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Hunt braced himself. Bryce asked, “You had access to this sort of thing two years ago?”
Declan paused again. “Ah—shit.” Then Ruhn came on the line. “Bryce, a direct order was given not to pursue it through those channels. It was deemed a matter that the Fae should stay out of.”
Devastation, rage, grief—all exploded across her face. Her fingers curled at her sides.
Hunt said, knowing Ruhn could hear it, “The Autumn King is a real prick, you know that?”
Bryce snarled, “I’m going to tell him just that.” She hung up.
Hunt demanded, “What?” But she was already running out of the apartment.
52
Bryce’s blood roared as she sprinted through the Old Square, down rain-soaked streets, all the way to Five Roses. The villas glowed in the rain, palatial homes with immaculate lawns and gardens, all fenced with wrought iron. Stone-faced Fae or shifter sentries from the Auxiliary were posted at every corner.
As if the residents here lived in abject terror that the peregrini and few slaves of Crescent City were poised to loot at any moment.
She hurtled past the marble behemoth that was the Fae Archives, the building covered in drooping veils of flowers that ran down its many columns. Roses, jasmine, wisteria—all in perpetual bloom, no matter the season.
She sprinted all the way to the sprawling white villa covered in pink roses, and to the wrought-iron gate around it guarded by four Fae warriors.
They stepped into her path as she skidded to a halt, the flagstone street slick with rain.
“Let me in,” she said through her teeth, panting.
They didn’t so much as blink. “Do you have an appointment with His Majesty?” one asked.
“Let me in,” she said again.
He’d known. Her father had known there were tests to assess what had killed Danika and had done nothing. Had deliberately stayed out of it.
She had to see him. Had to hear it from him. She didn’t care what time it was.
The polished black door was shut, but the lights were on. He was home. He had to be.
“Not without an appointment,” said the same guard.
Bryce took a step toward them and rebounded—hard. A wall of heat surrounded the compound, no doubt generated by the Fae males before her. One of the guards snickered. Her face grew hot, her eyes stinging.
“Go tell your king that Bryce Quinlan needs a word. Now.”
“Come back when you have an appointment, half-breed,” one of the sentries said.
Bryce smacked her hand against their shield. It didn’t so much as ripple. “Tell him—”
The guards stiffened as power, dark and mighty, pulsed from behind her. Lightning skittered over the cobblestones. The guards’ hands drifted to their swords.
Hunt said, voice like thunder, “The lady wants an audience with His Majesty.”
“His Majesty is unavailable.” The guard who spoke had clearly noted the halo at Hunt’s brow. The sneer that spread across his face was one of the most hideous things Bryce had ever seen. “Especially for Fallen scum and half-human skanks.”
Hunt took a step toward them. “Say that again.”
The guard’s sneer remained. “Once wasn’t enough?”
Hunt’s hand fisted at his side. He’d do it, she realized. He’d pummel these assholes into dust for her, fight his way inside the gates so she could have a chat with the king.
Down the block, Ruhn appeared, wreathed in shadow, his black hair plastered to his head. Flynn and Declan followed close behind him. “Stand down,” Ruhn ordered the guards. “Stand the fuck down.”
