Chapter 79 The King’s Patience
Kira’s POV
Adrian’s hand tightened around mine under the table, like he needed the reminder that I was really there.
I turned and shot him a look…the are-you-serious-right-now kind, sharp and questioning, with just a hint of warning.
He didn’t even flinch. Just lifted an eyebrow, calm and unapologetic, like, ‘what did you expect was going to happen?’
I shook off the weird feeling I got from Princess Loretta’s voice earlier and tried to focus on something else.
Conversation started up again…slower, more careful. People kept glancing my way, but at least they weren’t openly gaping at me anymore.
Lady Margaret tried once more to put me down, voice syrupy. “Perhaps the future queen might consider appropriate attire for future events. For the dignity of the crown.”
What is her problem?
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand…on purpose…and leaned forward so everyone could hear me clearly.
“Lady Margaret, with all due respect…which is none…you spent months telling me I looked ridiculous in gowns. Called me a mistake. Said I’d never belong among the nobles. So I figured, why try? This—” I gestured at my outfit “is me. Take it or leave it. Your king already took it, so I think we’re good.”
A ripple of shocked laughter spread across the vampire side. Someone coughed into their napkin. Princess Loretta…her daughter in-law, actually grinned behind her hand.
Lady Margaret went scarlet with embarrassment.
Adrian squeezed my hand again. This time it felt… proud. What the hell is wrong with this man? Can’t he just get the message and flip?!
I turned to him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“You have no idea,” he murmured.
Princess Loretta leaned toward me slightly. “Tell me, Princess Arabella. Do your kind always eat this enthusiastically?”
“Only when we’re starving and surrounded by people who think we’re trash,” I said cheerfully in Lady Margaret’s direction. “Makes the food taste better.”
She laughed again, louder this time.
And just like that, the ice broke.
The rest of the dinner turned chaotic in the best way.
A pack elder tried to bring up patrol schedules; I interrupted to ask why werewolves didn’t just put GPS collars on each other like normal people. (Got a few growls and a lot of choked laughter.)
So apparently, that was a dumb question because they can track each other by their scent. More reason why I need to find my own wolf.
Princess Loretta asked me what my favorite food is.
I smiled mischievously and answered loud for everyone to hear. “French fries.”
Relief flickered across the table like they were surprised I didn’t say something bizarre…until I continued, “Dipped in a milkshake.”
Silence.
Somewhere, a fork clinked against a plate. To say they looked shocked would be an understatement.
But Loretta looked fascinated. Asked if she could try it sometime and I told her I’d smuggle some in if she promised not to bite me.
Adrian kept his hand on mine the whole time. Not once did he react the way I wanted him to. In fact, he was quite supportive of my actions which made me upset.
Every time I tried to pull away, he laced our fingers tighter.
Every time someone tried to throw shade, he shut it down with a look.
And every time I said something outrageous, that tiny smile tugged at his mouth again.
Unbelievable.
By the time dessert arrived…some fancy chocolate tower thing…I was stuffed, buzzed on wine I’d stolen sips of, and weirdly…okay.
Not comfortable. Never comfortable in a room full of monsters who wanted to tear me apart.
But okay.
Adrian kept watching me the entire time.
Not in that cold, kingly way he watched everyone else. No. This was different. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, jaw tight, the muscle ticking every time I licked sauce off my bottom lip. He looked like a man trying very hard not to drag me under the table right then and there.
I pretended not to notice.
Across from me, the vampire delegations sat like statues carved from moonlight and arrogance.
Except for one.
Prince Darius.
I’d overheard his name earlier…princess Loretta’s younger brother, second in line, the spare who clearly didn’t mind being spare because he looked like sin wrapped in velvet. Tall, lean, sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, hair the color of midnight spilled over one eye, and lips curved in permanent amused boredom. Crimson eyes that glittered every time they flicked my way.
He caught me staring once. Smiled. Slow.
Dangerous. The kind of smile that said he knew exactly what I looked like when I was being bad.
So, I decided to have fun. Oh, and piss Adrian off while I’m at it.
Conversation droned on…border patrols, shared hunting grounds, how much blood tithe the packs would allow the vampires to take from the neutral territories without starting another war. Blah blah politics.
Adrian was distracted…didn’t even notice when I moved my chair away from his side.
I leaned forward, reached across the table with my fork, and speared a perfect slice of rare venison from the central platter. Then, casual as anything, I dropped it onto Darius’s empty plate.
“Here…in-law,” I said, voice sweet and low. “You guys don’t eat much, right? But this one’s too good to waste. Try it.”
The entire werewolf side of the table went rigid.
Darius’s eyebrows lifted. He looked at the meat, then at me. That smile widened, showing just a hint of fang.
“How generous of you, little wolf queen,” he murmured, voice like smoke and sex. He picked up his fork, cut a tiny piece, and ate it slowly.
Deliberately. Eyes never leaving mine. “Delicious.”
I grinned. “Told you.”
Then I reached for the nearest decanter…deep red wine, probably not wine at all…and leaned over even farther to pour into his goblet. My arm brushed his sleeve. I let it linger a second too long.
“Your turn,” I said, tilting my head. “Be a gentleman.”
Darius chuckled…low, dark, intimate…and picked up the same decanter. He poured for me with exaggerated care, letting the liquid splash just enough to make a tiny red droplet land on the inside of my wrist.
He leaned in. Voice barely above a whisper.
“Careful, darling. Some stains don’t wash out.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
I was about to fire back something smart when my chair suddenly jerked backward.
Hard.
Adrian’s arm hooked around my waist like iron. He dragged my entire chair…me included…right up against his side until my thigh pressed flush to his, my back almost against his chest.
The scrape of wood against marble was obscenely loud in the sudden hush.
Every head turned.
Adrian’s voice came out calm. Too calm.
“Whatever game you’re playing, Princess,” he said, lips brushing the shell of my ear, “it’s working.”
His hand slid up, fingers curling around the back of my neck…possessive, not gentle.
He lowered his head until his mouth was so close I felt every word against my skin.
“Keep it up,” he growled softly, “and I will clear this hall. I will bend you over this very table. I will eat you raw…slowly…until you’re screaming my name so loud every single person here has to stand outside and listen to how wet you get when I fuck you stupid.”
My breath caught.
Heat exploded low in my belly, sharp and vicious.
I could picture it. Too clearly. The long table cleared in one violent sweep. My hands braced on the wood. His mouth between my thighs. The sound of my own moans echoing off the vaulted ceiling while sixty shocked nobles pretended not to hear.
I wanted to find out.
God help me, I wanted to push him just to see how far he’d go.
But then I remembered.
He was still the enemy.
The king who thought he could use me as he wanted.
I swallowed. Hard.
Then I very deliberately turned my head away from him, picked up a glass of water like it had personally offended me.
Conversation stumbled back to life. Awkward. Stilted. Everyone pretending they hadn’t just heard the king threaten to defile his mate on the dinner table.
But I felt it again.
Darius’s eyes on me. Again. And again. Slow, considering, amused.
And every time he looked, Adrian’s grip on the back of my neck tightened.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
Whatever hell that followed was…bound to happen.