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surprising Misty with his coldness. He was usually a lot friendlier than that.
     
    “Ivory. It is a pleasure.” He returned his attention to Misty right after, idly playing with the tips of her silky soft hair as he said, “You probably do not know this, but Ivory is also a part of the High Circle. She may not look like it, but she is actually two years older than you are and four to mine.”
     
    Misty missed the way Ivory’s gaze turned cold, her lips tightening at the mention of her age.
     
    When Misty saw that Lysander didn’t appear as if he was joking, she turned to Ivory again, exclaiming, “You don’t look a day over eighteen.”
     
    “You flatter me, Your High---” Ivory gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh, but I apologize. I have forgotten that the two of you have already cut ties.” She curtsied in apology.
     
    It was so very wrong, but Misty wanted Ivory to trip this time.
     
    Lysander debated with himself whether or not to tell Misty about his suspicions of the Faerie woman accompanying Domenico to dinner. His spies had taken note of her unusually frequent departures from the realm, disappearing for hours without any explanation. Post-war Faeries were leery of the real world, having lived within the safety of the realm throughout their lives. That Ivory would actually leave their realm often and alone at that immediately made her suspect in his eyes.
     
    Misty’s fingers curled into a painful ball under the table at the thought of Domenico spending a lot of time in the girl’s company. She really was beautiful, not sensual like Lyccan women but more…well, fairy-like, a beautiful damsel who was not in distress.
     
    Deciding to keep his thoughts to himself for now, Lysander threaded his fingers through Misty’s hair, this time making her glance at him in surprise.
     
    “It’s so smooth, my pretty. What shampoo are you using?”
     
    He looked so serious as he asked the question Misty couldn’t help giggling, and it was the exact reaction Lysander had hoped for.
     
    It was also the exact moment Domenico came back to Ivory’s side. The sound of Misty’s giggle was the sweetest poison, and the sight of another man’s fingers threading through her hair was a knife in his heart.
     
    He pulled out a seat for his companion, took a seat himself, and looked at the other man with a polite smile. And he said very pleasantly, “I will give you three fucking seconds to stop touching her hair before I challenge you to a fight, alliance or no alliance.”
     
    Lysander didn’t move, didn’t even blink, but then he didn’t have to. Misty jerked away so fast from Lysander she almost knocked the person on her other side off her seat. “Sorry,” she mumbled, red-faced as she helped the older woman back to her chair.
     
    The older woman smiled stiffly.
     
    “It was my fault, I apologize,” Domenico said smoothly, giving the other woman his most charming smile. He was able to breathe easily now even though he knew he would never forget seeing another man touch Misty in the same manner he did.
     
    Across him, the woman’s entire face had lit up at having his attention for so long. “Can I say I’m absolutely thrilled to be seated in the same table with you, Your Highness?”
     
    “I believe I should be the one honored, Lady Carlton, as I know you are one of the greatest historians of our races.”
     
    Misty didn’t even know that, but then this was Domenico. His knowledge was limitless, but he also rarely shared anything he knew if it didn’t suit him.
     
    When Domenico continued smiling at the woman next to Misty, a dazed expression entered Lady Carlton’s eyes, as if unable to handle being looked at by Domenico for so long. The so-called great historian then mumbled something incoherent and looked away, still appearing bemused – so much so that she absently tried to take a sip of her soup with her fork.
     
    Misty resolutely kept her gaze away the moment the other woman let out a gasp