Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33
I n the northern lands of Brocéliande, the snow is much heavier than around Castle Perillos, and the ground gleams white under the winter sky.
My leather boots sink deep into the snow. My legs are frozen, but we’re nearing a small timber-frame cottage framed by icy oak trees. Icicles hang from the cottage’s eaves.
“One of my hunting lodges.” Talan nods at it.
“Exactly how many of these do you have?”
“I have no idea. I have better things to think about.”
“Like moth kinks.”
He glances at me with a lazy smile. “Well, now I’m thinking of that. Thanks for that image. But I only like the idea because you r emind me of a Corbinelle moth.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “In what way?”
“Seemingly delicate, secretly venomous, and hopelessly drawn to things that might set you aflame,” he purrs.
“And what would those things be?”
“A devastatingly handsome Fey prince with a reputation for murder.” He pushes through the snow to the cottage and pulls a key from his pocket. It takes a few seconds for the key to turn in the lock, and then he opens the door.
I follow him inside, hugging myself. My teeth are still chattering.
I turn around, taking in the cozy space. There is a rough-hewn wooden table and chairs near an empty hearth, and sunlight spills inside onto a bed beneath the window.
I drop my leather bag and pull a soft wool blanket around myself for warmth while Talan crosses to the fireplace. “When do we start with the dream magic?” I ask.
He starts sliding logs into the hearth. “We’ll probably have to wait until night, when he’s sleeping.”
“Can’t you force him into a waking dream? I’ve seen you do it.”
He lights the logs in the fireplace. “Yes, but I want to be subtle. I don’t need him to know that I was in his head. He needs to think it’s his own idea.”
“Makes sense.”
The fire starts crackling, and warm light plays over his masculine features. “For now, I need you to go to the nearby village to ask about his health. You can get us some food, too.”
“You don’t want to come with me?”
“Even in a remote place like this, the villagers will recognize their crown prince. My portraits are hanging all over the kingdom.”
“Is that so? We didn’t have your portrait on my farm.”
“No, you were sadly deprived. Heartbreaking, really.”
“I’m still in recovery from the horror of that privation.” I fold my arms. “And what do you need me to find out about Kahedin’s health?”
“I need to know if he’s likely to recover from this disease. There’s no point wasting our efforts if he dies tomorrow.”
I look down at myself, at the cloaks dyed with vibrant shades of midnight blue and cherry red. “But I will attract some attention. I’m not dressed like I’m from the country.”
He shrugs. “You’re dressed differently because you’re not from here. You’re a visiting healer for Lord Kahedin, straight from Corbinelle. So, of course, that’s why you need to ask about his health.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of copper coins. “This should be enough for food without suggesting you might be here with a prince.”
My stomach rumbles, and I don’t hate the idea of getting some food. In fact, my mouth is already watering. I pull off my rings, placing them on the windowsill, and check my reflection in the murky glass. I undo my hair, wearing it loose like the commoners do. I take off my second cloak and hang it over the chair. “How do I look?”
He pins me with his gaze, and his dark eyebrows knit together. “Memorable, but you’ll pass for a Corbinelle healer. Just be careful what you say. You’ve got to play the role. If anyone gets suspicious, you’ll be reported to the King’s Watch.”
He has no idea how good I am at playing a part.
As I’m walking down the road to the nearby village, it occurs to me that it’s the first time I’ve been walking outside alone since I nearly died in the explosion. No guards, no palace staff, no Talan or Nivene.
I stalk through the woods utterly alone except for the eerie echo of a wren’s song wending through the forest. A weight settles on my shoulders, pressing down on me. Cold mist twines between the trunks.
All this time, I’ve been behaving almost automatically, responding to people’s expectations of me, showing them a reflection of what they need to see. Nia the farm girl, the princess, and the Avalon agent doing what she’s told.
At home, I’m Nia the people-pleaser, the caretaking daughter.
But who am I, really?
I don’t have a home anymore. I suspect Wrythe of trying to kill me from Avalon Tower, and I’ve been trying to kill those around me here. The idea of returning to California with my mom makes me want to vomit.
That leaves me with one last role to play.
From now on, I make my own choices. No more blindly following the orders of Avalon Tower, nor will I bend completely to Talan’s machinations. He’s still dangerous, capricious, and morally questionable. And yet, I no longer believe that killing him is the right thing to do. Even if he’s out for himself, he’s taking down his father first, and that makes him an ally. And if that’s true, maybe I can change his mind. Maybe I can make him see humans as more than dispensable pawns.
Slowly, carefully, I want to form an alliance with him.
I just have no idea how to tell him what I’ve been doing here this whole time.
As I walk, I pull my cloak tightly around me. At the edge of the forest, the trees thin. I cross into a misty clearing and climb onto a hill overlooking the village. It takes me a minute to get a good view through the fog, but at last, I see cottages huddled near a river below. Lanterns hang from crooked stone walls, tinging the mist with gold. As I walk closer, I spot a few fishermen casting off by the river’s edge and some kids chasing each other on the outskirts of town, bundled up against the cold. A few women look after them.
I trudge down the hill, my misty breath mingling with the fog. Smoke curls into the air from a cottage, and I smell freshly baked bread. My stomach rumbles.
I’m fucking starving, and now I can’t stop thinking about a particular pizza place I used to go to back at home. I’ve been eating wildflowers and salmon and oatcakes for months now, and I wanted nothing more than several slices of oily pepperoni with hot pepper flakes. My mouth waters, and for one moment, I don’t want magic and enchantment anymore. I just want fast food for one human meal.
