Page 104 of Feralheart

“You must remember that.”

Her hands tightened on the burned-out orb. “I remember there was a great deal of grief afterward.”

“Why afterward?”

“I misspoke, Sire.” She scurried away before I could question her further.

I didn’t stop her. Didn’t press. The same way I hadn’t pressed the healers when they said Aristus just needed rest.

Asking questions meant hearing answers I wasn’t ready for.

A clang rang out in the distance, the mines running the night shift. It was part of the castle’s background noise, and I’d learned to filter it out the way you stopped noticing your own breathing.

Now it felt overly loud in the gloaming.

I’d gone down into the mine three months ago. One of the support beams had cracked, and my mother’s council said it would be “handled in the next quarter or the one after that.”

I’d ordered the repair, then checked on it the next month. And the month after. Not because I cared. Because if I cared, I’d have to admit I’d been walking past those people my entire life without seeing how horrifying their lives were. The way I’d walked past Eradin for years until she’d spilled water on my boots and looked at me like I was a person who could be called on his cruelty.

A floating orb drifted past at shoulder height. The fae inside pressed against the bars of its cage, its wings beating frantically. It looked at me the way Aristus had been looking at me lately, trying to tell me something I didn’t know how to hear.

Caged things always knew before their captors did.

I dragged my gaze away and kept walking.

A sound echoed in the kitchens ahead. No one should be there at this time of night. The guards had their own dining area, with food provided for each shift.

My hands went to the blades sheathed at my side, and I pulled them, moving silently, tracking the noise.

The kitchen door stood slightly ajar.

I approached from the side, staying in the shadows, and peered through the gap.

Eradin stood at the center prep table, holding a cloth bag.

Her hair hung lank, coiled at the ends. Why wet? And her leathers clung to her curves, dark with moisture. Muddy boot prints tracked across the clean stones, leading right up to her.

She was stuffing food into the bag. Bread. Oil-cloth wrapped cheese. Dried meat and fruit.

Stealing.

My first thought wasn’t to stop her. It was that her leathers were soaked through, clinging to her in ways that made my jaw tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with protocol.

My second thought was wondering where she’d been that left her wet and muddy at midnight.

My third thought was that I was about to walk into the kitchen and demand answers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

FEN

Istormed into the kitchen.

Eradin’s head snapped up, her eyes finding mine. For one second, neither of us moved.

Her fingers flew to the hilt of her talon-blade.

“Did you go swimming in your leathers?” I asked, stalking closer, stopping when I was so close I caught her sweet scent. I dared her to draw her blade with my eyes.