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Grayson crouched in front of her, one gloved palm landing on her knee. The firelight danced across the unmarred side of his face, throwing shadows across the dips and hollows of his face. It only added to the intensity of his expression.
“I’m not in any danger.” She spoke quickly, because it looked like he was ready to tear the room apart.
Devon’s attention was riveted on Grayson’s burn. “Fates,” he breathed.
Grayson’s only focus was Mia. “What happened?” he repeated, more darkly this time. The tendons in his neck stood out starkly and a muscle in his cheek jumped.
She supposed her words hadn’t managed to calm him at all.
While she struggled for words, Grayson looked to Devon, his glare a silent command.
Devon’s throat flexed as he swallowed. “She had tea with your mother.”
Grayson’s entire body locked. His gaze swung back to Mia, his voice rough and furious. “What did she do?”
Mia sighed. She looked over his tightly coiled shoulder. “Could you all leave us for a moment?”
They all stood. “We’ll just be in the hall,” Fletcher said.
Mia thanked them softly.
After they’d filed out and closed the door, she used her good hand to cup Grayson’s unmarred cheek. His skin was hot to the touch. Almost feverish. Her heart broke. “Grayson . . .”
He set his hand over hers, pressing her palm to his face. “Please,” he said. “Tell me what my mother did.”
“I need you to be calm.”
“I am calm.”
He wasnotcalm. He thrummed with barely banked rage and fear.
She had thought this would be easier if they were alone, but her throat felt horribly thick. The stings on her hand flared with remembered pain, and she fought back a wince.
She forced herself to take a breath, then she told him what had happened—everything she could remember, at least. The queen’s invitation that had really been an order, and how she hadn’t touched anything at the table, or had anything to eat or drink. Then she told him about the faersin, and the harsh lines of his face grew harder.
“I don’t think I said anything that would hurt you,” she said in a rush. “I would never betray you, Grayson.”
He shifted her palm to his lips and kissed the base of her thumb gently. “I know,” he murmured against her skin. “You were brave. Perfect. But what else did she do?”
Haltingly, she told him about the scorpion in the box.
Grayson’s expression was strained. Fire burned in his eyes. He pulled off his black gloves and slowly—with infinite gentleness—peeled back the edge of her bandage. When her swollen hand was revealed, his breath hitched.
“It doesn’t really hurt anymore,” she said. “It’s just sore. Devon said the swelling should be much better by morning.”
“Fates.” His strained voice cracked against the curse.
She decided not to mention the panic attack she’d had afterward.
She shifted her hand into his hair, her fingers threading through the dark locks. “I’m all right,” she told him. Soothing him somehow loosened the vice around her chest, and she breathed a little easier. “I’m all right,” she repeated. “It’s nothing.” Nothing compared to what had been done to him.
“It’s not nothing.” He hadn’t looked away from her swollen hand. His scarred fingers trembled above her reddened skin, but he didn’t touch her. There was really nowheretotouch; the entire back of her hand was covered in the scorpion stings. “She was supposed to be my ally,” he ground out, fury threading his voice. “She thinks I killed Liam for her. She shouldn’t have done this to you.”
“I don’t think your mother is a very predictable person.” She bit her lower lip. “How are you feeling?”
He stiffened, but his motions were extremely careful as he replaced the bandage on her hand. “I’m fine.”
“The burn looks bad.”
