Chapter 9 #2
“I mean, honestly,” he continues, amber eyes twinkling with barely contained mischief, “you’ve been standing out here like a twelve-foot chastity belt for how many nights now? Four? Five? People are starting to talk, darling.”
I scowl, the expression settling into familiar grooves. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Some gossip to collect? Some scandal to orchestrate?”
“Oh, I do. Several ‘somewheres’, actually. But watching you suffer through this delicious torture is infinitely more entertaining than anything happening in the lower courts.” He examines his perfectly manicured nails with theatrical interest. “Besides, someone needs to document this tragic tale of unrequited whatever-this-is for posterity.”
He glances toward Esme’s door with a knowing smirk that makes me want to strangle him. “How’s the nightly soundtrack treating you? Still loud? Still passionate? Still full of ‘yes, Sam. Fuck! Right there, Sam. Gods, Sam, don’t stop!’?”
My jaw ticks involuntarily and I clamp down on the urge to put my fist through the nearest wall. I refuse to dignify his baiting with a response.
Rue sighs dreamily, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead in an exaggerated swoon. “I do love a man who’s good with his hands. Or paws. Or. . .whatever else he’s using in there to make her scream like that.”
“Rue.” The warning in my voice could cut diamond.
“What? I’m merely making an observation. The walls aren’t particularly thin, but damn if they don’t have excellent acoustics. I’m in the next hallway down and even I had to fan myself last night during their second round. Or was it the third? Fae hearing is both a blessing and a curse, am I right?”
“Enough!” The word cracks like a whip in the empty corridor.
Rue just laughs, the sound rich and unapologetic as he crosses his arms over his chest. His silk shirt shimmers in the torchlight, probably worth more than most courtiers’ monthly allowances.
“You know, you’re not fooling anyone with this stoic guardian routine.
You don’t think people haven’t noticed the way you look at her like she hung the fucking moon?
It’s only been a few days, Locke my dear, and half the court already thinks you’ve fallen desperately, irrevocably in love with the new heir. ”
“I haven’t.” The denial tastes like lies and ash. “The woman barely even notices me. I’m background scenery while she’s getting thoroughly ravished by her canine companion every night.”
“Oh, of course not. Silly me.” Rue’s voice drips with sarcasm thick as honey.
“You’re just emotionally attached, spiritually tethered, irrationally protective, and violently jealous of a man you could probably snap in half without breaking a sweat.
Shifter or not, you can take him. Totally different situation entirely. ”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and release a sigh that seems to echo from my very soul. Weary doesn’t begin to describe the bone-deep exhaustion that’s settled into my body like winter fog. I haven’t managed more than a few hours of sleep since we arrived.
Rue’s expression shifts, a rare note of genuine seriousness creeping into his usually playful demeanor. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its theatrical edge. “You’re worried about tomorrow. The presentation.”
“She’s not ready,” I murmur, the admission scraping raw against my throat. “Queen Lucelle has been silent for too long, and no one has seen hide nor hair of her. That woman doesn’t retreat, she regroups.”
Rue nods slowly, his fan forgotten in his hands.
“Word from my little birds is that the court is being summoned for a full presentation ceremony. No more private meetings or closed-door negotiations. Everyone’s invited, every Duke, every Vassal, every minor bloodline claimant still clinging to whatever scraps of the past they can claim. It’s going to be a circus.”
“And our beloved queen?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer. Lucelle wouldn’t dare defy the king’s direct command, but that doesn’t mean she’ll play fair.
“There’s been no sign of her. No attendants seen entering or leaving her wing. No requests for court dress or jewelry. Her entire section of the castle has been silent as a tomb for days now.” Rue’s expression darkens. “Even her usual informants have gone quiet.”
I step away from Esme’s door, closing the distance between Rue and myself until we’re speaking in whispers that barely disturb the air. “She’s planning something. Something big.”
“I couldn’t agree more. The questions are what, and how do we prepare for it?”
We fall into contemplative silence, the weight of tomorrow’s ceremony pressing down on us like a storm cloud heavy with unspent lightning. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimes the approaching dawn.
