Chapter 22
22
“ I had it covered!” Despite her trembling limbs, she rounded on Roran, pointing a finger dead square between his eyes. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”
Gravity weighed heavily, and she fought it with a panicked sort of denial. Pathetic . She knew the signs of shock better than most people, and by the gods, she was dangerously close. Reality pressed closer and punched her harder than the fae had.
He was dead.
Roran had killed him, but it didn’t matter. It was the end result she’d craved.
Aven drew her shoulders back, locking her knees to avoid giving in to those sensations. She’d taken care of the fae. She would not cry, not now. Not in front of him. “There was no need for you to referee,” she finished.
Cold fury turned his face white—fury like she hadn’t seen in a very long time and hadn’t felt since her siblings had died. It twisted Roran’s features and pulsed out from him with a heat she felt thrumming through her blood.
“He had a knife to your throat. What did you expect me to do? Stand there and watch him slice you open?” Roran sneered at her. “As thrilling as it might be, I’m not in the mood to clean up your mess tonight.”
“Just tonight? It seems like you’re always there lurking and looming. Maybe it would give you something to do if you cleaned up my mess.”
Like a dead body could be called a mess.
Not to mention she’d known he’d be there. Some small part of her had tuned into the awareness of his presence. She just hadn’t thought about it before the fae male made his presence known.
Roran stepped over the body callously, like any fallen log in the middle of the woods. “When are you going to stop and use your head? Do you know how bad this would have been if I hadn’t been here?” he asked bitterly. “Do you have any clue what might have happened?”
“I told you, I had it covered.” Damn it, her voice sounded tremulous. If she didn’t button it up, she’d lose herself to the shock. “I did not need your help.”
He stared her down before his sneer grew. His teeth flashed in the moonlight. “Stupid girl. Utterly stupid girl. You’re never going to learn.”
“Because I’m mortal, so I’m scum? Save that for someone who actually cares.” She walked past him and knocked her shoulder against his torso on her way past.
Roran remained in place, although she felt his attention on the back of her neck. “You’ll see soon enough what I mean,” he called out after her. “Sleep well tonight, little princess. You’re going to need every ounce of rest you can get. I hope you’re prepared for the fallout.”
Aven refused to turn back around.
“I’m not going to tell anyone about this,” Roran added, “but the sooner you wake up and realize what’s really going on, the better it will be for you.”
The tears, however, broke free the moment she made it to her room.
He saved her. He killed one of his own kind, for her.
She sagged against the wall, her chest tight and her eyes on fire. It never got easier when she took a life. After all these years, she thought it might, or at least it would not weigh so heavily on her soul. Yet the familiar stain grew darker, deeper, and she found it hard to control herself. The runes she’d painted on faded during the fight, but some part of her hesitated to redraw them.
They’d gotten her in this trouble in the first place.
She went straight into the bath and used the hot water to scour away the blood and grime and broken mud runes on her skin. Nothing worked. Even after dousing herself in soap, she still felt the filth on her.
Adrenaline sluggishly left her system, although its claw marks remained.
For some reason, the male had seen her using the runes and taken personal offense to it. So Roran killed him. She had it completely under control, but if he hadn’t done the dirty deed, she most certainly would have, and the results would be the same.
No.
That was a lie. She nearly died. And she was too proud to admit it. To thank Roran.
Wait. She’d just left the body there?
Shit.
Aven bolted from the tub and hardly had her robe wrapped around her by the time she made it to the door.
Pulling it open, she met the eyes of a soldier, staring straight down his nose at her. The guard on the other side of the doorway maintained his forward posture, but she felt his reproachful energy on her regardless. She yipped, choking down the sound, and slammed the door shut again. Roran had sent the guards to her. There would be no sneaking out to move the body.
Besides, where would she go with it? What could she do?
Without Roran’s presence, the fight went out of her. And without the heat of her anger, the adrenaline and desire to survive, she hollowed out. She somehow managed to get into bed on wobbly legs, climbing under the sheets with her hands in a death grip on them.
Sleep barely came before Nora woke her in the morning and dragged Aven out of bed. She blinked through the grit in her eyes as her lady’s maid helped her dress.
“You’re quiet today,” Aven said at last in the silence. Her own voice shook. “Is something wrong?”
Her stomach tightened as she waited for Nora to say something— anything . A simple “No, everything is fine” or “I didn’t sleep well” would have been normal, but the words never came.
