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What the hell just happened?
Chapter 11
Edward
The second floor of Luther’s little hidey-home has the makings of a storage room. There are boxes everywhere. They’re covered in dust and it’s obvious this space hasn’t been used in many, many years. Luther leads us to another hidden ladder that goes to a t
hird floor, which is also a storage space, and finally, we reach a fourth floor. This floor contains a little living room and a bedroom. There’s an attached bathroom and a mini kitchen, but it’s all very tiny and very condensed.
“There’s a fifth floor,” Luther says. “I’ll sleep up there.” He looks at us and shakes his head. “I’m tired,” he tells us. “Thank you for the rescue, my dear. We couldn’t have done it without you.” He hugs Rose gently. “Thank you for taking care of my Greg.”
“Of course,” she says politely. It was nothing.” Then she looks back to me and opens her mouth for just a moment before turning back to Luther. “The king,” she starts to say, but he holds a hand up.
“Will be fine for another day, I’m certain. Wyatt may be a sneaky bastard, but I think you’ll be surprised at just how clever our Fairy King really is.”
To my surprise, she shrugs and nods.
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it,” Rose says.
“There’s a bedroom for you, my dear,” he points to the room. “There should be blankets and maybe even a change of clothes, if you need it.”
“Thank you,” Rose says.
“Edward, you may have the couch,” Luther tells me. He nods slightly, trying to give me a discreet sort of bow, and I appreciate so much that he hasn’t revealed to Rose who I really am.
“Thank you, Wizard,” I say, and he turns and climbs up the little ladder to the next floor. He reaches it, vanishes out of sight, and then the ladder and floorboard seem to vanish out of thin air. Once he’s gone, I turn to see Rose standing in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her. “I can make you a snack.” I jerk my head toward the little kitchen. This is quite the place that Luther has here, although I can’t be too surprised that a wizard and secret homes hidden throughout the city. It’s just smart. He probably has two or three other homes hidden around in varying sizes. It’s a clever thing to have.
“You cook?” Rose asks.
“I can cook.”
A lot of men may not want to cook. A lot of people may assume that because I’m royalty, I consider myself too good to cook, but that’s not true at all.
I’ve never considered myself above anyone else. That’s not my style. It’s certainly not something I’m comfortable with. Maybe that’s my problem as king. I’ve always considered myself to be very equal with my subordinates. I’ve always considered my people and I to be on similar terms.
Maybe that gave Wyatt the opening he needed to slip in and claim power for himself. We haven’t been out and about in the town yet, so I have no idea how much havoc he’s wreaked. I know that Luther is right about tonight, though. I know it’s important that we sleep and regroup. We need to rest up, figure out what we’re up against, and then make our move. Walking up to Wyatt and trying to kill him now would be total suicide.
It’s best to take a little bit of time, let him think he’s won, and then move forward.
The guards will discover that we’re gone around noon tomorrow, if what Peter said about eating once a day is true. When that happens, they’ll disappear. They won’t go to Wyatt. Not if they’re smart. They’ll know that being the ones to deliver the message that they lost the king will only end one way, and those guards are too young to have a death wish.
“Hey,” Rose steps forward and places her hand on my chest. “Are you okay? You kind of drifted off there for a second.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I have a lot on my mind.”
Too much.
The weight of the damn world.
She considers me, looking at me for a moment, and then she steps back and takes off her cloak. She drapes it over a chair carefully, and while she’s moving, I look at her: really look at her. Rose is no wilting flower. She’s not delicate. She’s fierce. Scars line her arms: battle wounds from fighting, or perhaps from surviving. She has a scar on her cheek and a few on her hands, too. She’s a lovely fae, but delicate is not a word I would ever use to describe her.
She comes back to me and stands before me.
“Let me see your wings,” I say. She seems surprised at the request and to be honest, I’m surprised, too. Showing your wings isn’t something that most fairies just do. Most of the time, our wings come out only when we’re fighting or overly excited or in danger. Our wings release glitter and sparkles and power. So much of our power is nestled deep within our wings that to reveal them lets our enemy know that we’re serious.
So we keep them hidden, locked away, carefully guarded.
