’s hand and pressed a similarly chaste kiss to its back. Except, it felt less like a kiss and more like the exhilaration of paws hitting the ground beneath the moon, the thunder of his heartbeat so loud he was surprised nobody else remarked upon its echo in the room.

Wren relinquished his grip and took a large step back. Whatever kind of shifter Lady Neah was, it called to him—but Zennon was his mate.

He pulled out her chair and reclaimed his own in time for the servers to bring out platters of fruit and oats, cooked meats and eggs, and honey wine which he declined. He needed his wits about him.

“Thank you for joining me,” he said once everyone’s plates were full. “Dig in.”

A murmur of chatter broke out as cutlery scraped across plates but Wren found his appetite had largely vanished. He poked half-heartedly at the sausage on his plate and instead watched the two women interact at the opposite end of the table.They seemed close, sharing looks and quiet whispers that spoke of friendship and the kind of comfortability he felt around Gabe and Skye.

Speaking of which, the two were at odds sitting opposite each other. They almost never fought, though it was clear to Wren what—or ratherwho—had come between them. Yet, the silver-eyed witch watched them with worry, as if dissension had never been her intent.

Wren was so lost in his thoughts he nearly missed the question that Lady Zennon posed to him and even so, it took him a second too long to respond.

“My apologies, Lady, my mind was elsewhere. What did you say?”

Zennon smiled and it was graceful, patient. “Not to worry, my king. I only asked if you enjoyed your breakfast.”

“Please, call me Wren.” He smiled and she inclined her head. “Truthfully, though the spread is fantastic, I find my appetite somewhat reduced this morning.”

A throaty chuckle made his body perk up, alert, and he wanted to curse when he realised who it came from.

“I think you make him nervous, Zen,” Lady Neah said in a mock-whisper and Wren scowled.

“You do realise that’s your king that you’re speaking of?” The words were haughty and he was surprised by them. He didn’t mind good natured ribbing, but something about this woman… she pushed his buttons in all the wrong ways.

“Goodness,” Neah said, eyes widening with fake surprise. “I suppose I am as unobservant as I am forgetful, Your Majesty.”

Something told him that Lady Neah was neither unobservant or forgetful.

Warmth stained his cheeks as he fought the urge to bite back, to squabble like a twelve-year-old pulling a young girl’s hair, and so he settled for mumbling, “That’s quite alright.”

Thankfully, Lady Zennon didn’t seem off-put by the turn of the conversation. “You’ll have to forgive Neah, she’s spent some time in the north recently and, as such, has forgotten all manners.”

Neah rolled her eyes and speared a sausage with her fork, biting into the end with such vigour that he knew he wasn’t the only male at the table wincing. There was a sparkle in her eyes that irked him, like she was taunting him on purpose and, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, it wasworking.

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