Reagan nodded again as she left, leaving only the cracks of the logs burning in the fireplace and the remaining bottle on the table for company.
For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He should have been going to his bed, using those rare moments to sleep; something he had allowed himself little in the past years.Being still felt as though he had forgotten what needed to be done.
He tried to recall what he’d turned to in those early years. Likely the same distraction Finn sought now, finding someone to fuck for a night, perhaps two if it meant keeping them at arm’s length. It had been easier when it was impersonal, ensuring anyone in his bed understood that he expected nothing lasting and avoiding any awkward questions.
Until even that had stopped working. Before Jane, he hadn’t taken anyone to bed in months. Didn’t want to. And afterwards…
He had drunk himself into a stupor yesterday and awoke no more rested than before. He didn’t want to linger in the outpost, but he couldn’t stand to return to the Hall, where he couldn’t see her.
Gwinifer was right. He was sulking, but he would risk dismemberment before admitting that to her.
Nights were when Jane and he spent time together, when he could soak in her warmth and wit. He remembered months ago, when she first arrived in Mountheim, and his suspicion had driven him to learn more about her. He'd wondered if humans were all like that. Curious thinkers. Fast learners, with an irresistible quick tongue that seemed to have an answer for everything.
Gwinifer had claimed a different picture.
He’d observed her carefully, noting how she paid attention during his meetings while pretending otherwise. At first, it had set his teeth on edge. Her curiosity was relentless, but her questions never crossed the line to sensitive topics. When she’d offered to work for him, driven by some inexplicable moral compass, he’d realised she didn’t fit a suspicious profile. But he told himself he needed to be certain anyways and made an excuse to keep her close.
She had been guileless, unintentionally amusing, and far more casual with him than most people ever dared to be. And then she had looked at him like that for the first time in Erisea.
He had tried to ignore her beauty, yet she grew bold, comfortable with him.
When she stripped before him, his blood had thrummed. He hadn’t believed she would rise to his challenge. But after that, and after earning him a lucrative new deal with the Barrows, he’d learned not to underestimate her.
Once he had seen more of her, his thoughts had become uncontrollable, conjuring images of tasting her mouth, pressing his hands between the softness of her thighs. He thought a taste might finally take the edge off. She had looked at him as if she wouldn’t recoil at the thought.
Grimoire, he had been wrong.
He’d made it worse. When his flux surged after that kiss, it hit him like a punch to the gut, a wildfire through his veins.
He didn’t sleep that night, and he wouldn’t sleep this one either.
Leaning over the table, Reagan poured the bottle of ale and winced down another glass.
Chapter 9
Jane
The court was as bustling as I remembered, its blue corridors alive with people weaving through one another. My attention dipped to my neat boots against the tiled floor, unmarked by the forest this time. Once, I’d crossed these halls bewildered, with mud caked to my soles.
This time felt different. The building was unchanged, the ordinary quality of the folk going about their business entirely the same.
ButIfelt changed.
Unlike before, I wasn’t bracing for what might happen so much as preparing for it. My brown plaid skirt and white blouse were part of the emissary outfits I had, and the burgundy cloak was meant to let me blend in among them.
I glanced over my shoulder at Joy. Her neck was stiff as she tracked the constant motion around us, a posture I recognised too well. She didn’t notice my stare, but Finn did. His gaze flicked between us before settling on me, and he winked, offering that easy, reassuring grin.
Good. I needed the reassurance.
Reagan’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me as a cluster of robed scribes emerged from a nearby door and crossed directly into our path. Their eyes fixed on him, and they stepped aside, giving him a wide berth. I narrowed my eyes at the gesture, resenting the fear in it, how easily a person could be reduced to a single moment and never allowed to outgrow it.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber lined with desks, scribes lifting their heads in quiet sequence as we passed. Malory’s owl waited on its stone perch, feathers as still as the granite beneath.
“Name,” it demanded, swivelling its stone head without a single crack.
“Caedmon Reagan, with staff members and family,” he replied.
Joy made a small, dismissive sound at that, though her body told a different story. She wasn’t happy to be here, but this was the best option available to us, even if she begrudged the necessity of it.
