So, infidelity aside, getting married is literally hazardous to a king’s health, and why it’s necessary to choose a fae female as consort to carry on the royal line.
Obviously, my mother was a consort. We weren’t a family in the true sense of the word; it was closer to growing up with divorced parents. She had separate living quarters and we went back and forth between there and the royal manor. Their relationship was more transactional than anything, presumably so neither would get too attached and long for something they couldn’t have.
Either way, I hated seeing the wistful look in her eyes when he was around, only to be treated with the kind of mild affection people have for their neighbor.
In my opinion, the role of consort is demeaning, and I don’t look forward to the day when I’ll be forced to become my father and bear children with a female I won’t be able to offer more than a platonic relationship based on co-parenting.
Sliding one hand into my pocket, I lift my glass with the other and take another long pull of whiskey. I shove the irritating thoughts to the back of my mind and study the monitors for a distraction. I can switch the feeds from my computer if I want, but usually I keep them on the same ones. Everything appears normal. Business as usual, as expected.
But then I see her. The woman from the lobby.
If I thought she was beautiful before, I don’t have the word for how she looks now. Tight black cocktail dress that hugs her slight curves, long hair flowing down her back in loose waves, and mile-long legs meant to wrap around a male’s waist.
“Damn, who is that?” Lusty appreciation coats Finn’s tone from where he stands next to me. I was so wrapped up in watching her walk through the casino, stopping to check out different tables, I didn’t even notice my brothers had quit their bitching to join me.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I saw her in the lobby not even thirty minutes ago.”
Tiernan chuckles. “Must have been eager to get her night started. I like eagerness in a woman.”
I almost growl that she’s off-limits, but I catch myself in time. She’s not off-limits to them or anyone else because she’s nothing to me. Just some human dropping money into my pocket, like all the others.
Finn elbows me in the side. “You should take her to Early Equinox.”
“She’s human.”
“So?”
“So, if I took any female—which I’m not, but if I did—it would only be to appease our mother, who wants me to bring a prospective consort, meaning fae, not human.”
Tiernan pipes in. “We’re in a very progressive age right now. Why not two consorts? One to carry on the royal line and the other to carry out every filthy fantasy in that big head of yours.”
“You’re a dumbass. Get out, both of you. I have work to do.”
They do their fair share of protesting and griping, but finally I’m rid of them, along with what was left of my finest whiskey. I sit at my desk with every intention of working, but my eyes keep wandering back to the screens and clicking through the different feeds to follow her.
I don’t know why I’m so drawn to her. That mystery is grating enough on its own—never mind the underlying desire I feel tugging at my balls—and has me grabbing my suit jacket to stalk toward the hall before I even know I’m moving.
If I want to exorcise this woman from my mind, I need to prove to myself that she’s no one special.
CHAPTER FOUR
Caiden
By the time I get downstairs, she’s exchanging money for colored chips at the roulette table. I planned on posting up across the casino and simply observing first to see what I could learn about her, but as soon as we were in the same room again, I felt this strange pull. Like I need to be next to her.
And that’s how I find myself striding across the gaming floor, using a glamour that will mask my presence to humans aside from another body to move around. It’s a trick I almost never use, as it would be viewed as weak for a fae king to want to avoid attention. But in this instance, I don’t want anything interrupting my investigation of this woman, least of all another mob of admirers.
The only one I want admiring me is her.
Taking the spot next to her at the table, I’m hit with her sweet scent of vanilla with a hint of oranges. She smells like a damned Dreamsicle, and my mouth is already watering.
“You know,” I say to her, “roulette has the worst odds of all the games you could play in a casino. The house has a greater advantage.”
She smiles, then turns her head to respond. Recognition flashes across her face, and her smile drops into a parted gasp of surprise. “It’s you.”
“Caiden Verran, at your service.” I raise my right hand between us and turn my palm up like we’re meeting each other in my royal court instead of a loud casino floor.
Her almond-shaped eyes are hazel, I realize. A beautiful mix of greens and golds swirling within her irises as though battling for dominance, and I get the distinct feeling that this woman has more things battling for dominance within her than just her eye color.
“Bryn Meara,” she says with a shy smile, and once again the small gap in her otherwise perfectly straight teeth bewitches me.
She hesitates at first, then slips her hand into mine. My fingers close around hers eagerly as I bring them up to my lips, holding her gaze. She flushes pink when I press a kiss to the back of her hand, holding it longer than strictly necessary.
I actually have to force myself to release her or risk things going from romantic to creepy.
Since when the hell are you romantic, anyway?
Since never is the answer.
I admit something about this woman makes me want to charm her, though. To make her smile and hear her laugh. To see if that pretty flush covers her whole body when I make her come from devouring her sweet pussy.
“Players, place your bets,” the dealer says, breaking up our staring contest and drawing our focus to the table. He’s fae, and when we make eye contact, he gives me a reverent nod and smiles wide enough that his inhumanly sharp canines peek out.
Not that the humans at the table notice. We use glamours so they never notice our fangs, our ears, or the preternatural brightness of our eyes unless we want them to. Like with Ralph.
Bryn glances up at me thoughtfully, then slides all her chips—a sum worth three hundred dollars—onto the black rectangle for a single outside bet, giving her a fifty-fifty chance of doubling her money. The dealer waves his hand over the table and states no more bets can be placed, then drops the silver ball into the wheel.
It spins around several times before finally dropping into a pocket.
“Black seventeen,” the dealer announces.