Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
A good brownie never commits murder.
Is that a hard and fast rule? Or is that one of the ones that is okay to break? - Arienna
I stumble out of the study on shaky legs. As the guards lead me back to my room, I try not to panic over what’s about to happen. Richard is going to my house. To my wasp-infected house. My venomous, aggressive, wasp-infected house.
As I enter my chambers, I find half a dozen jumpsuits and a couple of dresses waiting for me. I guess Ella took the initiative and got herself that raise. The guards shut the door behind me, and I walk over to the pile of clothes in a daze.
Mindlessly, I take a shower and then put on a plum-coloured jumpsuit with a silver cape sleeve. A good brownie would tell Richard what he’s going to be walking into, but a little voice tells me not to. That all I have to do to fix my current predicament is withhold a bit of information.
And it’s not like there’s anything in the rulebook that says we can’t keep secrets. In fact, rule two hundred and five says, ‘A good brownie always keeps another’s secrets if they’re asked to’.
And the wasps would ask me if they could speak, I’m sure, considering most people want to kill them on sight. So really, I would be a bad brownie if I did warn him about them.
Not to mention, by staying silent, I am actively trying to stop someone from committing a murder – my murder. So according to the rules, I would be a bad brownie if I didn’t try to ‘accidental death’ him before I died.
Right?
Don’t think.
Don’t do anything.
Just wait.
I sit down, my stomach a city of upset nerves. The guards bring me breakfast, but I can’t find it in me to eat.
When it’s time to head to Brownston, I stand up on shaky legs and move to the mirror. I look at my reflection, trying to smooth out my guilt-ridden face. But I can still feel it there inside me. A good brownie never commits murder. Ever, ever.
But then again, a little voice counters, we’ve already screamed and cursed and cried.
So really, what’s breaking one more rule?
It isn’t even a big one. Reincarnation exists.
And if you think about it –and I am, really, really hard– we’ll actually be doing him a favour.
Fairy life isn’t exactly kind, so if we just hit the restart button on his life…
Nervously, I twirl in front of the mirror as my thoughts spin inside me. The opening of the door causes me to jump. My feet bang together. My arms flap uselessly, and I crash to the floor with an, “Umph.”
Slowly lifting my head, I gulp as I stare into the king’s dark-purple eyes. Hot and dangerous, they scroll over my body to linger on my ass.
Blushing, I scramble to my feet and smooth down my jumpsuit. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to collect you for our journey.” He offers me his arm, but I don’t take it, confused as to why he’s going through all this trouble since he’s planning on having me executed.
Why help me bring my stuff here? Why offer to get Fabia’s?
She’s definitely not going to stay after they kill me; surely, he knows that. Unless…
My stomach sinks.
Does he like her? Will he make her queen after me? Then kill her when he’s done? My eyes widen. What if I’m not the first?
“Are you not ready?” he asks, his arm still extended.
“Were you ever married before?” I blurt.
His arm falls to his side. “No.”
“Engaged?”
His eyes narrow. “Why the interrogation?”
I force a smile. It isn’t that hard considering a good brownie has to smile at so many things – lame jokes, people they don’t like, kings that want them dead. “Just trying to get to know you,” I say. “But no matter, we should go.”
Silence stretches between us.
He doesn’t move. Just studies me with his violet eyes.
Starting to panic, I wonder if he knows about the wasps. But that would be impossible, I assure myself. Fairies can’t read minds.
Finally, he breaks the tension. “Yes, we should,” he says. Turning on his heels, he walks out the door.
Exhaling heavily, I follow him. This is going to work, I tell myself as Jace and his other guards flank us. I just have to keep my cool, and he won’t expect a thing and then –Wham! No more Richard. No more wife-executing husband.
Guilt creeps into my heart. I ignore it. This is for the greater good. I’ll be a much better ruler than he. I’ll be a kind one. A generous one. I’ll get rid of money and war and jobs. Then they’ll be happy like we are in Brownston.
At the balcony, my guilt is quickly pushed aside by my fear of flying. Expecting Jace to lift me in his arms, I flinch when he walks towards me. But it’s Richard who grabs me.
With a small yelp, I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. My heart’s pounding so loudly, I can barely hear the wind whistling past my ears. The higher he flies, the more I start to panic. I’m certain I’m going to die of a heart attack.
“Relax,” he murmurs.
