Chapter 20
It might not be magic, but Gerard still found it impressive that Lorelei could orbit him with such precision all across the long evening of feasts and musical performances while managing to appear entirely unaware of his presence.
Not for an instant did she ever come close enough to touch—or even attempt conversation—through the shifting crowds.
Yet, every time he turned around, from the moment he first returned from his private discussion with Lord Oberon, he glimpsed her in the crowd close by, seeming fully focused on her various companions … but always keeping him within her view.
Had she noticed him talking privately with the tournament’s host in her absence? Perhaps she was watching him so closely now in order to prevent any attempts at escape or betrayal.
If so … how very little she understood the seismic shifts that had altered his perspective since she’d swept him away to Efaelen and overturned all of his preconceptions.
Luckily, he knew exactly how to take advantage of an opponent’s mistake.
Gerard was used to being on guard against observers, after so many years of public life.
But he’d never before enjoyed the sensation of being stealthily studied—nor had he ever so keenly anticipated flipping the hunt around.
By the end of the night, his body was humming with awareness, and he was more than ready to set his trap.
Tonight, just like the night before, a ceremonial gesture from Lord Oberon sent majestic lines of trees marching in retreat to reveal the same extravagant array of waiting silken tents, each lit from within by dancing will-o’-the-wisps; unlike the preceding evening, Lorelei made no move to join Gerard or take him with her to the tent they had previously shared.
Despite all those teasing overtures she had made in the past, it seemed he wasn’t, after all, the only one who’d been internally battling their yearslong attraction …
and like any wily opponent, she was ready to withdraw from her current position of weakness and focus on rebuilding her defenses.
No doubt she planned to wait for him to choose a tent and then claim the one beside it, all the better to keep an eye on him without actually talking with him and thereby risking the loss of any more of her secrets.
Gerard had quite a different plan for the night ahead.
Nodding a polite farewell to the fae gathered around him and setting down the half-full mug that he’d been holding all night long, he turned and began to stroll unhurriedly away from the waiting village of tents, towards the darkness of the trees on the other side of the tournament field.
For a moment, he considered whistling an easy tune as he walked, to increase the effect—but no, that would be excessive.
It took less than a minute before Lorelei’s voice sounded behind him, slightly breathless from exertion but still wryly amused. “Have you lost your way, General? In case you hadn’t noticed, the festivities have ended for the night.”
Aha. The first skirmish was officially his. “You astound me.” Turning politely, Gerard tilted his head in question. “Shouldn’t you be finding your own rest for the night, then?”
Studying him in silence, she bit down on her lush lower lip.
Gerard’s stomach tightened in primitive response. He breathed through it.
“If you’re in need of even more vigorous exercise,” Lorelei finally said, “you’d be better off taking it inside a tent.”
Vigorous exercise … in a tent? What exactly was she offering?
Caught off guard by the unexpected—and dangerously tempting—images her suggestion had summoned, he stared at her wordlessly, his eyebrows soaring upwards.
She stared back. Then, for the first time in their seven-year acquaintance, he saw something he would never have imagined possible: the scandal-loving Lorelei of Balravia wincing in pink-cheeked mortification.
“That’s not—I only meant that you could do your—your—whatever that was this morning in our tent!” she cried, gesturing desperately. “That thing, with your shirt off, on the ground—I mean—”
“My calisthenics. Naturally.” As a deep, almost irrepressible laugh rose unexpectedly through his chest, Gerard realized that he was enjoying himself now even more than he had during any of the tournament’s official challenges. Gravely, he asked, “What else could anyone have imagined?”
Lorelei’s blue eyes narrowed in deep suspicion. He kept his lips in a straight line and tamped down the laugh that wanted to escape.
Gerard was not a man known for breaking into laughter.
But with Lorelei in this liminal, magical realm, with soft darkness wrapping around them both …
all of a sudden, extraordinary developments felt tantalizingly possible.
The Queen of Balravia, after all her years of determined flirtation, could blush at an unintentional insinuation; Gerard, if he allowed himself, could laugh with her as if she were a friend—the best friend he had ever had; and together …
She let out a gusty sigh before his improbable fantasy could spool out any further.
