He’d seen my gaze wander to his mouth, and let it stay there. Let me inspect him. Hot embarrassment wraps around my entire throat nearly as tightly as Kizia’s hands.

“J-just curious. Your canines are… are…” Words, Bree. Find them. Use them. “Not as big as—” His brows shoot up. “I mean, not as long as—” Jesus Christ. Not those words.

Finally, I expel a sentence. “Your teeth look different today.”

His eyes are twin sunsets heating my face, and his voice flows between us in a honeyed growl. “Do they?”

“Yes,” I murmur, my voice breathy. “I mean, they’ve always been different from Erebus’s. Or the other Seneschals’. Or… or even Isaac’s.”

“Ah. For Merlins, aging brings us closer to our demon nature, and more power. That is why their fangs appear more prominent than mine.”

“Does that mean if a Merlin has succumbed to their blood, to—to demonia, they look different too? And they’re also more powerful?”

“Look different, yes. As for power?” He tilts his head back and forth. “Hard to tell because we are also more mercurial.”

“Oh.”

He huffs a laugh. “Current close quarters and terrifically entertaining circumstances aside, when I say you leap before looking, I’m referring to the fact that the minute you decided we were going to hunt for Nicholas, you deprioritized yourself. And you did so without acknowledging that those of us around you cannot afford to do the same. This is the same choice you made when you forced Greer to take you on a hunt. The same position you put William in when you set off on your own to the arena. When you take risks for a mission, we all do. But our risks are five-fold, because your life must be protected at all costs. Tonight, we were lucky, but there will come a moment when William or I will have to choose between your mission and your life.”

I jerk back from his face, sputtering. “I thought you wanted us to find Nick. Wanted me to choose him. Don’t you want to find him, too?”

His lips pull back in a silent snarl. “That very question is an insult. Of course I want to find Nicholas. I also need you to understand what you are asking of the people around you. You’re not just Page Matthews hurtling into one dangerous, foolish situation after another anymore. You are the Scion of Arthur, and a king.”

His chastisement stings, so the words leave my mouth before I can stop them, confrontational and biting. “Your king?”