As I reach the cobbled road at the bottom of the hill, the children’s laughter fades, and they turn to stare at me, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked, their mittens covered in snow. One of them grins, showing off a big gap in her teeth. Fey children are adorable .
I shift my gaze to the women watching over them. Their thick cloaks of undyed wool blend with the mist, and their expressions are cautious.
“Good day,” I say. “I think I am lost. I’m trying to get to Lord Kahedin’s castle.”
The two women exchange bemused glances.
“Definitely going the wrong way,” the older one tells me. “You should return on the path you came from and turn north at the crossroads. It’s about a day’s walk from here.”
“Oh.” I adopt a frustrated expression. “I knew I made the wrong turn somewhere. Is there a place in town where I can buy some food? I’m starving”
The woman nods at one of the cottages. “Ol’ Dreena has a bakery just there, and some meat. But you do know Lord Kahedin is sick, yes? He’s very contagious.”
I nod. “I’m here to help him. I’m a healer. Is he hanging in there all right?”
“No idea,” one of them says. “Could be dead by now, for all I know. Then we get a new lord, and nothing else changes for us, does it?”
“Right. Of course. Thank you.” I turn and cross the cobbled road to a shop with a painted sign hanging out front and a large window stacked with bread and pies. I push through the door, and my mouth waters. The scent of fresh baking, roasting meat, and sweets hits me right in the stomach. Food lines every wall.
A woman stands behind the counter, kneading dough. Her pointed Fey ears stick through her long, straight, green hair. Behind her, shelves are lined with all the supplies that people here probably need to survive—farming tools, flour, herbs, and dried fruit.
The woman, presumably Dreena, stops her kneading and eyes me suspiciously over the counter. She frowns. “Who are you?” In her country accent, it comes out more like whoreya , the words merging into two syllables.
“My name is Reina,” I say. “I’m on my way to Lord Kahedin’s castle, but I got lost. I’ve come all the way from Corbinelle, though, and I’m absolutely starving.”
“What do you want with Kahedin?” she asks. “All the way from Corbinelle?”
“Someone on his staff wrote requesting my services. I’m an herbalist and a healer. They thought I might be able to help.”
“He already has her balls.”
I blink. “I’m sorry?”
“He already has her balls.”
“He has…balls?”
She sighs, exasperated. “He. Already. Has. A. Herbalist,” she says, pronouncing every word loudly and slowly.
I clear my throat. “Well, I don’t think she’s working out. Though it did take me ages to get here.”
“You’re too late. He’s getting a bed wetter.”
It takes me a while to untangle this rural accented phrase: he’s getting a bit better. I sigh loudly, giving the impression of a disappointed healer who has just realized she’s out of a job. “Oh. Well…that’s good news. I’m glad your lord is doing better.”
“Ha!” She smirks in derision.
“Who is this herbalist?” I ask. “It might be someone I know.”
I need her to repeat the name three times, and by the third time, I’m pretty sure it’s Fermat .
“Oh. I haven’t heard of him. Well, if they don’t need me anymore, I want to make sure I have plenty of food for the ride home. Could I buy some bread, a pheasant pie, a bag of figs, a pie of boar and apple, cantal cheese, and two bottles of mead?” This is overkill, but my rumbling stomach got the better of me.
I pay her sixteen coppers, and she packs up my food for me. As I leave the bakery, I’m already nibbling on the bread and cheese, and gods , it’s delicious. It’s warmer now, the air more springlike, and ice drips from the trees as I walk.
I feel the villagers’ eyes following me as I climb the hill back the way I came. Let them look. I played the part perfectly.
The hem of my dress drags through the melting snow, getting soaked.
I keep eating, half-lost in thought, until a rhythmic thud—thud—thud draws my attention near the hunting lodge.
Talan stands outside, swinging an axe in powerful arcs. In the warmth of the spring sunlight, he’s taken off his shirt, and I stare at the movement of his muscles and the sinuous lines of his tattoo. His muscles flex and coil under the sunlight. He doesn’t just chop wood—he punishes it with ruthless precision.
I don’t even pretend that I’m not watching. My eyes rake over him, and my mind drifts in a sensual haze. I’m imagining those powerful Fey hands gripping my waist, pulling my hair, grabbing the curve of my ass as he slams into me. Would he make me moan with slow, teasing restraint? Or would he rip off my underwear and take me hard up against a wall?
As if sensing my filthy thoughts, he glances up. Our eyes lock, and heat flares in my cheeks.
A slow, knowing smile curves his lips. “Hungry, are you?”
I press my lips together, trying to maintain a sense of dignity. “Pardon?”
He drops his axe.
As he prowls closer, my gaze brushes down his body, taking in each perfectly carved muscle. The power and the perfection of his body could make a woman lose her mind.
“You brought back enough food to feed a small army,” he says softly.
I lift an eyebrow, my breath coming quickly. “And?”
His expression darkens, sliding over me like a slow caress. “And I was simply wondering how many of these delights you intended for your husband.”
“I brought you pheasant pie.” I keep my voice steady, my fingers tightening on the bag.
He leans in, his voice a low, wicked murmur. “That’s not all I’d like to taste.”
Heat blooms in my core, and my pulse races for him.
This close, Talan’s power thrums over me, and his scent makes my thoughts turn desperate. This man could have me in a heartbeat if he wanted it.
And judging by the curve of his lips, he knows it, too.