Page 26 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

“That is the deal we struck. We cannot change that. It is your choice as to what you would like to do.”

“How long do we have?” Grant asks.

“There is no need to head for the court until the suns rise. You have until then.”

She rises from her chair and leaves the room, though she leaves the door she exits through slightly ajar. The smell of herbs is powerful, permeating the space. I look at Dante.

“I will not kill you to save your friend.”

He lifts his head, looking at me in disbelief. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes sharp, though tiredness and dehydration are making his face look pinched.

“That’s not your choice, and that’s not what she was offering. Or what you apparently agreed to! Who said I was going to stay here? Who said—”

He cuts himself off, cheeks flushing further. My shoulders stiffen.

“Who said what?”

Dante makes a short, frustrated sound. “Who said I wanted that anyway? Wanted you?”

The words hit me hard, as does the way he angrily holds my gaze. I understand that he would choose Ophelia before me, considering the blunder I have clearly made in not revealing who we are to one another.

But I am certain that he did want me, once. That he is lying, even if that is difficult for me to detect.

Dante shakes his head and gets to his feet. “Dante,” Grant calls as he stalks out of the room, but he does not move to get up. He lets out a sigh instead.

The front door opens and closes again. I leap to my feet.

“Leave him,” Grant says, and I whirl on him.

“You do not—”

His magic flares, leaving me acutely aware of how powerless I am. “You need to think about what you’re going to do. You know what he wants you to do. There’s no point in arguing about it. He’s not going to budge.”

He will not, and despite everything, that proof of his loyalty warms my chest. He showed that same loyalty to me a few minutes ago when he challenged the witch, didn’t he?

Regardless, he might still blame me. He could have lied to her.

I sigh and collapse back on the sofa, while Grant gets to his feet. He does not leave the room; he wanders around instead, inspecting every nook and cranny. I watch him without really seeing him, turning the confusing feelings over in my chest. I am angry. Furious, even, that yes, I have perhaps ruined my own chances with Dante, but more that I never wanted the throne, was never raised to endure the crown, and yet here I am, faced with a choice that will give me nothing I truly want.

Fulfil my destiny, indeed. I rub my hands over my face and push my hair back over my shoulders.

I know as well as the witch does which choice I will make. I simply do not know if I will survive it.

Chapter Ten

Dante

Istorm out into the night, and I don’t even think about how close I should remain to the cottage as I stalk off into the trees. I need space. I need air.

I need anyone else but Lark to be here right now.

What has he done? I growl under my breath and keep walking. It’s one thing if he doesn’t want me to be his soulbond. Fine, whatever. I can overthink and dwell on that later, and I’ve got no doubt that’s precisely what I’m going to do. But he said he would help. He said he would get her back.

Some logical, fair part of me knows it isn’t his fault that she was taken. I mean, that’s why I said it. He’s not supposed to rule here and even if he was, it’s cowardly for them to have stolen Ophelia in a ploy to get Lark into a position they want.

But it feels like his fault. And that’s not even mentioning the deal he apparently struck with the witch, the one that put both our lives on the line.

I come to a sudden stop. Faint light spills from the windows of the cottage in the distance, illuminating the overgrown garden and vegetable patch. What’s truly bothering me? My own guilt, sure. If I’d gone on the night out like Ophelia asked, she wouldn’t have been alone coming back. Maybe they’d have taken me instead. Maybe they wouldn’t have tried at all.