Chapter 19
FOR ONCE IN my life, I’m glad that I have less time than others may think. Kishel expects me to stay here forever as his king’s consort. I know I have less than a fortnight.
The idea puts a spring in my step when the next morning I scatter into shadows and appear in the exact spot where I last stood in the labyrinth. At least the king wasn’t deceiving me about that.
I press on, despite the exhaustion nipping at my heels. If I keep pushing, I can stay out of its reach. I just need to hold on long enough to reach the gate.
No sign of the Collector, but I have food wrapped up from earlier and I’m prepared with warmer clothes and a cloak I wrap around myself when I stop and rest. I’ve also packed my notebook and use that and the sun to aim toward the next tier.
But of course the labyrinth doesn’t save all its challenges for the gateways between levels. There are dead ends and a sunken plate that’s pretty obviously the trigger for a trap just like I’ve read about in adventure stories, so I edge past it and carry on my way.
And all the while I hatch a plan.
If I can’t do Fatework, probably because of my lack of magic, I can at least do something to help Min.
So when I return to Drystan’s fortress and wake from a nap to find him knocking at the door, I have my politest smile ready.
“Would you allow Astrid to teach me to ride?” It burns my throat to be nice to him.
His pace toward the settee slows and he narrows his eyes at me. “I won’t deny you need it. But why Astrid, in particular?”
Trying to ignore the insult, I shrug like it doesn’t matter when in fact my plan hinges on her being the one to teach me. “Oh, I’d just feel more comfortable with a woman teaching me. I should imagine it involves touching, right?”
He stares at me throughout my answer, as though he can detect any lie if he just pays close enough attention. I keep my hands busy by brushing my hair, but my pulse strikes a little too heavily.
Eventually, he agrees to arrange it for after lunch, but my luck ends there.
He refuses to let me contact my brother, then he takes me to the grand dining hall, where we sit at opposite ends of a ridiculously long table and eat.
I manage to pass a message to one of the servants, requesting help with my outfit.
One thought consumes me. I’ll leave the Underworld within a fortnight, but at least I can do this one thing to make Min a little less isolated before I go.
The moon is high when Drystan guides me down to the stables, my hand in the crook of his elbow, guards, ravens and shadows in our wake.
I’m dressed warmly in a whisper-gray coat trimmed with white velvet and fastened with silver buttons, but I’m still grateful for his warmth at my side.
I try not to press into it, reminding myself of the singer’s fate.
“You don’t need to show me the way,” I say lightly, gesturing along the path.
He takes his time peering down at me out the corner of his eye, one eyebrow arched. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“No,” I lie as we round a corner into the stable yard. It’s better if he goes before Min arrives—he’s sure to ask questions if he sees her and then he’ll uncover my plan. Knowing how prickly he is, he’ll put a stop to it.
He makes a sound that says he’s unconvinced.
Luckily, Astrid meets us first, crossing the yard.
Even though it’s cold, she wears a short-sleeved shirt tucked into fitted trousers.
Her boots look warmer, with black fur peeking out the top, and a gray cowl covers her shoulders, ready to pull up if snow starts.
It isn’t lost on me that it stops short of her arms, leaving the muscles barely contained by the shirt.
I’m sure Min will enjoy that fact, and I smile to myself at the thought.
Despite the fearsome origin of her red hair, there’s a welcoming warmth to her, helped by the ease of her wide smile, bright against her tanned face.
It almost makes me miss the sharp length of her canines.
Almost. They glint like the newly fallen snow that cakes the rooftops, a deadly reminder of all that she is.
And I was foolish enough to cross her in my escape attempt. Wincing inwardly, I return her smile of greeting.
Before the king can say anything, she inclines her head to him. “I will take good care of your betrothed, Your Majesty. I take this honor seriously.”
He shoots me a mistrustful look. Perhaps he thinks this is another escape attempt.
“And I take my betrothal seriously.” Before I can release his arm, he grabs my fingers and twirls me around to face him.
He pulls me close, the heat of his body such a shocking contrast with the chill air, I can’t speak.
“Darling Rhiannon.” With a fingertip, he raises my chin, forcing me to make eye contact.
I haven’t held his gaze this close before.
The glow of his eyes tends to make me glance away, and usually he’s transporting me somewhere and I push away as soon as I’m steady.
