Page 130 of The Faceless Queen

Brennan’s jaw tightened, watching his father twist the narrative in my favor. I couldn’t read his face, couldn’t tell if he believed him. Or if anyone outside the lodge did. But no one objected, no one spoke up.

“And these three are your men?” King Tirian asked his nephew.

Jaron frowned. “They were.”

“Were? No! We are! We just made a mistake. It was dark. Her riding cape, it looked black and long–like a cloak–like a witch’s,” Stephen said. “We apologize to the princess, but that’s all this was. We are loyal servants of the crown. Not House Bathiner.”

“I should think not. House Bathiner has no crown,” the king said. “What they do have, though, is you. All three of you have family in that house.” He shook his head. “Say your prayers to Kavrir. You’ll meet the horned-God’s blade in the morning.” Then he gestured at the soldiers who surrounded them, turning from the prisoners. “Take them away.”

“No! She lies!” screamed Donovan. “She’s Azete! She changed! She changed her clothes! Her pants! Her hair!”

I stilled, my stomach tightening painfully.

“Enough!” King Tirian’s mouth tightened. Then he jerked his chin at Brennan. “Take her inside. See to it the healers tend to her, in every way. I want this done. And not a word of this after tonight. Word is not to reach the castle, not even the walls of the keep.” Then loudly, he proclaimed, “This hunt is over. Crown Prince Jaron Emmerson Rowan Brendathan is the victor. He has slain the chimera, a much greater feat than your common boar. Now go inside to your rooms. The lodge is on lockdown until dawn.”

Thunder exploded in the sky, and lightning lit the clearing just as rain began to pour in thick, heavy sheets.

“Oh, fuck,” Brennan muttered, trying to cover me up with his cloak. “Come here.” He swept me back into his arms, stumbling for a moment as the rain rushed down. He was exhausted from his battle, and drained from me. But with a look of determination on his face, he rushed toward the doors. Once inside, he continued on, carrying me into my room, and laid me down on the bed.

Another clap of thunder sounded, powerful enough to shake the lodge. Brennan’s eyes met mine as lightning lit the room. Then we were shrouded in darkness.

“Brennan,” I said, untying my cloak. “Thank you—thank you for saving me and … for defending me. You⁠—”

“You’re all right?” he asked, his voice suddenly cold. “You’re sure they didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there anything I can do? Anything I can get you?”

I shook my head.

He shivered and shrugged off his soaking wet cloak, all while looking away from me. “I’ll get a fire going.”

My stomach twisted. Something was wrong. Something was off.

Brennan picked up a few of the logs that Abigail had neatly stacked beside the fireplace. He tossed them in, his mouth tighten, then used the torchlight hanging in the corner to set them aflame. He lit the candles above the mantlepiece, and rubbed his hands together, his shoulders shaking. I shivered in response, my body growing colder and colder as I watched him try to warm up. It felt like the rain had soaked me to my bones, and Brennan had taken the brunt of it. But the cold running through my veins was more than that. There was something about Brennan’s emotions that left me frozen where I was. I couldn't move, couldn’t go to him. It was like a wall had been built up between us. One that was all but impenetrable. A minute passed. And then another as he stared into the flames, his shoulders hunched and he still wasn’t looking at me.

I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing my arms.

“You’re cold,” he said, still staring into the flames.

“F-Freezing,” I said.

“Come. Come here to me.”

I stared back, unsure if he meant it.

“Come,” he said again. “I can hear your teeth chattering. You’re soaked. You won’t feel better until you warm up.”

Hesitantly, I got off the bed, willing my legs to stand. Then I crossed the room, moving then only because I was too cold not to. When I reached his side, he sucked in a breath, his body tensing, his arms folded across his chest. He knew I was there, it was obvious. But his gaze was pointed, refusing to look at me. Anger was rolling off of him, but this time, I was able to taste it. This time it was directed at me. The Azete stirred, uncoiling and twisting, sniffing out its prey. But then he pulled it back.

My stomach sank. “Brennan—are you—what’s wrong? Why won’t you look at me?”

The fires licked the logs and crackled, the flames flaring in intensity, lighting his profile in a warm, golden red.

“I’m afraid,” he said.

“Afraid to look at me?” I asked.