Page 138 of Sky’s Edge

Now those memories weren’t gone, but the barb they held was dulled completely.

And now, I was wearing his sweater, he’d pulled on his jeans, and two members of staff (both I did not meet when I was there the last time) arrived, one carrying a tray with two bottles of red wine and two glasses, the other carrying a tray covered in cheeses, bread slices, crackers, spreads, cured meats, olives and nuts, with two enormous toffee cashew cookies.

The tray of food, now mostly decimated (we’d worked up an appetite), sat on the bed. The wine (we’d already been through one bottle and were into the second) on the nightstand. The glasses were in our hands.

Hurley was also on the bed with us, lying on his belly, jaw on his paws, blinking rapidly at the food on the tray in hopes we’d take the hint and give him some (and, okay, this might have something to do with the fact I’d secreted a slice of cheese to him…or three of them).

“No, we’re not leaving this room until I have to let you go tomorrow morning,” Tanyn answered my unasked question.

I considered if I was down with this.

A nanosecond later, I decided I was down with it, reached and grabbed an olive.

I tossed it in Hurley’s direction.

He caught it in midair and swallowed it without chewing.

I laughed, only to have the laughter kissed from my lips when Tanyn caught me at the back of my head and pulled me to him.

When he finished with my mouth, he ordered, “Stop feeding him being food.”

“Olives are vegetables,” I defended.

“Stop feeding him being food,” he repeated.

I opened my mouth to retort.

Tanyn got there before me, “Either you stop feeding him, or I’m sending the tray back.”

I wasn’t done nibbling, so I gave in ungracefully, that being with a roll of my eyes.

He let me go and lounged back against the pillows.

“I wonder which of your seven hundred members of staff would come get the tray,” I muttered with an I’m sorry look at Hurley before I loaded a slice of bread up with some red onion marmalade and brie.

“Pardon?”

I turned from my food to my male. “You have a lot of staff.”

“I have a big castle.”

“You do indeed. You still have a lot of staff. And their obsequiousness is more than mildly creepy.”

His brows drew together.

“You haven’t noticed it?” I asked.

“I’m king,” he pointed out.

“So is King Fillion. And he does expect protocol to be observed. But not like your staff does it.”

His tone was very curious when he asked, “How do my staff do it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it. But, like, when Laura showed the last time I was here. A member of your staff announced her like she was arriving at an official event.”

“That’s not how it’s done?”

I froze at his question, because of course he wouldn’t know how it was done.