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A blackened stump was all that remained. If there was anything Declan despised more than disloyalty, it was a viper masquerading as a mother.
An archmage. She was in the presence of an archmage. One of the eight supreme rulers of her realm—beings so lethal they were said to kill with a mere blink of an eye.
“Well, I can’t help it if the chocolate ones look the best.” She took another bite. “And this is really, really good. Are you sure you won’t even try it?” She dug up a forkful and waved it at him. “Just a taste?” “All right.” He leaned toward her, and she brought the fork to his mouth. Ignoring it, he tugged on her braid, tilting her face toward his, and ran his tongue over the seam of her lips. She gasped, and her fork clattered. He took full advantage, delving his tongue deeper. When he was done, he released her braid and licked his lips. “You’re right,” he murmured. “Marguerite has
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“Whoever upset you should be wary of incurring an archmage’s wrath,” he said after they lapsed into silence. “You give me too much honor, Lord Councilor, but Declan is unlikely to smite himself,” she said bitterly, the words flying out of her mouth before she could think better of it.
“What is the meaning of this?” “I am courting you.” “Courting me?” Incredulity winged up her brows, but his knitted together. “Is it not obvious?” Flabbergasted, she stared at him. “This is your idea of courtship? Burying my house—and half the town—in flowers?” Genuine uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “I’ve never had to court a woman before.”
Evie.” Mortal she may be, but your lady is special, brother. Declan fixed Alexander with a glare that would have had lesser men quaking, but his younger brother merely ducked his head, hiding a smirk. She’s pure sunlight . . . and you, brother, have been living in winter for far too long.
