Which wasn’t exactly a “come in.” But Sophie still grabbed the silver handle and turned it—realizing only as she was yanking the door open that she should’ve made sure Keefe was dressed before she barged in.

Thankfully, he was.

Mostly…

He lay sprawled across a huge bed that rested on a pedestal made of lacy bleached coral, wearing fuzzy blue pajama bottoms covered in tiny black gremlins, with his head propped against a familiar green gulon stuffed animal.

“Foster?” he asked, jolting upright—which only drew more attention to the fact that he was currently shirtless. He crossed his arms, his cheeks flushing with a hint of pink when his ice blue eyes focused on her. “I… um… what are you doing here?”

Ro snickered from the corner, where she lounged on a cushioned chaise, painting her claws the same purple she must have recently dyed the ends of her choppy pink pigtails. “Smooth, Lord Hunkyhair. Smooooooooooooooooooth.”

The nickname was a remnant from one of Keefe and Ro’s many bets—though it seemed especially fitting at the moment. Keefe’s hair was always artfully mussed, but there was something wilder about it than usual, as if he’d spent the morning swimming in the salty waves and let it dry in the sun—and the beachy look really worked for him.

Not that Keefe needed improvement.

All elves were jaw-droppingly gorgeous, but there was something particularly handsome about Keefe Sencen—and the boy was well aware of it. Though he seemed a little off his game at the moment. His smug smirk was noticeably absent as he scrounged around his blankets, searching for something.

“Here,” Ro said, tossing Keefe a wrinkled black tunic from the floor. “Bet you’re wishing it didn’t smell so much like sweaty boy in here, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Sophie promised, even if the room could definitely use some airing out.

A good cleaning would work wonders too. Everywhere she looked were piles of crumpled clothes and scattered shoes and stacks of papers and plates of half-eaten food. And all the thick curtains were drawn tight, leaving the space dim and stuffy. The room was clearly designed to be beautiful, with marble floors broken up by rugs woven to look like pristine sand, and seafoam walls inlaid with starfish and anemone shells. But under Keefe’s care, it was a disaster zone. Even the furniture had a strange randomness to the arrangement that made Sophie wonder if he’d moved it all just to bug his dad.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” Lord Cassius said as Keefe wrestled with the tunic, which was refusing to turn right side out. “You should always keep your room—and yourself—at your best, since you never know when you’ll need to make an impression.”

Keefe rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Foster’s used to me.”

Sophie was.

But she was also wishing he’d get that tunic on. Her gaze kept straying to the long thin scar just below his rib cage—a gift from King Dimitar after Keefe challenged the ogre king to a brutal sparring match. Even though Keefe had pulled off a desperate victory, Sophie had still been ready to strangle him for risking his life so recklessly. They’d had one of their worst fights afterward—which did not bode well for the conversation ahead.

Lord Cassius cleared his throat. “Well. My son may like to pretend he’s above everything. But I hope you won’t hold his laziness against him, Miss Foster. Or his sloppiness. I know how much he values your friendship.”

“Keep it up, Dad, and Foster’s going to get jealous of all the sweet things you say about me. Not everyone gets to be so lucky, after all!”

“You are lucky,” Lord Cassius informed him. “Far more than you know.”

“Yep, everyone wishes they had my family.” Keefe yanked his tunic over his head a little harder than necessary. “And, uh, you can go now.”

“Oh, I can, can I?” Lord Cassius’s mouth twitched in a way that almost looked like he might be teasing—and it made the resemblance between father and son much stronger. “Perhaps I should stay. We all know the princess rarely serves as a proper chaperone.”

“I don’t need to,” Ro said, adjusting her metal breastplate as she sat up straighter. “Gigantor does enough fun-killing for everybody. Plus, our girl’s still rocking the ‘adorably oblivious’ thing—which, I gotta say, gets less adorable by the day.” Her eyes narrowed at Sophie. “I’d be happy to spell it all out for you if you want. We could make a pros and cons list together!”

“Pros and cons of what?” Sophie asked.

Ro sighed dramatically, glancing at Keefe as she said, “See what I mean?”

Keefe threw Mrs. Stinkbottom at her head, but Ro swatted the stuffed green gulon right back at him—and when he ducked, it knocked into one of the lanterns lining Keefe’s bedside table, sending it crashing to the floor.

Sandor rubbed the center of his forehead. “It’s going to be a long afternoon.”

“It is,” Lord Cassius agreed, “and I think I’ve endured all I can manage. But I expect to be kept informed—assuming Miss Foster is here to discuss something of importance. If this visit is personal”—he raised his eyebrows in a way that had Sophie fidgeting and Keefe glowering—“then I suppose the less I know, the better. But if it pertains to the Black Swan, don’t forget that I, too, am a member.”

He was.

And Sophie hated it.

Joining the order had been another one of his conditions before he’d shared the information Sophie needed to rescue her human parents. Leave it to Lord Cassius to barter with innocent lives in order to further his own agenda.

“Then you can ask the Black Swan for an update,” Ro told him, plucking one of the daggers from the holsters strapped to her thighs and aiming it at Lord Cassius’s head. “Right now, it’s time to go, Daddio.”

Lord Cassius narrowed his eyes. But he left without another word, closing the door behind him.

“Sooo…,” Sophie said, dragging out the word as she stared at the way her boots sank into the rug, which looked uncannily like stepping on real sand. “Sorry to drop by unannounced, but I—”

“Hang on,” Keefe interrupted, sliding off his bed and tiptoeing across his room. He paused near the door, pressing his finger to his lips in the universal shhhhh sign before he grabbed the handle and shoved his shoulder against the wood as hard as he could.

A startled yelp echoed from the hallway, followed by a thud that could only be the sound of a body hitting the floor.

“You have ten seconds before I let Ro unleash some of her new little bacteria buddies on you,” Keefe warned as he slammed the door hard enough to rattle the wall. “I hear they leave a gnarly rash!” He waited until the sound of footsteps had retreated down the hall before he turned back to Sophie and lowered his voice. “That won’t keep him away for long, so better spill it quick, Foster. Tell me why you have that cute little crease between your eyebrows. And why I’m feeling”—he waved his hands through the air—“hmm. Feels like the usual mix of worry, anger, and panic—though there’s something underneath that’s a little… I can’t figure out how to describe it. Fluttery?”

“Oooh, let’s focus on that one!” Ro jumped in. “It’ll be much more interesting than all the blah-blah-blah-the-Neverseen-are-trying-to-kill-everybody-blah-blah.”