Page 51

He arches a brow. “That bad?”

I nod.

“Your Majesty,” Lettie says, stepping out from behind a tapestry hiding the entrance to the staff corridors. Her concerned gaze darts between Gwyn and us. “How may I be of use?”

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Lettie,” I say, pouring myself another glass and setting the bottle on the floor between our chairs. “Would you mind changing Gwyn into something more comfortable while Arkyn and I head to the library?”

Her mouth parts, and she bows. “O-of course.”

I rise to my feet, and Arkyn does the same. “Once you’re done with that, please let my attendant know I’ll be staying in here until Gwyn wakes.”

She glances around the room. “Shall I call for a second bed?”

“I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“The chair?” she repeats. “It’s truly no issue to⁠—”

“He’s already made up his mind, love.” Ark places his hand on her shoulder, smoothing his thumb back and forth. “Allow him to dole out his lashings how he sees fit.”

As we head for the library, I fill Arkyn in on Rosemarie’s revelations and what, exactly, I need to find in the archives.

Not a book on curse-breaking or blights or any of the other tomes we spent the better part of a year obsessing over when the blight first appeared.

No.

Now we’re looking for books about witches.

We split up, moving from row to row, grabbing any tome that might offer some insight into witch lore and what’s going on with Gwyn.

By the time we sit down at a table tucked into the furthest corner of the room, with at least a dozen books spread out before us, I can barely keep my eyes open. My head pounds, but whether from sleep deprivation or stress, I’m not sure. I’m combing through a book about covens and witch sanctions when a drop of red ink falls and splatters on one of the weathered pages.

“What the⁠—”

“Riv,” Arkyn says, leaping from his seat. He rounds the table and tips my head back. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“Fuck.” I pinch my nose, horror dawning on me. “The book, Arkyn. Is it spelled⁠—”

“It is.”

“Are you sure?” I slowly tilt my head forward, desperate to prevent any dizziness, and grimace at the sight of my blood staining the page. “How do you know?”

Arkyn swipes at the page with his sleeve.

The blood vanishes, leaving unmarred text.

Thank fuck.

“You’re using too much power, Riven. Between the glamour and the wards you’ve set up to protect Gwyn…” He shakes his head. “You’re spread too thin.”

“What would you suggest? Drop the glamour? Let my citizens see firsthand how terrible things are? Or backtrack on my bargain with Gwyn so her coven can hunt her down and use her against her will? Because the way I see it, my kingdom is fucked either way.”

“Obviously, neither of those options is suitable, but⁠—”

“I’m fine, Arkyn.” I release my nose and prod the area, but don’t find any fresh blood. “See? I’m just tired from the summoning.”

Before he can respond, I push away from the table, grab a few of the books, and stride out of the library, resolved to weave yet another glamour.

This time on myself.