Summary: A reimagining of Book 3, Chapter 5, in which Sei, Adder, and Raydan don’t arrive right away with the news about Aurelia being attacked.
Kenna mentally prepares for dinner to be the most uncomfortable one she’s ever attended. The thought of having any kind of alliance with Luther Nevrakis makes her cringe inside, but the fact is, she needs the strength of his troops. She cringes even more putting on the dress in the Nevrakis colors, but Kenna reluctantly decides to wear it anyway. It’s mostly as a show of good faith that she’s serious in allying with them, and also a little bit because she’s feeling stubborn and isn’t going to let Luther or Zenobia deter her from wearing anything.
Two hours, she tells herself as they head downstairs. Two hours in this dress, and then you can rip it off and never wear it again.
Unsurprisingly, Zenobia starts in with the dramatics immediately, insisting Kenna’s men are probably torturing Diavolos as they speak. Kenna doesn’t bother pointing out how illogical it would be for her to torture Luther’s favorite son when she’s trying to form an alliance with them. Instead, she forces her expression to remain calm, and reassures them Diavolos will be there.
It feels like an eternity before Jackson finally comes into the ballroom. The room is uncomfortably quiet save for Zenobia’s dramatic huffs and the distant noises from the castle filtering in. Jackson is leading a man who must be Diavolos, but he’s so unlike Kenna imagined that she finds herself staring for half a second too long.
He’s tall, taller than Luther, broad-shouldered and dark-haired and far better looking than she would have expected. He looks remarkably at ease for someone who was just locked up in his own family’s dungeons. When his dark eyes meet Kenna’s, catching what she’s sure is her surprised look, his grin grows a little wider.
“You didn’t start without me, did you?” he asks easily.
Kenna almost looks away, but instead she matches his gaze and pretends she doesn’t feel her face flush, just a little, at the way he’s still looking at her. His gaze lingers on her dress, and she suddenly remembers what she’s wearing.
“You must be Diavolos,” she says evenly. “Welcome to the table.”
Diavolos pulls out a chair and sits down across from her. His demeanor is so relaxed that it almost makes her laugh as the courses are brought out. This is the least relaxing gathering Kenna can imagine, and yet, here’s Diavolos Nevrakis, looking like this is just another boring dinner party.
There’s something about him that commands her attention. Maybe it’s his laid-back and easygoing nature, so at odds with the rest of his family. Maybe it’s the way he actually listens to her suggestions and provides input without insulting her. In the back of her mind, as they discuss strategies and logistics, Kenna admits that the overwhelming physical attraction she feels to him is probably part of it, too.
She can’t remember ever being this drawn to someone before. Yes, she always found Dom attractive. She’d found Raydan attractive, even though they’d never so much as kissed, but this…this is such an unfamiliar feeling. If he wasn’t a Nevrakis, and there wasn’t so much bad blood between their families, and they weren’t about to go to war with Azura…Kenna abruptly stops that train of thought.
He is, there is, and they are, she reminds herself. Still, as dinner progresses and goes far better than she expected, it’s hard not to keep stealing glances at him. She knows he notices and can see a hint of a smirk on his face, but she doesn’t miss how he keeps glancing at her too.
When dinner is over, Kenna waits until Jackson and the guards assigned to Luther and Zenobia have led them out, then stops the guards assigned to escort Diavolos.
“I can escort him back,” she says.
They hesitate for just a moment, then reply, “Yes, Your Majesty” and hurry off.
“Walk with me?” Kenna asks Diavolos.
He considers her, a slight grin playing over his lips, then holds his hand out. His fingers are warm and slightly rough (from years in battle, she supposes) when she places her hand in his.
Diavolos bows slightly, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to the back of it. It sends a flood of heat through her, that simple touch of his mouth to her skin, and Kenna exhales quietly as he straightens back up.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he says.
She heads for the corridor behind the ballroom, knowing it will be nearly empty at this time of day while the servants are cleaning and preparing for the next day’s meals.
“You know,” Diavolos says casually as they walk, “if you’re planning to kill me, the fighting pit isn’t far. And much easier to clean.”
Kenna halts and whirls around, taking in his cheerful, unconcerned expression. She can’t keep herself from smiling a little at that look, even when she tries to fix him with a stern one in return.
“I’ll have to remember that, if I plan to kill you,” she retorts.
They walk a little further, their footsteps the only sounds, until Diavolos says, “I thought you were escorting me back to my room.”
“I am.”
Kenna stops down the corridor, Diavolos leaning against the rough stone wall and watching her.
“Your father and I will never trust each other,” she says finally. “But you and I are strangers-“
“-for now,” he interrupts, and she feels another flash of heat run through her when she notices the intensity in his eyes are as he looks at her.
“For now,” she murmurs almost unintentionally, then clears her throat and continues, “We’re strangers. There’s no history between the two of us. I think our best chance of this alliance actually succeeding is if you and I can work together.”
Diavolos looks a little troubled, and Kenna reassures him, “I’m not asking you to keep your father in the dark. But you and I are more likely to discuss things and resolve issues without any bloodshed than he and I are.”
He mulls her words over, his fingers absentmindedly tracing over his sword belt, then somewhat reluctantly agrees that she’s right. They want the same thing, Kenna points out. Right now, the goal is to defeat Azura, and they need every advantage they can get.
As they head back up the stairs to his room, Diavolos asks, “Is there a reason we needed to have this conversation down an empty corridor?”
He sounds and looks amused, and Kenna shrugs, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling. He’s made her smile more in the last two hours than she has in a while, and far more than any Nevrakis ever has. Other than some of Zenobia’s tantrums in the past, Kenna can’t remember a time any Nevrakis has made her smile, now that she thinks about it.
“I didn’t want us to be overheard,” she explains.
They stop at his door, Diavolos just a few inches from her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss, Kenna realizes before she can stop the thought. Diavolos tilts his head down.
“We could have talked in my room,” he suggests, and Kenna snorts out a laugh.
She can only imagine how Jackson and Luther would react to them being alone behind closed doors.
Diavolos takes her hand again, his eyes locked on hers as he brushes his lips over the back of it.
“Until tomorrow, Queen Kenna,” he says.
She wants to kiss him. Oh, how she wants to, wants to forget who they are and why they’re here, just for a moment, and feel his mouth against hers. Kenna leans in instinctively, groaning quietly when Diavolos’ lips whisper over hers, then press against her cheek instead.
“Zenobia,” he murmurs in her ear, and she immediately steps back.
Sure enough, his sister is marching down the hall with the guards assigned to her, looking irate about something and all but shrieking his name.
Kenna sighs, louder than she means to, and Diavolos chuckles quietly.
“Don’t worry, Kenna,” he says in a low tone, one that hints at what could come. “I’m sure we’ll have other conversations we don’t want overheard.”