Page 49

When there was no answer, he sat up, the sheets straining between his clenched fingers. His brother was just behind the stone wall, getting air like he’d said. He was there. He hadn’t left. He wouldn’t.

“Magnus?”

Another power filled the space instead, the Fae warrior fluttering in on gossamer wings.

She might be a less overwhelming presence than Lunara in general, but there was nothing gentle about her. Her ebony eyes held a wicked, mocking sort of glint as she spun her mace ‘round and ‘round, the curl of her lips not the least bit soft or comforting.

Fern was an unknown, like the Sorcerit. A creature that did not exist within the scope of his understanding. Everyone vouched for her, but they knew how and why she was there. As far as Brand was concerned, a strange Fae was waltzing into his room armed to the teeth and looking entirely too amused at the fact.

Precisely what had gotten him into this mess when he was taken, if everyone was to be believed.

She sauntered a few steps into the room, gaze narrowed. “Can’t sleep?”

The one good thing about the Fae was that her voice didn’t send spikes ramming through his skull, her tone more like parchment brushing against itself.

“I should think that fairly obvious, since I’m sitting here awake.”

She was allegedly there to keep him safe, but Brand wasn’t so sure. For reasons beyond his understanding, Fern seemed to mostly be Lunara’s companion, the two rarely apart.

Which made the whole exchange stranger still. Where had the Sorcerit gone that the Fae didn’t feel the need to follow? Why would she strike up a conversation instead of accompanying her friend and leaving him be, as she’d always done before? And who in the bloody fuck was she?

With so many unanswered questions, the absence of his greater half was even more of a crawling vulnerability. He was made bare, his teeth on edge without its promise of protection. Without the knowledge that he could rage and defend himself from any enemy.

What sort of travesty had his life become that everyone felt like a fucking enemy?

“If there’s nothing you actually need from me, piss off. I’ve no bloody interest in a chat.”

Fern fluffed her lavender hair with one hand. “Your king has set a task for me. Would you have me disobey him? I’m told you were nothing if not loyal, before.”

A dark, angry buzzing flared out from his deepest recesses. He didn’t need his recent memories to tell him this creature hadn’t been present in his life in any way that mattered before. She had no right to speak to him in such a manner.

“Why would a stray Fae listen to the decrees of a foreign Realm Ruler?” he snapped. “Did Kohamaia give you the boot for being utterly fucking annoying?” Even as the words left his lips, some part of him knew it was the height of discourtesy to speak to another thus. That she didn’t deserve it.

And yet, he didn’t really care for some reason. Not as much as he should have.

Anything resembling mirth left her, lips peeling back in a snarl. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? Insults and all?”

The change in her demeanor was jarring—and a perfect example of why Brand didn’t trust her.

“As I said, I don’t fucking know you. You haven’t earned my respect or favor. You should be grateful I’m even bothering to open my mouth in your direction.”

Such vitriol was wholly unlike him, beneath him, and should’ve alarmed Brand. Instead, he liked the affront painting itself across her face. Enjoyed slinging words like daggers and witnessing her emotional bleeding. Reveled in the burnt red blooming over her deep bronze cheeks and chest.

Unlike all of his other interactions lately, this petty exchange was real. Her reactions were unchecked. Unsullied by careful words and tip-toed movements.

Strange, that he found such comfort in an unknown. That it wasn’t his friends and family treating him normally, but fucking Fern.

“Listen, you useless bucket of slug pus,” she bit out. “I wish to the Sisters that I didn’t have to be here, but I do, so get over it.”

He choked back the blind outrage in favor of something more calm. More cutting. “You must be quite important if you think you have the right to speak to an Imperial Son this way. Care to share why someone as illustrious as yourself agreed to do Lyriat’s bidding, when you so obviously feel it is beneath you?”

Her mocking laugh echoed off the stone walls. “You know what? Fuck it.” She closed the rest of the distance and slammed the head of her mace atop the mattress at his feet. “My being here has fuck all to do with protecting you. Surprise, twig dick—they all lied because you’ve become a whiny wankstain and they wanted to protect your wittle feelings.”

Murmurs started in Brand’s ears, a drone that pitched higher and higher with every word she uttered.

Fern hopped up onto the bed, verdant wings fluttering behind her. “Well, I’ve only known you like…this,” she said, smirking as she waved her hand over him, “and I’ve decided I don’t give a flying piss what you think if you’re going to be such a pathetic drag.”

She crouched and brought her mace up under his chin, skin glittering with gold dust in the stones’ light. “That Sorcerit you refuse to acknowledge? She saved my life—and yours, whatever good it’s worth. Since you’re not yourself and unsafe to be around, and because Lunara refuses to lift a finger against you, it is my honor to protect her from you. So, until you decide to be less of a cunting bum blossom, here I am and here I will stay. Not because your king asked me to do so for her sake, but because I choose it.”