House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2) by Sarah J. Maas

Cormac studied the small torso of Thurr on her desk. “I wanted to see where my betrothed works. To gain some insight into your … life.”

“You say that as if it’s a foreign thing for females to have jobs.”

“In Avallen, it is.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “My people have let the old traditions remain untouched. You will need to adjust.”

“Thanks, but no. I like my TV and phone. And I like being considered a person, not livestock for breeding.”

“Like I said last night, you don’t have a choice.” His voice was flat, his eyes hollow.

Bryce crossed her arms, realized it put her cleavage and the star on better display, and lowered them to her sides once more. “Can I … pay you to drop this whole engagement thing?”

Cormac laughed. “I have more gold than I know what to do with. Money holds little power over me.” He crossed his arms as well. “You have a chance to help your people and this world. Once you bear me a few heirs, you can take whatever lovers you wish. I will do the same. This marriage doesn’t need to burden either of us.”

“Except for the part where I have to sleep with you. And live in your backwater land.”

His lips curled upward. “I think you’ll find the first part to be rather enjoyable.”

“Spoken with true male arrogance.”

He shrugged, clearly confident that she would enjoy him. “I haven’t had any complaints yet. And if our union helps our people, and strengthens the royal bloodlines, then I’ll do it.”

“The Fae are no people of mine.” They never had been, and certainly not now, after they’d locked out innocent citizens in this city and refused to come to anyone’s aid during the attack last spring. She pointed to the open door. “Bye.”

He simmered with disgust. “Your father let you run wild for too long.”

“My father’s name is Randall Silago. The Autumn King is just a male who gave me genetic material. He will never have a place in my life. Neither will you.”

Cormac took a step back from the doorway, shadows swirling. His golden hair glowed like molten metal. “You’re immortal now, as well as Starborn. Time to act like it.”

Bryce slammed the door in his face.

Hunt considered the beautiful Archangel seated at Micah’s old desk. Glowing skin as dark as onyx brought out the light brown of her eyes, and her delicate mouth seemed permanently set in a patient smile. It was that smile—that gentle, kind smile—that threw him. “Take a seat, please,” Celestina said to him, Naomi, and Isaiah.

Hunt nearly choked at the word. Please. Micah would never have said anything of the sort. Isaiah appeared equally baffled as they settled into the three chairs before the simple oak desk. Naomi kept her face wholly blank, her black wings rustling.

Behind the Governor’s gleaming white wings, the wall of windows revealed an unusual number of angels soaring by. All hoping to catch a glimpse of the female who had entered the Comitium in a grand procession thirty minutes ago.

The lobby ceremony had been the start of Hunt’s utter confusion. Rather than strutting magnanimously past the gathered crowd, the voluptuous, lush-bodied Archangel had taken her time, pausing to greet the malakim who stepped forward, asking for their names, saying things like I’m so very happy to meet you and I look forward to working with you. Cthona spare him, but Hunt honestly thought she might be serious.

He didn’t let his guard down, though. Not when she’d reached him, Naomi, and Isaiah, standing before the elevator doors to escort her to her new residence and office; not when she’d taken his hand with genuine warmth; and certainly not now that they sat here for this private meeting.

Celestina surveyed them with unnerving clarity. “You three are all that remains of Micah’s triarii.”

None of them replied. Hunt didn’t dare mention Vik—or beg the Archangel to pull her out of Melinoë’s inky depths. To spare her from a living Hel. It had been months. Odds were that Vik had gone insane. Was likely begging for death with each moment in that box.

The Governor angled her head, her tightly curling black hair shifting with the movement. She wore pale pink-and-lilac robes, gauzy and ethereal, and the silver jewelry along her wrists and neck glowed as if lit by the moon. Where Micah had radiated dominance and might, she shimmered with feminine strength and beauty. She barely came up to Hunt’s chest, yet … she had a presence that had Hunt eyeing her carefully.

“Not ones for talking, are you?” Her voice held a musical quality, as if it had been crafted from silver bells. “I suppose my predecessor had rules quite different from mine.” She drummed her fingers on the desk, nails tinted a soft pink. “Allow me to make this clear: I do not wish for subservience. I want my triarii to be my partners. I want you to work alongside me to protect this city and territory, and help it meet its great potential.”

A pretty little speech. Hunt said nothing. Did she know what he’d done to Sandriel? What Bryce had done to Micah? What Micah had done in his quest to supposedly protect this territory?

Celestina wrapped a curl around a finger, her immaculate wings shifting. “I see that I shall have to do a great deal of work to earn your trust.”

Hunt kept his face bland, even as he wished that she’d be equally as forthright as Micah. He’d always hated his owners who’d disguised their dead souls in pretty speeches. This could easily be part of a game: to get them to trust her, come limping into her soft arms, and then spring the trap. Make them suffer.