Too slow. Using a claw, I slice through the ribbon and kick the chest open.
Rose freezes, and Bree lets out a low groan.
“For Goddess’s sake, get that out of here before Drystan—”
The doors at the other end of the room burst open, and Madoc and Bram stride into the room like their asses are on fire.
“Khloe, sweetheart, go find your mother,” Madoc says, cutting off the child’s petulant pout with a look.
“Okay,” she mumbles, skirts fluttering around her ankles as she leaves the room. Not before stealing a longing glance at the chest of blades, though. Ah, a child after my own heart.
My own ankle biters will be even more bloodthirsty.
“Where’s the rest of the Guard?” Bram asks, twisting his hands together.
“Jaro wanted to train, and Drystan agreed to spar with him,” Bree answers. “Why? Has there been news?”
Madoc paces the length of the fireplace. “Aiyana has set a date for the trial.”
“And?” Rose asks, my present completely forgotten—stupid princes ruining my moment. “When is it?”
“Two days from now, at dawn,” Madoc says. “But everyone who knows anything about what Sir Jaromir will face is keeping their mouth shut. Aiyana has spent the last week executing anyone she suspects of being the traitor, and they’re all scared.”
Rose’s face pales, but I doubt either of her brothers notice. Silly Rose, suffering from an overdeveloped sense of personal responsibility.
If I know the minor royals, Aiyana was looking for excuses to off those snakes, anyway. There’s no way the queen of spring hasn’t figured out who it truly is by now.
Bree’s noticed Rose’s tension as well, and he moves close enough for her to touch, becoming a silent protective gargoyle at her back. The closer he gets, the more she relaxes, and the second I’m sure she’s okay, I blink out of the room and snag Drystan, then Jaromir, without warning.
Two shirtless and bloodied high fae look so out of place in the elegance that is Madoc’s parlour as they tumble to the floor, still clutching their weapons. Rose’s eyes widen, then darken, as she realises exactly how little her mates are wearing. Her tongue darts out to wet her lip, and I track the motion.
Maybe I should take my shirt off, too—
“Lore!” Jaro grumbles, cheeks flushed. “We were—”
“In this case, he was right to interrupt,” Madoc cuts in, before proceeding to fill them in.
I half-listen, but most of my attention is on Rose. She’s shifted, using her skirts to hide my present from the dullahan, and I grin as I blink away with the chest and then return before he can notice.
She’s not going to be deterred from her plan. Stubborn little thing. Luckily for her, she’s got just the unseelie on her side to help her sneak away.
Twenty-Three
Rhoswyn
Sweat prickles down my back as I lift and lower my wings for the hundredth time, but it’s getting easier. Working on my flight muscles has become a habit whenever I sit still for too long, which lately seems to be all the time. I’m hoping that soon I’ll be able to manage to hover in short bursts, which is what Florian described as the next step.
Bree says nothing as he stands silently behind me. The two of us watch as Jaro goes through another set of fluid martial poses in the stone courtyard of Madoc’s home. There’s no moon tonight, thanks to the heavy rain clouds, and the darkness is illuminated by soft glowing spheres of magic that hang in the air above us, casting everything in a bluish light.
My courses arrived this morning, much to my disgust, and I grimace as another slight cramp hits me out of nowhere.
It’s nothing. Barely noticeable compared to the wicked cramps that hit me during my fever, but I’m still gratefully sipping at the steaming purple potion Kitarni brewed to ease the twinges. At least this should only last a day or so, and it reassures me that I’m not with child, for which I’m grateful.
Experience has taught me that the best way to deal with pain is to focus on something else, so I’ve come to watch Jaro as he trains for the trial that’s taking place in just a few short hours. Though the rain has let up slightly, his wet hair hangs in ringlets around his face and his shirt is clinging to his body in ways that make me wish I wasn’t bleeding.
I still can’t believe Lore tried to get me to shove his cap between my thighs this morning. I had to put my foot down because there’s no way I’m walking around with his hat wedged into my underwear. He’s looked so dejected ever since, at least, he was until Wraith started bouncing around demanding his attention. Demanding food.
Do they think I haven’t realised that Lore takes the barghest out to kill people and devour their souls? I may dislike violence, but I’m not ignorant. I also believe that Lore—for all his madness—would never turn Wraith loose on someone who didn’t deserve it.
