The silence that followed my little verbal sparring match with Derek felt heavy. I didn't look away from him. I wanted him to see I wouldn't take the words back. I wanted him to feel the truth behind them. He didn't blink, holding my gaze. Neither one of us was willing to back down.
A low, sudden laugh cut through the tension, making me start in my chair. My gaze slid to the man seated directly to the King's right. Broad-shouldered. Blue eyes too sharp to ever be truly kind. He leaned forward, studying me with a slow sweep of those icicle eyes.
"She certainly is the spitfire you said she was." His tone was more appraisal than compliment. "Slight build is a plus. But something will have to be done about her hair. The color is too striking."
Before I could decide if I was more offended or baffled, the King's answer came, quick and absolute. "No."
The man frowned. "An assassin has to be able to blend in. She'll stand out too much with that dark, fiery hair."
"I said no." Tomas's eyes flicked to mine, held for half a heartbeat, and then darted away. "She needs to be a deadly flower. One that draws in her prey before dispatching it swiftly. Her hair stays as it is. My decision is final."
My cheeks heated. Being discussed like I wasn't sitting right there made my skin crawl. My fingers found a loose lock of hair, twirling it without thinking.
"It is striking, though." This voice was warm. I turned to find green eyes watching me with open amusement. He gave me a lazy smile. "The color of maple leaves in autumn."
Callum, I decided instantly. Raelyn had said he was the charming one, and he wore the role like a second skin.
The sound that followed his comment was unmistakable. A low, warning growl from the King's side of the table. Tomas glared at Callum.
"We do not need to discuss this further." Raelyn interjected smoothly, the perfect balm over a growing tension. I shot her a grateful glance, which she caught and returned with the barest twitch of her lips.
That was when I felt it. The weight of another stare. Steady and assessing. I shifted my gaze to the only one who hadn't spoken yet. He lounged in his chair, the picture of nonchalance. A lopsided smile played around his mouth.
"I'm glad to see you aren't dead, Fox." His voice was casual as he gave me a lazy once-over. "You were busted up pretty bad. Now that I've seen your normal form, it would've been a waste."
I blinked. "Thank you?" The words came out half-question, half-suspicion. I wasn't sure if he meant it as a compliment or if I was supposed to feel grateful he found me easy on the eyes.
Before I could dwell on it, Derek's voice cut in. "You should eat, Fox. You're too skinny to be proper bait."
It wasn't what he said. It was the way he said it. Dismissive. Like I didn't quite measure up.
My jaw tightened. Without breaking eye contact, I reached for the bread basket, plucked out a roll, and shoved the whole thing into my mouth. His brows ticked up slightly, but I wasn't done. I grabbed a fat sausage, bit into it with deliberate force, and chewed slowly.
His gaze didn't waver. If anything, it sharpened, tracking my mouth like the movement told him something I couldn't see. Heat prickled over my skin in a way that was as confusing as it was…not unpleasant.
And it wasn't just Derek. A quick glance told me every single male at the table was watching me with the same unsettling focus. I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the way my throat worked, the way my hands curled in my lap.
The air was too thick. My pulse too loud. I needed out.
"I'm exhausted, Your Majesty." I stood abruptly, my voice louder than intended. I winced but kept going. "If it pleases you, I'll take my leave."
I gave a shallow bow. Low enough to pass as polite, but high enough to toe the line of insolence. I left without waiting for permission.
I made it to my suite in record time, closing the heavy door behind me and leaning against it like I could block out the entire evening. A shuddering breath escaped before I could stop it.
The dinner had been strange. Stilted. More performance than conversation. And the way they'd all looked at me. It was like I was both a puzzle and a weapon they weren't sure they wanted to touch. It made my skin itch.
Part of me wanted to fight something. The other part wanted to lock the door and stay under the covers until the world stopped watching.
I chose the latter, stripping down to my shift and pulling my hair loose from its braid. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, but it didn't reach the cold sitting in my bones.
Derek's heated gaze haunted me as I slipped beneath the covers. It wasn't interest, not exactly. It was measuring. Calculating. The kind of look a hunter gives when they're deciding if the chase will be worth the kill.
And the worst part? Every single one of them had looked at me like that tonight.
---***---***---***---
I was almost asleep when the knock came.
Not a polite tap. Not the rhythmic call of a servant. Three solid raps that carried command in every strike.
I froze under the covers. No one should be here this late.
The fire had burned low, shadows stretching across the walls in strange, twitching shapes. I stayed still for another heartbeat, hoping whoever it was would go away.
The knock came again, louder this time.
With a muttered curse, I threw back the blankets and padded across the cold floor. The moment I unlatched the door, it pushed inward with a deliberate slowness that made my pulse jump.
Tomas filled the frame, a wall of shadow and heat. His tunic was unlaced at the throat, hair slightly mussed like he'd run his hands through it too many times. That same air of command clung to him, thick enough to taste.
"Your Majesty," I said carefully, gripping the door. "You lost, or just bored?"
His gaze slid over me, slow enough to make my skin prickle. "Neither."
"Then what—"
"Derek won't touch you." The words landed between us like a stone.
I blinked, thrown off-balance. "Wasn't worried he would."
"You should be. He likes to test people. Push them. Find their cracks." His eyes lingered on my face, searching. "He thinks you'll break easy."
"And you don't?"
The corner of his mouth curved. "I think, given enough freedom, you could be dangerous. Which is why you'll survive training." He reached out, snagging a stray lock of hair on my shoulder. "It really is quite striking."
I crossed my arms, mostly to keep from fidgeting under that gaze. "You came here in the middle of the night just to tell me you like my hair?"
A low hum, something that might've been a laugh if it weren't so quiet. "I came because you walked out of my table like you owned the room. No one does that. Not to me."
"That wasn't ownership. Or arrogance." Heat crawled across my face. I willed the blush away. "That was survival."
"Sometimes…" He twirled my hair between his fingertips, pulling his eyes to meet mine before letting that lock drop back to its place on my shoulder. "There's no difference."
The way he looked at me then made my breath catch. I hated that it did.
"Get some rest, Fox." He stepped back into the hall. "Tomorrow, we see if you can keep that fire when someone's trying to put it out."
He left before I could think of a response, the echo of his boots fading down the corridor.
I shut the door slowly, my hand lingering on the wood.
Sleep wouldn't come easy after that. Not with the weight of his voice still in my ears.