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Two weeks.
I can do this.
Without getting attached. Or letting myself want more with the twins.
It’s going to be a long two weeks.
11
ATTICUS
KNIGHT OF SWORDS: SLAY YOUR GOALS BUT HAVE A PLAN.
And Some Feelings.
Getting Rosemarie to take the healing potion required answering endless questions about ingredients, dosage, and side effects. I’d expected pushback after reading the contemporary guidebooks on love. Whether the heroine desired a provider with wealth, a rescuer with a human badge, or an evil crime lord who doted solely on her, the female always questioned initial caretaking in the books. Such dissent showed strength and intelligence, and Rosemarie has both in spades. Seconds after she drank the whole concoction, some of the pain cleared from her gaze.
“I’ll take her to our tower,” Jace says.
I don’t need to tell him to guard her while she recovers from the sedative in the potion. My brother already seems infatuated with her which isn’t surprising given her beauty and kindness. With his soft heart, he’ll be in love with her before we finish training for the trials.
If only I could’ve had the restraint to wait so long to fall for her. But no, she captured my heart from the first time I heard her fervent pleas to the Bridge to safeguard her Lala’s passing. The whispered devotion in her voice struck me like an arrow to the chest.
I’d ignored the hurt in Jace’s gaze after Rosemarie’s scent had hit us both when I kissed her wrist a few moments ago.
Arousal.
Our mate had wanted me. Delicious and sweet, her natural perfume provoked a primal part of me that I can’t risk taking over right now. Not while she needs me to remain logical. So while I’d rather join them in the tower, I let them go ahead while I wait here, telling myself I need to find out whatever I can about the other candidates.
“Thank you for the healing potion,” I say to Truman. I’d smuggled back the latest books on courting I’d scored in the human world, but I’d failed to bring the one thing Rosemarie had needed most. “I should’ve thought of that.”
He waves my concern away. “Humans can be so fragile. I’m glad you made it home.” He fidgets with a broken piece of tech I don’t recognize. Technology doesn’t fare well in our realm. “I worried you’d be the last to bring a candidate. To tell the truth, you had me scared you wouldn’t make it back in time for the trials.”
Damn, I knew we’d be hedging it close with only two weeks to prepare Rosemarie, but I’d hoped we would beat some of the others here. Introducing the candidates to the elders is supposed to wait for the formal presentation night, but we all know early introductions happen. “Has everyone else returned before us?”
Truman shakes his head. “Cutter came first with his candidate. She’s beautiful?—”
“As lovely as our Rosemarie?”
“Maybe even prettier, but she’s ugly on the inside. There’s no warmth to her as far I could see. Your candidate tried to smile at me no matter how frightened she might be. She made the gesture to let me know she cares about the feelings of others—even an old wreck like me. That shows kindness and courage. Cutter’s candidate? She only takes. There’s no give in her.”
“Then the Bridge won’t pick her.” I glance toward the Bridge of Souls, my heart aching at the pieces that have crumbled since our last short visit only weeks ago. “What about Wilborne? Or Mildrake? Those two would be more likely to bring a viable candidate than Cutter.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my tone with the last gargoyle’s name. After Dyphena threw herself from the Bridge, Cutter riled up the elders about our great failure, screaming for our execution. In deference to our father, the remaining elders decided to turn us to stone instead.
“Wilborne returned shortly after Cutter. I don’t know much about his candidate. The poor girl fainted coming through the portal, and she’s been too afraid to leave his tower since then. She hides from anyone who comes to assist with her training. From what I’ve heard, Wilborne hasn’t even outfitted her for the presentation.”
We wait for Howard and his headless rider to trot by, the clomp of the horse’s shoes too loud to continue talking. A messenger of death, he’ll be back soon with another soul to cross over the Bridge.
“Speaking of outfitting,” I tell Truman, “I’ll need to contact the Spidress to spin new clothes for Rosemarie.” Memories of the extensive shopping trips and closets full of clothes in the modern romance guides have me adding, “For the presentation and trials, of course, but also a wardrobe so she’ll feel welcome here in the keep.”
“Your candidate will need to lose the color in her clothes to conform with the Bridge.”
I shake my head. “I wouldn’t ever ask Rosemarie to give up her love of colors.”
“That won’t be a popular choice with the elders. Cutter’s candidate has already ordered yards of grey silk for her presentation gown.”
I don’t mention that I don’t give a shit what Cutter’s candidate might be doing or how the Bridge of Souls has been many colors over the centuries according to legends. If it hadn’t been for my failure to see how troubled Dyphena had been, the Bridge would still be beautiful and stable.
Truman seems to take my silence as acquiescence. “You’ll need all the support you can muster after the…unfortunate event with your last candidate.”
