He continued to the long, rectangular table set for seven and plucked a red grape from the centerpiece of fall fruits—apples, figs, grapes, and plums—displayed alongside a variety of aged cheeses and baskets of dark, steaming bread. A carafe of wine and a crystal teapot filled with amber liquid flanked the food. King Delphi and Queen Olivine stood at the head of the table in quiet conversation. I scanned the room and landed on the hour-glass figure standing next to Smitter. I sucked in a breath and had to swallow hard not to choke.

Her sun-spun hair cascaded over gold-dusted shoulders in thick coils. The deep aubergine gown clung to her curves like a second skin. A boned bodice cinched in her waistline with gilded strings tied in the back. Laced shoes with deadly heels peeked from beneath the hem of her gown. When she rotated, her icy glare washed over the room and settled on me. She stalked in my direction, eyes narrowed on my throat.

“You look…”

She jabbed a finger in my face. “Like a fool. When I agreed to this accord, the terms didn’t include becoming a lady-in-waiting. I can barely breathe in this thing.” She gestured at her dress. “A woman I don’t know from Pandora used her bare foot on my rear to pull these beastly cords tighter. You will pay for this. I’m a pirate, not a plaything to be paraded like a prized hound on a leash.” She snarled deep in her throat.

I throttled my hips instead of her neck. All thoughts of her beauty escaped my mind. “And how is this my fault, exactly?”

Lou tilted her head and rolled her eyes, like my question was absurd. “After I bathed—in a tub entirely too large and suspiciously spotless, I might add—my clothes had disappeared, and this monstrosity was left in their place. I had no other option save a toga of silk bedding or velvet curtains. A stranger knocked on my door and asked if she could help me ‘slip it on.’ Slip it on, my arse. More like strangle me with it.”

I tapped my foot, losing patience. “A lovely story. Again, how is this my fault?”

Lou’s brows furrowed. “Who else would steal my things?”

Smitter glided into my vision, hovering a few feet away and sporting a cat-like grin that dared me to say otherwise. I glowered at his twinkling gold tooth. Smitter’s impish games and ribbing were his claim at notoriety in our family. Stealing had been his calling since he wore diapers. My grandfather’s and father’s indulgence of his misdeeds had solidified the behavior.

“Well,” said Smitter, swooping in like a vulture, “I’d say you look quite beautiful, but what do I know? I think I’ll go grab myself a brandy.” Smitter bowed to Lou and left us with a quick wink at me.