“You’re going before His Majesty this morning.” Nora whispered, then pursed her lips, her eyes round like it was a secret she shouldn’t have blabbed out loud. “I’m to get you ready.”
King Donal. Aven said nothing, knowing exactly what waited for her.
What was there to say?
Nora wouldn’t know any more about it than Aven did. Less, as Nora wasn’t there last night during the fight. Rather than argue, Aven stood, her chin drawn high.
Every action had its consequence. Aven had been foolish enough to let her emotions guide her, and now she had to face the fallout. If they imprisoned her, so be it—she was already a prisoner. If they killed her, at least her men wouldn’t die trying to save her. If they tortured her, maybe she’d finally pay for the deaths of her siblings. There was nothing they could do to her that would surprise her. That she wouldn’t deserve.
Once Nora finished getting her dressed, she led the way toward the throne room. The doors leading into the vast chamber were open, the room pale and empty looking without the decorations from the party. She hadn’t been in there since.
A small part of her curled up into a solid ball inside as she prepared for the worst. There could be only one reason for this surprise meeting. Well, two, if she considered the way they’d all been putting off the Fae King’s decree to choose one of his sons.
It would be foolish to reveal her fear to him. He probably smelled it, regardless.
She chose to swagger into the room alone.
An assembled crowd of fae nobles stood sprinkled among the space.
Jewels hung like chandeliers over the necks of several of the women, and many of them wore clothes finer than even her sisters would have managed. Although no one escorted her further, Nora stopping at the doorway, Aven cut her own path to the throne.
She kept her head held up and her focus on a small spot to the left. Another few steps until she made it to the front of the dais and dragged her eyes over.
King Donal lounged across his throne with his fingers tapping the curved sides of the chair. His sons stood on either side of him, one silver, one gold. Both of them stared at her, but only Roran’s sneer mimicked the one etched into his father’s cruel features. The expression didn’t reach higher.
She wanted to mistake the flash of fear on his face for something else when her heart went cold.
Cillian, on the other hand, tensed. Ready to erupt out of his skin.
“It’s a surprise you can even meet my eyes, Princess,” the King said at last.
His lilting voice gave her the creeps and filled her with venom.
“Considering the charges brought against you, you should be cowering in front of me. How on earth could such a paltry worm like you bring down one of my men without a weapon? Oh, never mind. You stole my guard’s knife before you put it through him.” The Fae King chuckled. “We found his corpse early this morning.”
Aven needed a plan, and more time to figure out the right thing to say. She glanced at Roran again, and he shook his head, like this wasn’t the time. Or that she was being a fool.
“What? Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” King Donal leaned forward and snapped his fingers. The sound went off like a bullet inside of her, and she forced herself to meet his glittering stare a second time.
Despite his smile, the King’s fury was palpable, growing stronger with the death of one of his own.
“I defended myself,” Aven said slowly. She could sense the attention of everyone else in the room behind her. It made speaking difficult. “Your guard saw me drawing runes for calm and focus and took any perceived insult out on me. What else would you want me to do?”
The way she saw it, the death was not on her hands, not this time. Especially considering Roran had been the one to actually do the deed.
“Do you think it would have been better to let your man kill me?” she pressed. Her voice sounded a little too loud and a little too sharp. Despite her better judgment, she pressed on. “I did nothing wrong.”
The Fae King laughed before he said, “My sons are too good for a match with you. I gave you a generous choice, one or even both of the men beside me. But you are not worth the offspring you might bring to us or the peace between our realms. There is no reason to keep you alive. The way I see it, you’ve managed to take yourself from an ignorable presence to an outright burden.”
His words sank beneath her skin, and she glanced between Cillian and Roran. To what end, she had no idea. She clamped her teeth together and ground them down.
“I should burn you to death where you stand. Give me one reason to spare your life, Princess Aven.” The King shifted, adjusting one leg over the other. The massive black wood of the throne absorbed every bit of light in the room. It sapped the life right out of her until half a thought had her wondering if it might have been better to die last night.
Roran had been right.
She had no idea what she was up against, or what she’d face today. She opened her mouth to speak, but King Donal interrupted, and her heart shot straight into her throat.
“No, I think not. I’d rather not listen to your blathering.” The King peered over her head to someone at the far end of the room and crooked a finger for them to come forward. “Gather the wood for a pyre. I believe it’s time for a show. One to match the spectacle our mortal has made.”
