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When I’d come to fetch her for dinner, she’d put her hand in my arm and plastered a smile to her face that was equal parts cruelty and charm. It was a facsimile of the one I truly loved, the wicked joy when she was about to get what she wanted in or out of the sparring ring.
If she noticed me watching her, she gave no sign. She simply stared out at the whorls of pastel gossamer.
Her eyes weren’t glowing as she watched them, at least.
I’d been watching for the ring of desire ever since her return. Now that she had power, would her desire show in her eyes the way it did for the rest of our kind? The way mine burned for her? The offer she’d made in her bedroom earlier in the day had been empty, an attempt to reincarnate the dark lust between us that had existed before. I wanted the real Veyka, the real desire.
But so far, nothing.
It made sense. She’d been through something traumatic, falling through rift after rift like that, crashing into the floor of her own bedroom so forcibly she’d been bedridden for two days.
But she’d wanted me before, even in the darkest pits of her despair.
I clenched my teeth and turned back to the display, refusing to acknowledge the soft growl within me. Another thing that had suddenly evaporated—her response to my beast.
I chanced a glance, to see if maybe she’d heard it, if she’d try and soothe the feral thing beneath my skin…
Her pale face was unchanged.
I shifted in my seat, staring out at the crowd. I began calculating the number of minutes we would have to stay in order to satisfy our court. Parys was already halfway through the crescent of tables, sewing gossip about the queen as surely as he was listening for new rumors. When he made it back to the dais, we’d retire.
The courtiers had seen Veyka walk, eat, and drink. Aside from a magical display, there was not much else she could do to reassure our court that she was well.
My eyes were on Parys, but I didn’t miss the collective inhale of the crowd.
Instinct had me reaching for Veyka, but her hand was already gripped around the hilt of her dagger. But her eyes were fixed on the center of the room—on Merlin.
* * *
“Your Powerful and Royal Majesties.” She sank so low that her dark hair, left loose so that it fell in a dark curtain, pooled on the ground.
It reminded me of that black, noxious fluid the human had spewed when Veyka and I were interrogating him.
“I hope you have enjoyed the display.” She gracefully lifted her arms to indicate the dancers, all now kneeling on the hard goldstone floor even though she was again standing.
“What do you want?” Veyka said, sitting up, hand still on her weapon.
“I simply wish to please,” Merlin smiled. “All of the dancers are my acolytes. I wish to present them to Your Majesties formally.”
Veyka’s eyes were not burning with desire, but anger was flaring there. And the priestess was either too stupid or too reckless to mind it.
“The priestesses in Wolf Bay are allowed only one acolyte.” I let Merlin watch me fingering the head of my battle axe.
Veyka drew her dagger, idly testing the tip, masking her frustration with boredom as she spoke: “That is the law here as well. Who gave you leave—”
“I did, Majesties.”
I shot to my feet, but I was still slower than Veyka. Even with her newly healed wounds and bones that only a day ago had been in shards, she was standing with both her daggers drawn, the silver blades sparkling with a rage mirrored in her blue eyes.
“The Dowager Queen extended my mandate prior to King Uther’s death,” Merlin said smoothly, a catlike smile climbing her face.
This was the sort of entertainment the elemental court enjoyed. It was just as brutal and dangerous as the physical altercations in my homeland. I’d learned that lesson the hard way—and almost lost Veyka in the process.
My beast prowled closer and closer to the surface. I stepped back from the table, ready to shift, to leap from the dais and rip out both of their throats. I couldn’t stop the growl that rumbled through me, into the room. No one could hear it, but from the faces of those nearest the dais, they could feel the wave of power--
Mine.
A single word, spoken directly though the tethers of our mating bond to the beast.