“Oh, yes, I’ll just do that because you commanded it.” My voice wavers. My pulse goes wild.
Holding me tighter, he flies faster. I am going to be sick.
But then a floor is under me, and I’m swaying on my feet as his hands rest on my shoulders. Tipping my chin up with two fingers, he gazes into my eyes. I’m sure I look as wild and as panicked as I feel.
“You don’t like flying, do you?”
I shake my head.
“I take it you’ve never been on a bird then.”
Before I can reply, he releases my chin and places two fingers between his lips. The sharp whistle makes me flinch. The answering caw and flap of wings make the blood rush out of my head. Feeling dizzy, I sway on my feet.
His arm wraps around me in an instant, holding me upright and pinning me to him.
I try to push away, but his grip only tightens.
And then I’m clutching at him, trembling and shaking my head.
“No. No, no, no, no, no,” I beg, my eyes fastened on the massive crow that’s landed beside us.
It towers above us, at least three times as high.
“You’ll be fine. She’s a gentle girl.”
My body chills. My vision blurs.
“Hey, look at me.” Violet eyes snag me, holding my gaze hostage as two strong hands keep me standing.
They’re soft and gentle, so they can’t possibly be his.
“It’ll be fine. Riding a bird is more stable than riding a rat.
” He clicks his tongue. The bird walks up to us, pushing its beak down between our bodies.
If it opens its mouth, I’m certain it can swallow my head whole.
Perhaps I can get it to try; then I won’t have to ride it.
I move my head, trying to mimic a worm.
All that does is make me dizzier.
“This is Maeve,” he says, grabbing my hand and lifting it. He raises it to the bird’s head and forces me to pet her. “She likes it when you rub her here.”
He guides my fingers in a circular motion.
I try to snatch my hand away – not because I don’t want to pet her but because I know that if I seem comfortable with her, he’ll put me on her.
But he holds me firmly. Forces me to stroke her.
Pressing his body against mine, his other hand rests on my hip.
His breath feathers against my ear. His chest rises and falls against my back – even and calm. Soothing. “Just like that,” he murmurs.
Focusing on the movement of my hand and the fact that Maeve is freaking cute, I try so very hard to relax.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
“Of course you can.” Lifting me easily, he places me on top of the bird. After settling in behind me, he clicks his tongue. Her wings open –the black glistening iridescently in the sunlight– and I tilt forward, clutching at her feathers. She tosses her head with an angry caw.
Loosening my fingers, Richard holds them in his hands. “Relax,” he orders. “You’re not going to fall. And if you do, I’ve got you.” His hands squeeze mine.
I stiffen, but as Maeve launches into the air, I’m grateful for his presence. I like his strong body against mine, his embrace holding me steady. I like the fact that he has wings of his own and that his heartbeat pulsing against my back is calm and collected. Relaxed against my panic.
He dips his head to my ear, his lips brushing my skin. “Close your eyes.”
Already on it.
Looking at the back of my eyelids, I try to control my breathing. It doesn’t work.
“Just concentrate on me.” His words drift through the darkness, and I latch on to them hard. “Focus on my hands.”
They’re strong and sturdy on top of mine.
Squeezing my fingers. Holding me tight. When he releases one of my hands, I start to panic, but then his fingers are stroking the back of my knuckles, soft and light and soothing.
They trace their way up my wrist to my elbow.
I suck in a shaky breath as I focus on the gentle path they’re creating.
A peace in the panic.
A straight line in the chaos of my mind.
“I thought about you all night.” He nuzzles my hair as his fingers continue their slow exploration.
“Having you against the wall.” His tongue flicks out against my lobe.
The new sensation rocks me, causing my lips to part.
“On my desk.” He sucks my ear in between his teeth. “In my bed.” He growls around it.
Heart hammering, I can’t stop the images from forming. In the darkness of my panic, I’m completely at his mercy.
My hand that he’s still holding, he places it on my knee. Moving it slowly up, he trails his lips to my neck. “I thought about you in that blue slip of yours, down on your knees as I knelt behind you. It bunched around your waist.”
I swallow hard. Breathe harder.
“I thought about you sitting on my desk with your legs spread, so beautifully naked.”
My hand reaches my thigh under his command.
“I thought about licking my way up your legs to here” –he presses my palm to my pussy– “and eating you out until you screamed. I thought a good brownie never screamed…”