There is no sting in my words. She could’ve shoved me to the ground for all I care. I wrap my good arm around Wren, dragging her against me.
“Gods, little bird,” I murmur into her hair. “I missed you.”
My chest lightens as though a heavy weight has been removed from it, and it feels like I can finally breathe again for the first time since I woke up in my cell, alone. That soul-deep pain that has been plaguing me for days vanishes like a ghost in the night.
We hug for an eternity, my body finally feeling whole now that Wren is back with me.
“Are you okay?” I pull back and cup her face with my good hand, running my thumb down her cheek. Dark shadows are under her eyes, and she’s paler than before. Even her Mark seems subdued, cloudy and dull.
Her violet eyes sweep over mine. “Me? I’m... fine. I was thirsty, but they gave me something to drink.”
A growl rumbles through me, but it cuts off as she raises her fingers, trailing her hand down my face. I flinch when she touches a cut I had forgotten about. “Don’t worry about me. What did they do to you?”
“It’s not important.” I will endure a thousand more days of torture if it means Wren will be protected. “You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”
Wren draws back, a frown marring her beautiful face, and I hate that. If I had my way, she’d never frown again.
“Your definition of ‘okay’ must be different from mine, Gabriel,” she mutters. “Did you miss the manacles we’re wearing? The weapons around us? The chains wrapped around you? This is so far from okay, we might as well be in a different realm.”
“But we’re alive.”She’salive, and that’s the most important thing.
Wren scoffs. “For now.”
Something in her tone has alarm bells ringing in me, and I clench my jaw. “Did someone threaten you?” I scan the room.
“Not in so many words,” she says slowly. Her tone has my hackles rising. “But these people don’t seem friendly, Gabriel.”
“There’s a reason for that.” A tall man with dark brown skin, a thick beard, and a shorn head strides into the council chambers. His footsteps ring as he moves towards us, carrying himself with authority. “We have many reasons to be distrustful.”
The man goes to stand next to Evelyn, resting his hand on the back of her chair. More people file in behind him, including Cedric, who glares daggers at me from his spot against the wall.
I hold Wren tighter. Even with my injuries and lack of weapons, I’ll be damned if they take her from me without a fight.
“A Blessed and an Inherited. Both suns-kissed. Tell me, Marked One.” He looks at Wren, and his tone has a warning snarl rising in my throat. “Do you believe the Given are gods-blessed?”
Wren bristles, and she shifts so she’s facing the front, her back pressed against my chest. I keep my good arm wrapped around her, the touch the only thing grounding me.
“Not that it’s really any of your business since you haven’t even told me your name and you’re obviously holding us prisoner, butno.” Her voice rings across the council chambers, and pride runs through me. “Absolutely the fuck not.”
The man’s expression doesn’t change, but beside him, Evelyn’s lips twitch, and her Mark shines. She nods in approval in Wren’s direction.
“I see,” rumbles the stranger. “And you.” His piercing eyes turn to me. “A Hunter. One of the king’s own.”
There’s a threat in his voice, a thinly veiled hint of violence. A promise that even though the soldiers have stepped back, our position is precarious at best.
Gods, I wish I had my weapons. A sword or a dagger. Even an axe wouldn’t go unused in this setting. I am well versed in hand-to-hand combat, but with my arm in this state, that option is far from appealing.
“I no longer hold that title,” I say, repeating the same thing I told Cedric and his merry band of torturers. “I am being hunted as much as she is.”
I’ve been answering these questions for days. Again and again, I’ve reiterated that I am not here to share their location, nor am I acting as the king’s agent. My father’s shadow followed me here, and I am beginning to realize I may never escape it.
Several beats pass before the man shakes his head.
“The gods must be playing with us.” He crosses the room, standing a few feet in front of Wren and me, scowling. “You sought us out, Hunter. We watched you for several days—you were following the Trail of Wilted Roses to our mountain. Why?”
Wren shifts in my arms, and I can feel her looking up at me. The answer comes easier than any other I’ve given during my time here.
“For her.” My words resonate through the room, and in the essence of my being. “She needs help with her magic, and she’s fleeing the king. I thought if anyone could help her, it would be you.”
