“Just so you know, you’re not frightening at all in the morning,” he says, smirking. “You look like a pissed-off kitten.” “Say that again, and I’ll castrate you with a butter knife.” His lips quirk. “Ah, lucky me to have such a blushing bride.” “Isn’t it bad luck to see me before the wedding?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. “What, you think our luck can get any worse?” the king says, raising an eyebrow. He has a point.
