Because I had no self-control and I’d wanted to see how she was faring.
Not well, apparently,I thought, growling.
Although, that wasn’t entirely true. She hadn’t fallen for the supply mirages. And she’d paused to evaluate her surroundings thoroughly rather than wandering blindly through the Barren Lands.
It also looked like she’d engaged some sort of spell, too. I hadn’t been able to read the words from her lips, but the way they’d moved reminded me of a Midnight Fae.
An interesting trick, as I hadn’t realized she could even conduct magic.
But it also didn’t surprise me.
There seemed to be a lot about Camillia that I didn’t know. A lot that I wanted to learn, too.
Which was precisely the problem—I shouldn’t want to know a damn thing about her.
Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I’d even given her some breakfast this morning before escorting her to the trials.
She’s not mine.
I just felt obligated to help her as my prisoner.
However, Lucifer had raised a brow at that theory, then pointed out that I didn’t treat the other prisoners that way.
But the other prisoners were Nightmare Fae who were dangerous beings that needed to be detained. They could also feed themselves.
Camillia… well, if she knew magic, she could technically take care of herself. So maybe I’d misjudged that situation. Except it had felt right to help her. Like I was repaying a debt I didn’t quite understand.
A debt to my past?
A debt to Emelyn?
Was this attraction to Camillia because I wanted to make amends for my previous wrongs? To try to fix something that could never actually be fixed?
To prevent history from repeating itself?
I swallowed, thinking back on the events that had led to Emelyn’s death.
All the sneaking around had felt so forbidden and hot at the time. She’d been betrothed to the Midnight Fae Prince—a prince she’d despised. A prince who had actually taken another mate in secret himself.
A mate who had then uprooted Midnight Fae society and rid the world of the black plague known as Constantine Nacht.
But not in time to save Emelyn.
I swallowed more of my blood wine, wincing as I caught the telltale signs ofblamecrossing my mind. I didn’t blame Aflora for acting too slowly. That wasn’t fair. Nor did I blame her for the events that had led to Emelyn’s death.
Constantine was to blame.
And he now lived in a tree, forever trapped in the middle of the real LethaForest.
His death hadn’t brought back my parents or Emelyn, nor had it felt climactic or just. Mostly because nothing would ever help me overcome the anguish of my loss.
The snake-vines outside my door hissed, drawing my focus to the wood panel inside and disrupting my dark musings. Frowning, I set my glass down and started forward just as Shade walked through the wood with a grimace.
My eyebrows rose. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Taming snakes, apparently,” he muttered, brushing off some residual magic from his black cloak. It billowed around him all the way to his calves, the violet embroidery along the edges a marking of his inner power—Death Blood. I had several cloaks that matched, but I never wore them anymore.
Of course, the clasp at his throat was all his own—an intricate design boasting the magic of his mate-circle. The violet rose at the center pulsed with power as he slid his wand into an inner pocket.
