45. Harlow
HARLOW
T he trip back through the Drained Wood was less tense than stepping into the Havenwood House dining room for my first public dinner since the wedding.
At least in the woods, the Drained are straightforward about being out for blood.
Everyone here is smiling, but their whispers stop when we walk by. They’re still hung up on the rumors about me and Stefan and the evolved Drained that attacked his two friends.
While I’m relieved that the damage to my reputation is the greatest casualty of that incident, I’m still a little alarmed by my blackout violence. It’s not the guilt of killing a man to defend myself that troubles me. It’s the fear that this is a hint of the same madness my father and brother have.
I’m already stiff from three days spent in bed and the ride back to the fort yesterday morning, but their assessment winds my muscles even tighter. We walk past a table of women who say my name just loud enough for us to hear before whispering again.
Henry ignores them as he guides me into the warm, candlelit room.
It was harder to leave Lunameade a second time. Harder to ride away from my sister and her bruised face and half-broken soul .
Maybe it’s the emotional hangover from my episode and I’m just raw from the pain, but I feel so heavy with dread, it’s like I’m moving in slow motion. Aidia is running out of time. If I don’t get her out soon, there might be nothing left of the sister I love.
I’m still shocked that Henry took me back to Lunameade to check on her when it would have been wiser and safer to stay put.
But I’m more uneasy that he spent three full days tending to me.
He lay in bed beside me and read, changing my ice when it melted, making innuendos to the servants about why I needed so much refreshment, gently annoying me every time I woke up.
I know what he was doing in those moments—trying to remind me that nothing had changed between us.
It’s a kindness I don’t deserve from him and, therefore, don’t trust. I’m beginning to worry that I don’t dislike him as much as I thought I did. This feels something like begrudging affection, and that is a truly dangerous thing.
Fiddlers are already playing lively folk music on a small, raised dais by the fireplace, and I try to pay attention to that instead of the urgency pounding in my blood and the steady murmur of gossip.
I’m not surprised that they’re eager to judge me. I’m a city girl in an elevated position in the fort, and the one thing that permeates their culture as much as society in Lunameade is the fact that women are always held to a higher level of scrutiny than men.
I’m less offended by their judgment than I am that they believe I’d actually sneak off with Stefan.
“They seem to have taken the news about the Breeder in stride,” I whisper.
Henry gives me an indulgent smile and leans in to whisper in my ear. “Yes, well, these are all the most powerful magical families. They want to know what we’re dealing with.”
He pulls me closer to his side, his hand hot through the thin silk of my dress. Silk is so impractical with the cold here, but Henry is still picking out my clothing. I think he likes that I let him stand closer when I’m cold. I only allow it because I’m mildly entertained by distracting him.
I study him out of the corner of my eye as we cross the room. Everyone looks to him with respect—everyone but Stefan, who looks at the two of us like he’s trying to set us on fire with his eyes. He’s going to need to be dealt with soon. If Henry doesn’t do it his way, I’ll have to do it mine.
Henry keeps glancing over his shoulder at Gaven. Truthfully, I’ve become so good at ignoring my bodyguard over the years that I hardly notice him anymore. But Henry is forever irritated by his presence. Despite my scolding, the two of them have not made peace.
The feast room is set up so unlike the dining room at Carrenwell House.
Instead of one long dining table covered in brand-new taper candles and floral bouquets with the ruling family at the head, there are eleven smaller tables decorated with small vases of wildflowers and half-burned pillar candles in glass cases.
They’re set up in a U-shape, with a four-person table in front of the large glass windows on the far side of the room and five tables running down each side.
“This is the typical layout of the room when we’re not having a wedding. There’s one table for each of our top magical families,” Henry whispers as he leads me through the room. “Two for each level of the fort, and then my family for level six.”
Gaven shifts behind us, an unnecessary reminder to me—and, more importantly, Henry—that he’s watching closely.
I’m not foolish enough to believe Henry’s caretaking over the past few days is completely selfless, but Gaven’s hackles are up.
His hovering has been more incessant and smothering than usual.
There is no one in my life I’ve spent more time with than Gaven, and while his job is to be suspicious, I’m still irritated.
It’s not like I wanted to let Henry take care of me.
I just didn’t have the energy to make him leave.
I haven’t lost my edge. I can’t afford to, for Aidia’s sake.
Simply thinking of her bruised face strengthens my resolve. Just because I tolerate Henry doesn’t mean I can’t do what needs to be done. If it comes down to him or my sister, it isn’t even a contest.
Evangeline and Philip Havenwood are already sitting at our table. When I first met them, they seemed as cold and focused as my parents. Of course, that’s how I would expect them to be if they think my father sent the horde of Drained that killed their daughter.
But seeing them safe and in their element, I see the warmth between them.
Unlike my parents, who only ever display a practiced and performative tolerance of each other, the Havenwoods seem to actually be in love.
Philip whispers something into Evangeline’s ear, and she smiles and swats his arm playfully.
The kind of easy intimacy between them can’t be faked.
Henry nods to his mother as he guides me to my seat at the other end of the head table. “We can leave any time you need to,” he whispers as he slides my chair in for me.
I glare at him as he takes his seat. “I’m not some fragile thing. You don’t need to keep checking on me.”
His smirk is as irritating as it is devastating. “Prickly.”
This disquieting feeling of being seen is intimacy. Henry should be put off by my grumpy demeanor, but he seems almost charmed by it.
