27
Alyth
When we finally get back to Stirling, he turns to me. His eyes are big and round and full of promise and hope. But then a lock of his crimson hair falls in his eyes, a vivid streak bisecting the brilliant green, and it’s all I can see.
The red.
Reminding me of Red Caps, blood, and war.
That’s not him, I tell myself. Then I also force myself to add,But it could be.
I choose him. I choose this chance. But Scotland comes first. And much as I pushed Moyra away, Icannotlet myself forget:
If he succumbs to his blood and turns into the mindless killing machine that the Red Caps are known to be, I will be the one to take him out.
I cannoteverforget that.
This feeling growing inside me, the way we danced, the way we kissed, the way we both want more, more, more—
It changes everything.
It changes nothing. Nothing.
I hold on to that lie and to the promise I gave him. I take my vows seriously. Perhaps it’s the fae in me, but I know, even if it kills me, I will kill him if he becomes a threat.
It’s late afternoon by the time we reach the stables and dismount. Callum takes our horses, then lingers nearby, far enough away that we can’t be overheard but close enough that he can help if we call for him.
Samson opens his mouth, and my heart lurches, pulls to him like a flower bursting through the last frost toward the sun, and this—the truth of him, of us, all of it—it feels liketoo much. I cannot wrap my heart around my head; I cannot think through these feelings and carefully tuck them away in little boxes that I can force into the back of my mind.
So I say, “I need to warn the queen, and you need to find out what weapon Darnley’s snuck across the border.”
But I watch as his face flickers with doubt and fear and confusion at my cold tone. And it does something to me, that he’s feeling those emotions because of us.
I lean over and give him a peck on the cheek, watch as it all disappears.
“After…after everything…” I start.
“After we save all of Scotland?”
“Yes, that.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “Should be easy enough, take no more than an hour or so.”
“Exactly.” I return his smile, and then I grow grave. “I’ve been meaning to go north.”
“North?”
I nod. “There are some selkies near Orkney that I should check on.”
Samson is watching me, his green eyes locked on my lips as if visually inspecting every word that falls from them.
“It’ll be a long trip,” I say softly.
“Oh?”
I take a step closer to him, our bodies almost touching. “Very long. Weeks.”
“Is it dangerous?”
