Fuck.
What in the seven hells does Luther want with me at this hour?
“Of course. Just give me a second,” I answer instead.
Scrambling for my discarded clothes, I whisper to E, “Don’t overreact.”
I yank on my pants and throw on my shirt in haste, wrestling my thick, tangled mane free from the V-neck cotton shirt.
“Overreact?” he huffs quietly. “That cocky Fae prince is knocking on your door in the middle of the night.”
I plant a soothing hand to my dead lover’s chest. “The place is crawling with his soldiers. We can’t afford to get into trouble here. Be cool.”
I crack the door open and rub fake sleep from my eyes. “Good evening.”
Luther is waiting with his hands tucked behind his back, leaning in slightly as though he wants to downplay his height.
“Good night, more like. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. Only, I had a lot to do, and I needed a private audience with you before morning.” He gives me a small smile and gestures toward the stairs. “Come with me.Please.”
His lips pinch uncomfortably around the word.
“Has the Lord of the Tides arrived?” I ask.
The corners of his mouth tense even more. “The Lord of the Tides should join us momentarily, but before I introduce you, I have something to show you. In my tent.”
I walk past him and leave the bedroom door wide open behind me so E has a chance to follow.
“In your tent?” I blink a few times, playing dumb. “What is it?”
Either this Fae wants to show me his male anatomy, or he’s playing on words to get me out of here alone.
“Well,” he says with a light chuckle, “it’s more of a show-don’t-tell situation.”
Luther clearly expects me to head downstairs, but I pivot toward Lysandra’s room on the other side of the hall instead.
“I should wake my brother.”
Luther jerks his head toward the stairs.
“I need to see you alone. I insist.”
The calm façade of the young prince vanishes, replaced by a sharp, uncompromising scowl.
Goosebumps crawl up my spine, but I take a deep breath and obey.
Wherever he’s taking me, E will follow.
I walk carefully behind Luther, his silhouette melding with the shadows. The moon is hidden behind thick clouds, and though the sky has begun to pale faintly in the distance, there’s not enough light for me to see clearly. I bet Luther sees perfectly well in the dark. Whether he doesn’t realize I can’t see the ground, or simply wants to intimidate me, I have no idea. He moves with unnerving confidence, never once hesitating over roots or uneven ground.
Luther’s tent is surprisingly understated for a prince, but freakishly neat. The cot in the corner is perfectly made, the blankets folded with military precision. Maps and correspondence lie with their corners aligned on a desk in front of the bed, and his personal effects rest in immaculate order on a table beside a spotless washbasin. Nothing is out of place.
Once the tent flaps close behind us, he points to the low dining table set close to the ground, surrounded by floor cushions instead of chairs.
My stomach drops.
E’s lantern sits right there, its bronze bones and colored glass panels reflecting the flickering glow of the single oil lamp lighting the tent.
Luther circles me, his hands still tucked behind his back. “I’m not sure why you’re here, Maxine, but you reek of light magic. I found this hanging from your brother’s bag. Are you a spy?”