“Father, please,” Cillian cut in. He took a massive step forward to place his body physically between her and the throne, braving his father’s wrath. “Consider this before you make any rash decision. She is the last of the Elridge bloodline, the last royal left alive besides the monarch himself, and the years are catching up to him rapidly. If you kill her, then you have no more bargaining power with Grimrose should they rise up against you more than they already have.”
“Then we will obliterate them like the blight they truly are.” His dark eyes flashed in disdain.
The spikes on the crown on top of his head seemed to sharpen the longer she watched.
Her fate seesawed between the two of them, one of them struggling for mercy, and the other ready for murder. Through it all, Roran remained silent, the pivot point at the center.
Sweat beaded along the back of her neck and her hairline as the world tilted on its axis.
It was too much, all the changes in her life. Losing her family. Losing her home. Losing the war. She’d done her best to keep up, truly, but she’d reached a point where the pressure consumed her.
“See reason. You’re allowing your anger to cloud your judgment. Think about your long-term plans.” Cillian maintained his even, rational tone, his attention on Aven rather than his father. Showing the Fae King his back as though he didn’t care what might happen to him. As though utterly sure of his success in the matter. As though he really cared about her. “Allow me to take her away for the day. Get her out of your sight.”
Roran remained ramrod straight with his hands looped behind his back and his expression bored. Had he been the one to point them in the direction of the body? Or had one of the soldiers found it on their own?
No, she didn’t think he’d cast the blame. He’d wanted to protect her, had warned her what might happen, and the worry Aven had seen?—
Caution warred with terror, and she halfway wondered if her silence made things worse for her or better.
“Please, Father,” Cillian continued. His tone took on a mellifluous quality, like the hypnotizing song of the sirens of Waterdice—so irresistible and dangerous that no one could resist its pull. “Perhaps she will be less of a bane to you if she’s out of your sight. Allow me to take the diplomatic route.”
“Are you telling me I’m incapable of diplomacy, Cillian?” King Donal’s voice dropped dangerously low, and Aven seethed.
They wanted to get her out of here like she was some kind of wild pony in need of breaking.
She glanced over at Roran, who nodded in a barely visible don’t-do-anything-stupid-again gesture.
“I’m telling you it would be my pleasure to carry on your mission of peace between our two kingdoms, if you would allow me to do so.”
Cillian’s expression gave new meaning to the term political . This was a song and dance he’d performed countless times. Aven wondered if it had anything to do with her at all, even when a few more pounds of weight settled in her abdomen.
His was a fitting answer that straddled both sides of the lines. Her own fear and anger brought mottled color to her cheeks, her chest. Aven didn’t need a mirror to know the way her body reacted to this situation.
She bit down on her tongue hard enough for a bright flash of pain to split her. A second later, blood pooled in her mouth and filled it with a coppery tang. If she spoke now, she’d damn herself more surely than any murdered fae.
Cillian waited for an answer, biding his time as the King worked through his thoughts. Would he give Cillian a chance to prove himself, or would he allow his rage to take the reins? The room seemed to hold its breath in tense anticipation of anger. And blood.
She knew. They wanted her blood to spill on the floor.
“Fine.” The Fae King snapped his finger again, and Aven exhaled sharply. “Get her out of my sight and don’t come back until you hear from me.”
Roran’s face skewed into some warped expression, but Aven hardly had a moment to pay him any mind before Cillian stepped down in front of her. He took hold of her elbow, whirling her around and practically hauling her out of the throne room tucked under one of his arms.
“Ignore them,” he whispered against her ear. “Ignore them all. Don’t speak until we’re clear of this place.”
She vibrated with the need to lash out but said nothing, did nothing, did not fight against him, until they were well outside the palace. Figuring she’d listened to him as well as she was able.
“Take me away?” she exploded, wrenching her arm out of his hold. Her eyes burned. “What are you trying to do, Cillian?”
“I’m saving your life,” he replied gravelly.
Face-to-face with him now, she felt just as ignorant as she had been in the past. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him anymore. The meeting with the King—if one could call it a meeting, because witch hunt had a better ring to it—leached it out of her as fast as the emotion birthed.
“I have horses waiting for us. Let’s get out of here.”
Cillian stepped away and left her no choice but to follow behind him. Was it genuine, she wondered. A ploy? Whose side was he really on?
The lines were blurring. And she could do nothing to stop them.