“I am thinking of your safety.” From the ground-glass tone of her voice, it was a painful—perhaps even embarrassing—admission.
“I would prefer you not to go wandering on your own at night, without me to keep an eye on you.”
His eyebrows rose. “If you think I’m plotting an escape…”
“I know you’re not,” she said impatiently, “but I’m not the only one here with magic, remember? It isn’t sensible for you to walk anywhere alone without witnesses.”
Was Lorelei actually concerned about his welfare, or was this just another scheme on her part? He studied her expression, searching for any hints of deeper strategy.
“Oh, don’t give me that look.” She shook her head at him pityingly.
“We all know you’re a terrifyingly impressive warrior—everyone who’s watched the tournament so far is well aware!
But you still don’t have any magic of your own, and it’s hardly an insult to say that you’re vulnerable to a magical attack. ”
“Clearly,” Gerard agreed. “After all, a powerful magic-worker abducted me from my bed only two nights ago, as I recall.”
“Ugh!” Spinning around, Lorelei started to stalk away from him but then stopped, only a few feet from where he stood, her back braced with tension and her hands clenching by her sides as if she were fighting an internal battle.
As he ran everything she’d said through his head, pieces clicked into place with satisfying exactness. “Just how did you know I wasn’t plotting an escape?” he asked, already certain of the answer.
Her shoulders barely twitched in reaction.
But Gerard was watching her closely—Jovar forgive him, when had he not, across the last seven years of this growing obsession?
—and he knew every one of Lorelei’s tells, even as she turned to smirk back at him with perfectly played condescension.
“Really, General. You don’t think I know your stodgy ways by now? ”
“No,” he said, “I think you were listening to my private conversation with Lord Oberon, and that explains why you’ve been stalking me ever since.”
“I have not—!” Crossing her arms, Lorelei scowled up at him, looking—although he wasn’t self-destructive enough to say it—as ferociously adorable as an enraged kitten. “I’ve been trying to protect you, not that you’ve made it easy for me. You are my prisoner. It’s my job to keep you safe!”
“Really?” Gerard gave an unimpressed shrug. “It would be an easier task if you didn’t feel a need to hide from me as you went about it.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits of hot blue flame. “I do not hide from anyone, much less from you.”
“But you’re afraid to be alone in a tent with me tonight.
” Gerard stepped closer, all his muscles bracing for any sudden appearances of magical thorn whips or throttling vines.
Still, he kept his gaze fearlessly locked on hers as he leaned down to speak directly to her, close enough for their breaths to mingle.
“You didn’t dare even talk to me all evening until I finally tricked you into it. ”
“You—!” From the look of fierce turmoil on her face, he could have equally well believed she was about to drag him the rest of the way down for a kiss or stab a sword of thorns through his heart.
Instead, she gritted through her teeth, “I am not afraid of you,” and then turned to stalk, barefoot as always, across the darkened field, back towards the tents beyond.
“And yet you’re still running away,” Gerard called after her.
“No,” Lorelei snapped without looking back, “I’m leading you, because you seem to have lost your sense of direction along with all of your sense. I’m not afraid of sharing a tent or hearing any of your questions. But if you want to talk, you’d better be prepared for what I’ll ask you in return.”
“Understood.” Following behind her through the darkness, Gerard stretched his lips into a grin of keen anticipation.
Challenge accepted.
The moment she stepped into the tent—the exact same tent they had shared last night, curse it, with all of its unsettling memories hanging in the air like prickling warnings of danger and bad decisions—Lorelei scooped out the sealed jug of fae wine that she’d been hiding all evening in a bag cloaked by illusion.
At the time, she hadn’t dared drink anything that might dampen her senses, but she’d planned to indulge herself once she had surrounded Gerard’s separate tent in a protective shield of thorns.
Now she sat cross-legged on the silken floor of her own tent and plunked down the jug as an act of war. “It’s time for a game of truth,” she announced.