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His eyes remind me of Poseidon’s wrath—stormy, gray, intense—the kind of eyes that draw you in, hold you there, and might not let you go.
I wave my hands above my table. “Soothsayer, remember? I know stuff.”
The woman who divines the truth through falsehood? The most coveted diplomatic weapon in the realms? The Kingmaker?
The mace he carries tells me he’d rather bludgeon than slice. I get that. There’s something satisfying about whacking people over the head.
Griffin. I turn the name over in my head, reluctantly curious. A griffin is an exceptionally rare creature, a mix of lion and eagle, king of beasts and king of birds.
“I conquered a kingdom and found a treasure.” His voice turns gravelly, low. “I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”
“Because your gut reaction is always to punch, and I don’t like being tickled.”
He reminds me of a pirate again. Dark. Sharp. Fierce.
Something in the warmth flutters, cautious, like a nascent bird’s wings. Like a fledgling, though, I don’t know whether I’ll crash or fly.
“You’re bright like a star. You shine for me now, but the sky turns. Where will you shine tomorrow? Or the day after? I won’t let you go, not without a fight that would make gods tremble.”
The widest, most disarming grin I’ve ever seen spreads across his face, and I lose my heart entirely.
