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“Here?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He kept the pressure there and chanted. The pain in her throat slowly subsided. “Better?”
“Better,” she said breathlessly, surprised that even the soreness had vanished and her voice sounded clear.
He stared into her eyes, his brows drawing together. “Such a feeble attempt. You really let me stop you from killing Alecta that easily? Makes me think you didn’t want it badly enough.” His head tilted as he gazed at her, his lips inches from her face. “Who is the real Odette?” he whispered. “If I peeled back the mask of assassin, what would I find?”
The question caught her off guard and for a moment she felt completely stripped bare, the pressure of his body on hers making her feel all the more exposed. If she wasn’t an assassin then who was she? Her mother had taught her to be uncompromising. Ruthless.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
This time his lips grazed her ear as he spoke. “What else would you like me to do to you, Odette?”
Her lips parted. Was he… offering himself to her? No. He wouldn’t do that.
Rothbart was making her weak. She remembered why they were there in the first place. How she’d tried to take out Alecta, and he’d stopped her. And Alecta had almost killed her. This wasn’t her fault.
“Why are you still on me?” she snapped. How dare he toy with her even while he healed her from a mishap that was his own doing.
His expression shifted and the hatred she was used to seeing came surging back. Just as she thought. It was all a trick. For the briefest of moments, his hold on her tightened, but then he stood and backed away. His breaths sounded heavy, his face twisted, his fingers digging into his cloak.
He drew a bean from the pocket and threw it, opening a portal that led back to the pond.
“It’s time for you to return to your own kind, swan.”
Chapter 6
Rothbart
Rothbart stood in front of his parents’ graves, buried within the walls of his family’s estate in the far right corner under a large oak tree. After their death, he’d left his small room in the royal city and moved back into his parents’ home to manage affairs.
The night had been a disaster. Not only had he not come any closer to finding the one who was behind everything, but he’d almost gotten himself and Odette killed. Alecta was a monster, and he was now forced to return due to the bargain he’d made with her. The last thing he wanted was to have Alecta as his enemy. Or for her to go after Odette if he didn’t follow through.
He ground his teeth, shoving thoughts of Alecta and Odette aside, refusing to profane this space with those involved in his parents’ killing. He’d process everything that had happened later.
Their markers were made of fine marble, his father’s name and position carved on his, and Stellyta’s name and “loving mother” etched into hers. He pictured his stepmother’s bright smile and heard the rumble of his father’s deep laugh. They’d been happy together. In love.
Now they were gone.
A third tombstone sat to the side, with Zoya’s name carved into it. The night of the attack, Rothbart had used his magic to disguise the dead assassin to look like Zoya’s dead body so that the servants and everyone would believe that his sister had perished as well.
The wind blustered, ruffling his cloak and robes and causing him to shiver. His fists clenched so hard, his fingers hurt. When he’d found his parents dead in their chambers, he’d needed to be strong for Zoya, and at the funeral he’d taken on an emotionless stoicism in front of the thousands of people who came to the ceremony.
Since then, he hadn’t visited their burial place, unable to face them or his utter failure.
It was only his sense of helplessness from the night's endeavors that drove him here now. As if his dead parents might tell him what to do next.
But nothing but the wind rustling the leaves above his head greeted him.
His family had loved this spot. They’d often gathered under the tree’s great boughs, Stellyta prettying the area with some sort of new flower, his father lounging among the roots, reading over letters, and Rothbart climbing into its familiar branches, pulling Zoya’s small body up behind him, her young cheeks flushed with exhilaration and fear.
They’d push themselves, seeing how high they could go until Stellyta would abandon her spot at the flowers and stand below, hands on her hips and declare that they’d gone far enough. She had good reason. Zoya had been barely four or five at the time and a fall out of the large tree would be disastrous. But Rothbart had always rolled his eyes, insisting he’d keep his baby stepsister safe.
A tear trickled down Rothbart’s cheek.
“I’m sorry.” He dropped his head into his hands, his stoicism broken. Every part of him broken. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