He tilts my chin up and brushes a kiss to my lips—because we’re in public and he likes antagonizing me by making me play along.
“What if I like checking on you?” he whispers as he draws away.
“Men who like their wives weak should be treated with the utmost suspicion,” I say.
He clicks his tongue, ignoring the weighty stares of everyone in the room. “I don’t like you weak. I like you fiery. That’s why I’ll always let you know there’s an escape route—so that you can keep your pride.”
I’m speechless. While I miss the familiarity of being at odds, this strange new territory is exhilarating.
Henry turns back to face his people and runs a hand through his dark hair.
It’s a little too short to tuck behind his ears, which means it’s always falling into his eyes, giving him an air of broody mysteriousness.
The scar on his throat stands out in the candlelight, a pale slash against olive skin that still makes my blood run cold.
I’m struck by the desire to run my tongue over it—as if I could taste his pain and know what it takes to come back from something unsurvivable.
The thought is jarring. I take a slow sip of wine and glance around the room, taking in the array of colorful auras. Everyone is keeping to themselves except Stefan. His muddy orange aura is poking and prodding at the family of purple auras at the table to his left.
Of course, he abuses his blessing. It’s a rare thing to meet a man who doesn’t abuse Polm’s magic. Kellan is very much the exception and not the rule. Though I wonder how many men would be so bold if they knew someone could see what they’re doing.
He must feel me staring because his gaze snaps to mine. I click my tongue and shake my head, and even though I know he can’t hear it, his face goes red and he sits back in his chair. His aura retreats, tucking in close to his body.
I don’t know if he realizes I can see it or if he just lost focus when I distracted him, but I’m satisfied all the same.
The feast is served. Three courses of simple but delicious food come in quick succession.
The musicians play loudly, and the people break out into more casual and less gossipy conversations punctuated by genuine laughter.
It’s so much less formal than Lunameade, and while there is still a fair share of eyes on me, it’s nice to know they’re not judging my every shift in posture the way people in the city do.
No one asks me to speak, thank the Divine, and unlike the dinner we just had at my parents’, no one seems interested in speaking to me at all.
Once the main course is clear, the servants bring around small bowls of a cold, creamy dessert that tastes like lavender and honey and melts in my mouth. I have never tasted anything so delicious. I’m not even annoyed when I finish mine and Henry slides his untouched bowl in front of me.
“I can honestly say I’ve never seen you like something so much,” he teases. “It’s called Dark Star Custard. We only make it around festival season because we need colder temperatures.”
I enjoy my second helping with a very unladylike ravenousness.
Henry leans over and whispers something to his father, then turns back to me. “Ready to retire?”
“Already? Don’t you need to speak or something?”
Henry chuckles. “No. We’re not so formal. We just needed to show our faces. Lots of curiosity about the woman who broke Kennymyra’s sigil and seduced Stefan.”
I roll my eyes as he helps me up and leads me through the small crowd of people dancing at the center of the room.
Bryce leans against the wall beside the exit door. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow your husband for a moment before you head out,” he says with a grin .
“Borrow him as long as you want. Keep him for all I care,” I say, shoving Henry toward him.
Gaven immediately takes his place, offering me his arm.
The hallway outside the feast room is cool and empty.
We walk down the long straightaway and turn right toward the back staircase to the second floor.
A guard is stationed outside the recovery room, which neither of us has been able to get into.
Despite our poking around, we can’t figure out what exactly that room is.
My assumption is some kind of infirmary, but Gaven thinks it’s a vault for magical items.
What we agree on is that there must be something worth protecting inside, and that has made it our new investigative focus. The round-the-clock guard has foiled any of our opportunities to peek inside so far.
We turn left at the next hallway and nearly run into Stefan Laurence, two of his friends, and several women from the feast.
“Well, if it isn’t the woman who tried to throw herself at me the day after she got married. I guess old Henry just isn’t keeping you satisfied,” Stefan says.
I step toward Stefan and cock my head to the side. “Are you suggesting that I, a helpless city girl, forced you , a big, strong guard, to abscond with me to a secret location I didn’t know existed?” I shake my head. “That seems a bit far-fetched.”
I twirl the ends of my hair around my finger. “I’m certainly not afraid to own up to my mistakes. Frankly, you weren’t that desirable before that mistake, and you’re way less afterwards.” I laugh in his face just to see what will happen.
Stefan takes a step toward me, but Gaven pins him against the wall before he can take a second.
“Do not threaten Miss Carrenwell,” he says. His voice is pitched in the low, warning timbre of a man who has killed for lesser sleights.
I expect Stefan to underestimate Gaven’s age and experience. I wait for him to strike back or for his friends to join in. Instead, a growl behind them makes everyone go still.
Kyrin stands at the bottom of the stairwell just a few feet away. The wolf’s narrowed eyes are fixed on Stefan.
Stefan swats Gaven away and brushes his hands down his ruffled shirt.
“I wasn’t threatening her.” He points at me.
“You’re laughing now, but you won’t be laughing long.
You’ll pay in blood one way or another, and some pumped-up, unblessed bodyguard can’t stop me.
” He waves a hand at Gaven. “That’s a threat, old man. ”
He stalks by us with his friends on his heels and the women chattering excitedly at the spectacle.
I want to brush off the threat, but I know right away that taunting him was a mistake. He’s going to feel justified taking a shot at me.
Or at least he’ll try to. The only thing more dangerous than a man with a bruised ego is a woman with a score to settle.