Chapter 35
Chapter
Thirty-Five
As soon as Desmond opens the door, a small porcelain bowl smashes into the wall beside us.
“How could you?”
Across the parlor, Aowen snatches a candlestick and raises it above her head. “I trusted you! I’ve done everything in my power to support your bid for the monarchy, and this is how you repay me? Your own flesh and blood!”
She hurls the candlestick, and in an impressive display of his supernatural senses, Desmond curls a forearm around my waist, tucks me behind his back, and catches the candlestick in mid-air, all in less than half a second.
“Wen,” he chides in an unruffled tone, “you’re being hysterical.”
Now I want to lob a candlestick at his head.
The noise that bursts from his sister is a harpy’s war cry. Furious. Ear-drum shattering. Enough to crack a square of glass in the balcony doors.
Aowen launches over the sofa, scrambling toward her brother, who aims an affronted gape at Lachlan that shouts, you’re my knight; do something?
Lachlan snakes his arms around Aowen seconds before she reaches Desmond. She kicks and wails in Lachlan’s grip as he uses those same low tones I’ve heard him soothe Tula with. Unfortunately, it isn’t working nearly as well as it’s worked on Tula. Or me, for that matter.
Aowen’s still screeching when Desmond gains another enemy in the form of a tiny, enraged pixie. Vesper burrows in Desmond’s hair, biting the pointed tips of his ears.
Desmond’s shouting and Aowen’s wailing and Vesper’s squeaking and I’m trying to—
“ENOUGH!” Lachlan’s booming bellow silences the room. “Are we beasts or are we family?” He settles Aowen onto the sofa. “Why are you so upset?”
“Everyone has their price,” she seethes to Desmond, raking her nails through her dark hair. “You sold me off to Cernunnos, didn’t you?”
Lachlan rears back. “He wouldn’t.” He turns to his duke. “You didn’t.”
“It was the only way to secure his participation,” Desmond whispers. “He insists he’s not a murderer.”
“And you just took him at his word?” Aowen sniffs back tears, as if she doesn’t want us to see or hear them, and my chest squeezes. I sit beside her, but she pulls away, stifling a sob into the back of her hand.
Desmond slumps into an armchair and rubs his forehead. “He was going to officially reject Charlotte. She’d be dead right now if I hadn’t done it.”
My heart hiccups, waves of heat and frost searing my veins. I stare at the ring, this scrap of metal that suddenly feels as fragile as my own mortality.
Aowen sits up a little straighter. Ashamed she’d forgotten the consequences of Duke Cernunnos’s rejection. And though I do not have that luxury, I cannot find it in myself to be upset with her.
“Tell us,” Lachlan commands. “What was the exact agreement you brokered?”
Desmond, the craven, can’t even look at Aowen. “If Cernunnos loses the Wild Hunt, Aowen will be his consolation prize. His bride.”
“You are a complete piece of shit, you know that?” Aowen hisses.
Vesper flits over to spit in Desmond’s face. I suppress a cheer.
It is, apparently, the last straw in his indefatigable well of good humor.
“I am your duke, Aowen Macán,” he roars. “You will do as I say to protect the interests of our House and the kingdom. And if the cost of a better world is you marrying a monster, then consider it a small price to pay. Stop being so fucking selfish.”
Lachlan scrapes a hand over his jaw, muttering what sounds like a reprimand.
Aowen pulls herself to her full height, swatting a tear off her cheek. “As you command, Your Grace.”
I’m impressed by the amount of hatred she bakes into her deep curtsy. She turns on her heel and glides into her bedchamber, followed by Vesper, who shakes a small fist at Desmond. The door slams shut behind them.
“How could you do it, Des?” Lachlan asks. “Your own sister?”
“That wasn’t the only stipulation for his participation.” Desmond’s anger melts into a weary kind of regret.
Lachlan goes stiff-backed, pulling his shoulders square and folding his hands behind him. A knight at attention to his master.
“You are not allowed to accompany Charlotte. Lord LaBeaumont insisted.”
“No.”
Both men turn at my outburst, affection stealing across Lachlan’s face as curiosity with the slightest edge of suspicion twists Desmond’s.
“Th-that is to say,” I sputter, “I need him.”
God, that was worse.
“I’m afraid that will be quite impossible, darling,” Desmond says softly.
“Why?” Lachlan asks, jaw tight, looking like someone just ripped his heart out.
“The LaBeaumont family estate falls within Tír na Dubh’s borders, even if the social-climbing bastards never spend any time there.
Pascal rushed to Cernunnos as soon as word reached him of his daughter’s death.
He’s convinced you had something to do with it.
Doesn’t want you anywhere near his territory.
He’s still furious that I took on your debt and stayed your punishment for what happened with his son. ”
“Charlotte needs protection. There have been three attempts on her life here in Tír na Lune alone. And not one of us knows what to expect in Tír na Dubh.”
Though they have a casual relationship on the surface, Lachlan never disobeys his duke’s orders. And the fact that he’s doing so on my behalf makes my heart swell with something very, very dangerous.
“Everyone seems to have forgotten who I am tonight.” Desmond’s expression is thunderous as he steps up to his knight, and Lachlan flinches.
A rarity. “Sir Dunne is already on his way to accompany Aowen and Charlotte to Cernunnos’s manor.
And you will return to Tír na Strelle with me tomorrow or I swear by Danu, I will extend your service by a further fifty years. ”
Lachlan’s gaze anchors to the wall above Desmond’s head, his face pale and his nostrils flaring. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Desmond pulls me from the sofa and crushes a harsh, demanding kiss onto my mouth. “I will win you, Charlotte. And when I am king, I will fix all of this. Do not doubt it. Even though your companions are determined to do so.”
I’m breathless as he stalks out of the suite, and Lachlan and I are left alone.
Lachlan releases a long, wavering breath, then calmly walks to his bedchamber door.
And slams his fist into it.