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Has it been fifteen minutes? He said fifteen minutes, right? I set my glass down on some sort of important-looking paperwork on a desk in the next room. No guards in sight—everyone is at the party—I continue on my trek for male attention. But each step is a bit more halting, because the truth is … I don’t want Phinelas’s attention. Not really.
“Gareth isn’t going to give you what you want.” I lean on the wall inside a room full of ceremonial armor and peer at my warped reflection in a breast plate. “He just isn’t. Better to stop thinking about him.”
Onward I go, my resolve fading, my head spinning. I should go back. Phinelas will be disappointed just like I am, but he’ll live. There are plenty of pretty things at the party. He can take his pick. I glance at my arms, the puncture wounds visible even in the low evening light. I’m not a pretty thing. Maybe I could have been, but Granthos scarred me too badly, too often. Maybe that’s why Gareth isn’t interested. I’m too damaged for him.
My feet continue onward while my mind grapples with warring desires. Foolish. I’ve always been foolish. I rub my temples and enter a dark hallway.
This is a mistake. I just need to go back to my room, wank, and sleep.
A figure emerges ahead of me, the dark clothes and notched blade giving Phinelas away. His Catcher costume is spot-on, creepily so.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” I curse Gareth inwardly for being an invisible cockblock.
Phinelas cants his head to the side and continues approaching.
“I mean, I can. There’s nothing wrong with my goods.” I wave a hand across the front of my body. “But I can’t.” I lean against the wall. “I’m stuck on an ass who isn’t stuck on me. And I’m dumb to keep wanting him, you know? But I can’t help it.” I cover my face with my hands.
He stops in front of me. Maybe he can give me some words of encouragement or something, sort of like a pep-talk fueled by unrequited lust.
“I’m pathetic.” I sigh into my palms. “I know I promised you some fun, but I can’t have fun when I’m all miserable and like, spurned by an asshole fae male person, you know? Have you ever wanted someone you can’t have? I kept thinking he wanted me and he was just pretending to be a total jerk, but turns out I was overconfident—which I’m not really confident, I just sort of fake it, because I can’t admit to myself that I’m scared no one will want me because I’m damaged.” Why are my eyes watering? “Yeesh. That was sort of a deep thought revelation there, right? I’m ‘in my feels’ as Taylor says. It’s the wine. And I did just witness an epic mating. I think I just need to go to bed. Alone. But thanks for listening.” I clear my throat and try to work up the courage to meet his gaze. “You’re a really good listener, you know?”
Metal snaps around my wrists.
“Whoa. What kind of kinky fuckery are you into, Phinel—” I look up at Phinelas but find only cruel silver eyes in a half-hidden face. My breath stops, fear cutting through my drunken stupor.
“Granthos has been looking for you, little runaway.” The Catcher stuffs a gag into my mouth as I open it to yell for help, my bottom lip splitting from his rough treatment.
Hefting me over his shoulder with feline ease, he strides down the hallway and disappears into the freezing black night, my muffled screams ignored by the snow, the rocks, and the Catcher.
2
Gareth
“More?” I run a hand through my hair and pace the war room.
“More. Reports are flooding in.” Branala drops into her chair at the scarred wooden table and takes her shoes off. “That ceremony did me in.” She rubs her foot as Brannon and Thorn walk in, both of them with drinks in hand.
“It’s broken.” Thorn takes a huge drink from his mug, a foamy mustache appearing on his upper lip. “The queen broke the curse.”
“Her magic is stronger than I think anyone could have anticipated.” Ravella appears from the vale and warms herself by the fire.
“When she pulled the curse out of the air like that? The shockwave went through the entire realm.” Branala switches to the other foot. “The sheer power it took—” She shakes her head. “I wonder if even the Ancestors could feel it.”
Ravella scans the room. “Anyone here sense anything … anything at all?”
Thorn’s gaze drops to the floor as does Brannon’s. Ravella sighs, and Branala stops rubbing her foot.
“Our mates will come in time.” I glance at Gray as he strides in, a pitcher of beer in each meaty hand. “Take heart. Now we know the curse is broken.”
“Right.” Gray downs one tankard. “To our mates.” He raises the other, doesn’t wait for anyone to join his toast, then drains it.
I felt an itch at the back of my skull the moment Taylor lifted the curse. Could it be that my mate is near? My heart thunders at the thought, my blood hot. Without warning, the memory of Beth laid out naked in the Greenvelde, her skin dotted with water from a stream, bursts free from the cage where I keep it. I grit my teeth. That little changeling has worked her way under my skin, but I have to move her aside to make room for my fae mate. Now that Shathinor’s mate curse is no more, I have to think about my future, not simply my current desires. But my need for Beth has grown to fill my every waking moment, and I’ve had to put distance between us to keep my desires in check. I’ve been avoiding her since we’ve been at High Mountain, but my thoughts never let her go far. Nor do my dreams. I wake up with her wild scent in my nose and my hand beneath the sheets. It verges on obsession, which I can admit. But I must fight it off and wait for the one who is promised to me and only me.
“Gareth is thinking about the changeling again.” Valen sits on the hearth, his dark eyes alight with mischief.
“When did you get here?”
He shrugs. “Just came to get the news. A couple of the nobles are currently mauling each other in front of everyone at the mating banquet. Their bond snapped into place, and now they’re giving everyone a show.”
Thorn hops up and heads for the door. “I should go, um, supervise.” He disappears.
“Typical.” Branala rolls her eyes.
The tickle at the back of my mind grows, and my hand goes to the hilt of my sword.
“What is it?” Gray tenses, beer lingering in his shaggy beard. “Trouble?”
“I don’t know.”
“The king?” Ravella draws her blades.
“No.” I walk into the hall, some invisible force pulling me along.
“Gareth?”
I don’t respond, my feet guiding me through the corridors, guards standing at attention as I pass.
“Gareth, what in the Spires is going on?” Valen keeps close to my heels.
“I feel something.”
“What?” he asks as we turn the corner into the room of ceremonial armor.
“I don’t know. But it’s not good.”
“I thought we were about to get some downtime.” Ravella sighs as she appears beside me.
My steps quicken until I’m running through another corridor, the Gladion banners lifting from the wall as I pass so quickly I create a breeze. I turn, following a particular tingling sensation that seems to pull me forward until I stop in the map room. An empty wine glass sits on a map of Arin. I snatch it up and sniff, then lick the glass.