As it is, my hand braces on his chest, but a smirk flickers on the corner of his lips and his thumb joins his finger, gripping my chin in place.
His breaths fan my mouth, my cheek, the side of my neck as he bends closer. “Ah, ah, ah,” he makes the soft chiding sound right in my ear. “Our bargain, remember?”
The soft intimacy of his voice, the heat of his breath, his casual proximity—I hate how they streak through my body, bypassing my brain.
So I take a breath to tell him exactly where he can shove his bargain.
And that’s my mistake.
Because I’ve never noticed his scent before, perhaps because I’ve been more wrapped up in the business of falling apart into flecks of shadow, but now it’s in me—primal, ancient, familiar in a way that makes no sense.
Moss clinging to standing stones. Smoke threading through a still forest. Frost blooming on a velvety night.
But beneath the cold, there’s this warm undertow that curls through me—slow, sensual, lingering… like secrets. Like lies. Like something I shouldn’t want.
I need to shove him away, regain my senses, but I can feel his smile against my cheek—a silent reminder of our charade.
“Remember your manners and everything we’ve agreed.”
“It’s never far from my mind, dearest,” I say on a breath, desperate to drive out the smell—the taste of him. “I promise I’ll be a good girl.”
This small, sharp huff of a sound drives from deep in his chest, making me realize I’m arched against him. I tighten, pulling away as much as I can within the cage of his arm.
When he speaks again, his voice is laced with amusement. “Then you can start by pretending I’m whispering something delicious in your ear, rather than standing there stiff.”
My hand is still braced upon his chest. Exhaling, I soften my fingers.
He gives a hum that says he’s unconvinced.
I stop pulling away and let my body go back to what it was doing before, pressing my hips, my belly, my chest into all of him.
“Very good.” His lips brush my ear as he speaks, forcing me to gasp, which in turn forces his scent deeper into my nostrils, my lungs. My being.
This has to be what comes from being a demi-god. Or it’s fae intoxication—their ability to charm mortals is legendary. I just never realized it worked through smell.
“Now, kiss my cheek.”
I grit my teeth. Thankfully most of my expression is hidden by the long, straight fall of his hair, otherwise I’d be in breach of our bargain. Astrid would know that when it comes to her king, I’m more interested in murder than marriage.
“It’s expected.” His lilting tone is as teasing as his scent. “You are my fiancée after all.” He finally releases my chin so I can comply.
I tiptoe so I can get his cheek rather than his jaw. Another mistake. It rubs my breasts against him, a reminder of what it’s like to be touched, wanted, craved, my body worshipped. Unwanted heat sparks in my nerves, stealing my breath, igniting every place we touch like kindling.
For a second. A fraction of a fraction of a second, I soften. Press into him. Let the answering tension of his arm crush me against him. I shouldn’t want more, but for a heartbeat I do.
Rhiannon Archer. Remember who he is. What he is. He rips out tongues. He rips families apart. And he just doesn’t care.
It’s enough to bring me back to myself, but that doesn’t end the torturous burn of his touch. And I need this to be over.
I brush my lips over his cheek. It’s quick, but the impression lingers. Hot skin. Abrading stubble. The hard cut of his cheekbone.
“We can work on that, I suppose.” As he releases me at last, he winks.
Chest heaving horribly, I wonder if I could poke his eye out with my bare hands. That would definitely break our bargain.
Instead, fluttering my lashes, I give him a honey-sweet smile until he turns and leaves.
“Hmm.” When my attention returns to Astrid, she’s bouncing a thoughtful look from me to Drystan and back again, hand on hip.
“What?” The heat in my cheeks spreads, like I’ve been caught misbehaving and what had been pleasant warmth low in my stomach becomes a knot of fear that I’m about to be told off.
“You really don’t realize, do you?” She cants her head, curious rather than pissed off, which eases that tension in my belly.
“Realize what?”
“Never mind.” She shrugs and shakes her head, though as she turns she mutters something that might include the word “innocent.”
Glad to be out of sight of Drystan’s retreating form, I follow her into the stable block, glancing back in case Min arrives.
“Uh, Astrid?” Now we’re alone, I stop and knit my fingers together. “I’m not sure how you deal with admitting that you harmed someone and regret it when you don’t do apologies here.”
She chuckles as she ducks into a stall. “I think you just did.”
“I used you in my plan and I feel bad for deceiving you. I’m sure I got you in trouble, too.”