I stared at him. “I bet you can.”
One side of his lips curved up. I looked away, slowly sipping the whiskey as I tracked the veining in the marble, following the lines and curves to the atrium’s center. I squinted, lowering the glass as I leaned back just an inch or so. Nyktos’s arm tightened as I followed those lines in the floor again. They weren’t natural marks, but in the design of a…
A wolf.
A large, prowling, snarling wolf.
Nyktos tilted his head to mine. “Did you feel something outside? With Dyses?”
Blinking, I drew my gaze from the floor. “I…I feltnothing.”
He nodded, his jaw hardening. A sign that he understood what I wasn’t saying.
“Is it just me, or is there a design in the floor?”
“It’s not you,” he confirmed. “That is if you see a wolf.”
“I do. It reminds me of the crest on your throne doors.”
“It should because it’s nearly identical. It’s the crest of my father’s bloodline. Both his and Kolis’s.” He paused. “And mine.”
The smoky whiskey scorched my throat. I wanted to ask how he felt about sharing the same crest as his uncle, but I knew that this wasn’t the place for it. My gaze drifted back to the wolf, and I thought of the kiyou wolf I’d brought back to life—howfierce and brave it had been, even on the edge of death. “Why is the wolf the crest?”
“My family has always been…partial to wolves,” he explained after a moment. “My father once told me that there was no other creature as loyal or protective as a wolf. Or spiritual. He saw them as he saw himself. As a guardian.”
“Do you see yourself as such?” I murmured. His chest rose against my back, but he didn’t answer. So, I did. “You should.”
His hand firmed on my hip as his chin grazed the side of my head. “You think that? Even now? After everything?”
I knew what he was talking about. Veses. “Even now,” I admitted. “You being a complete jackass doesn’t change that.”
Nyktos said nothing.
Taking another drink, I looked at a guard’s stoic, painted face. Those faint memories stirred once more. “There’s something about those masks,” I said, clearing my throat. “I can’t put my finger on it.”
“They’re another symbol that once belonged to my father,” Nyktos said after a moment, the fingers at my hip beginning to move idly. “Hawks represent intelligence, strength, and courage. A reminder to be careful, but to also be brave.” His whisper grazed my temple. “The wings are those of a hawk, but when my father ruled as King, they were always silver.”
I stiffened. “Silver? Like a silver hawk?”
“Like the great silver hawk,” he confirmed. “My father was always fascinated with the creatures. He thought they were…” Nyktos trailed off as his hand tightened on my hip. “You tensed. What is it?”
“I don’t know.” I turned my head to his, swallowing a gasp as my lips brushed his. My grip on the glass trembled as I swallowed. “I keep seeing silver hawks. Like the night in the Dying Woods. There was one then.”
“That’s impossible.” Nyktos’s fingers began to move once more, trailing in idle circles along my hip and waist. “You were lucky to see one in the Red Woods, but not even a hawk would enter the Dying Woods.”
“But I did—” I went quiet as a door behind the dais opened, and a broad-shouldered male entered, bare-chested with two-toned hair like Nektas—crimson and black. I didn’t need to be any closer to see his eyes or whether his tan flesh carried thefaint ridges of scales to know this man was a draken.
“Davon,” Nyktos shared quietly, having followed my gaze. “He’s a distant relative of Nektas.”
“Oh.”
“Not distant enough, according to Nektas.”
“Oh,” I repeated, watching the draken hop down from the dais.
Brushing the long hair over his shoulder, he looked over at us as he stalked across the atrium. Then he smirked.
I stiffened.