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Mustering all of the energy I have, I glare at my sister.
“You brought him with you?” I demand.
“He threatened to go to the estate,” she hisses.
Remy shrugs, unashamed, and I give him a scowl.
“You swore not to go after her.”
“And I didn’t,” he says, spreading his hands. “I came after you.”
His assessing gaze scans me with even more precision than Zaina’s had, and his casual stance disappears. He opens his mouth to say something else, but all that comes out is a plume of frozen, wordless air puffing from his mouth like a cloud.
Zaina gestures for us to go on, and we continue walking until the sound of soldiers on patrol forces us to halt. I count the waves as they crash against the pier in the distance, trying not to let them lull me to sleep.
“You’re hurt,” Remy whispers. It’s not a question, so I don’t bother to answer.
His glare bores into the side of my face, though, so I finally sigh.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m more tired than anything.”
He lets out a disbelieving snort, which is fair. We both know I don’t move this slowly when I’m tired.
“Since we need to get there sometime this century, I believe I’ll carry you the rest of the way. Try not to stab me for my efforts.”
I want to argue. Honestly, I do. But I’m so, so tired, and the reasonable part of me recognizes that he could probably overpower me right now if he wanted to. Instead, he’s asking for my permission, in his own Remy way.
I nod, and he scoops me up into his arms.
I shift where his hand is pulling at my battered ribs, and he adjusts his hold, his features hardening.
“What exactly was your plan for getting back?” he asks in a low tone.
“The same way I left,” I tell him.
It’s true. If I needed to scale the balcony again, I could. It would just hurt like hell.
Which is nothing new, at this point.
“Yes, because why ask for help when you can just make all of your injuries worse?” Zaina offers sarcastically.
I bite back a sigh. I didn’t ask for them to come. In fact, I didn’t want them to. And now I have the privilege of their judgment for the rest of the journey back.
Briefly, I wonder if the torture at Madame’s wasn’t actually better than this.
But the longer I rest my head against Remy’s chest, the more deeply I inhale the comforting scent of his aftershave, the harder it is to care.
At some point, I could swear I heard Lawrence and the sound of a metal door scraping open. When my eyes finally drift close, I let them.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
REMY
Lawrence waits to sneak us in the back entrance of the palace, wearing the expression he seems to reserve solely for where my wife is concerned. Wariness mingled with a vague disappointment in me, all edged with weary resignation.
Still, for all his disapproval, there’s concern in his eyes when he sees Aika’s sleeping form, and he doesn’t so much as blink at Zaina’s veiled presence.
Though, sleeping is a mild term for the way that Aika is passed out in my arms. Her muscles spasm, her insubstantial weight constantly shifting on the way.