“She doesn’t have her magic,” I say quietly, the words feeling like a betrayal even as they leave my lips. “She’s essentially defenseless.”
Rue tilts his head, curiosity sharpening his features. “What do you mean? I felt power radiating from her when she first arrived. Faint, but definitely there.”
“I overheard her during one of her private conversations with the king. She told him that she’d been stripped of her magic by some Mortal Realm goddess, hence the complete absence of her crescent moon marking.
Whatever happened to her in the human world.
. .” I shake my head, remembering the broken way she’d spoken about it.
“She says she’s been fundamentally altered.
Broken. She believes her powers have been permanently sealed away or lost entirely. ”
Rue’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “And King Ayla believes her?”
“He’s been consulting every advisor, mage, and ancient text in the royal archives, trying to find someone who might help retrieve what was taken.
The consensus is that her fae magic is likely dormant rather than destroyed, bloodline magic that powerful doesn’t simply vanish.
But her witch magic. . .” I shrug helplessly.
“Gone?” Rue breathes.
“Possibly. Maybe forever.”
“Then how in the seven hells is she even alive? You mentioned she was barely clinging to life when you saw Sam carry her through the portal. By all rights, she should have died.”
I glance back toward her door, my jaw tightening as another soft moan drifts through the wood. “She’s Tethered. To someone in the Mortal Realm, someone extremely powerful.”
Rue whistles low, the sound sharp with understanding. “Tethered and mated? To different people? That’s. . .”
“Complicated doesn’t begin to cover it,” I reply.
“Her Tether?”
“Half-witch Nephilim,” I clarify. “From what I’ve gathered, the bond between them may be the only reason she survived whatever stripped her of her power. That connection and her fae blood literally kept her alive.”
“And Sam knows this?”
I don’t answer immediately, but my silence speaks volumes.
Rue follows my gaze toward the door. “You think he knows her survival depends on maintaining that Tether? That without it, she could. . .”
“Oh, he knows.” I run a hand through my locs, frustration bleeding through my careful control. “It’s just another chain binding her to him, another reason for him to hold her close. I can only assume he’s terrified of losing her, whether to death or to distance. Or to whoever this Tether is.”
Rue shakes his head slowly, his expression a mixture of pity and fascination.
“You poor, beautiful bastard. Locke, listen to me, don’t get yourself wrapped up in this particular web of insanity.
That’s enough emotional complications to fuel a dozen court tragedies.
But alas, my impromptu therapy session must come to an end.
Real duty calls, and I have actual intelligence to gather before tomorrow’s festivities. ”
I smirk despite everything as he waves me off with characteristic drama and saunters back the way he came, his footsteps silent as shadows on the stone floor. Even in crisis, Rue moves like he’s performing for an invisible audience.
I wait until his presence has completely faded before I let the silence settle around me again like a familiar cloak. The castle sleeps, but I remain vigilant.
Esme is still behind that door, still wrapped in the arms of someone who would burn the world down to keep her safe.
I should excise my growing feelings like the cancer they’re becoming, cut them out with surgical precision before they compromise my judgment further.
I don’t have a legitimate stake in this game of hearts and politics, but I’m the one who’ll walk her into that court tomorrow morning.
I’m the one who’ll stand behind her like a living shield while the entire Night Court stares and judges and weighs her life against their personal ambitions. I’m the one who’ll read every micro-expression, every subtle threat, every whispered plot.
I’m the one who’ll kill for her without hesitation if it comes to that. No matter who she belongs to. No matter what magic she’s lost. No matter what fresh hell tomorrow brings.
Because I know something they don’t, something that burns in my chest like molten steel.
She’s not some broken girl to be pitied or manipulated.
She’s not a half-breed fae abomination to be dismissed or destroyed.
She’s a storm they’ve catastrophically underestimated, and I’ll be the blade at her back when she finally lets that tempest loose.
I’m a soldier first, trained and honed for war. My most sacred duty is to protect what’s mine, even if she doesn’t know she belongs to me yet.
The first rays of dawn begin to filter through the high windows, painting the corridor in shades of silver and gold. Soon, the castle will wake. Soon, the games will begin in earnest, and I’ll be ready.