Chapter 33
With a dagger at someone’s jugular, you’d expect them to show some sign of fear. A racing pulse. Wide eyes. A tightening jaw.
Instead, Rion looks almost bored. His pulse doesn’t jump beneath my blade—not even a flicker as I reach up, pressing harder against his jugular. One quick movement, and the Ruthless Knight would be nothing but a story.
He actually leans into the knife, just a little, drawing a tiny bit of blood. A half smile plays over his full lips as he peers down at me, and amusement dances in his silver eyes. “Are you trying to turn me on, love?”
His sensual voice drips over my skin.
“Why are you calling me love when I could end your life at any moment?”
“Because I don’t know your real name.”
My first instinct, of course, is to kill him and add his body to the stairwell collection. But that would ruin the entire mission, and piling up fresh corpses probably isn’t the best way to stay out of trouble.
I think I can make a deal with him, buying his silence. Like Raphael said, I need this alliance. I’ve now pledged to help Avalon Tower destroy the next king, and I can’t do that if I’m not in the Veiled Court.
Slowly, I pull the blade from his throat and back away. “You’ve caught me at an awkward time.”
“I can see that.” The torchlight washes over him, and shadows sculpt his cheekbones.
He’s dressed in dark clothes perfectly tailored to his broad frame, and his silver hair drapes over a cloak.
A smile flits over his lips. “What was it you said to me? Everyone knows you’re a monster, and yet, I was resting in my room when a horrified scream awoke me, and who do I find at the scene of the crime but you.
” He sniffs the air. “Did you set him on fire, too, or was the stabbing enough for you?”
My muscles have gone rigid. “It was self-defense.”
I’ve been saying that a lot lately.
Rion’s silver gaze flicks down to my arms and the tear in my shirt. Blood still spills from the bullet wound in my arm, too.
A muscle ticks in his jaw as he puts together what happened. “I think you killed him because he discovered the truth. You’re not Alis at all.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
He steps closer, looming, and his magic prickles across my skin like a warning. But he only brushes past me, then reaches for the door with the white rose. He pulls it open. “Well, this invites some questions.”
I feel my chest flush. Rion has a real way of piercing me right down to the nerve. “It was a necessity.”
I catch myself trying to justify my actions to him, and I wonder why I’m bothering.
“Is that the story you tell yourself?” He cuts me a sharp look.
I’m catching my breath. “What are you going to do?”
“As I said before, you’re my new lover. I’m not sure I want to lose you to Goch’s flames just yet, even if you are a murderous little vixen who probably deserves it.”
I fold my bloodied arms, then immediately regret it as the torn skin pulls.
“You expect me to believe you object to violence? You’re the monster in children’s tales, the legendary Ruthless Knight who hacks off limbs and leaves people screaming for sport.
Stories can lie, of course. But as far as I can tell, you’re proving them all accurate. ”
Amusement flickers in his eyes, and molten silver catches in the torchlight.
His expression sends a shiver down my spine.
“Then what does that make you?” he coos.
“The Murderous Peasant? You should admit the truth to yourself. It’s very liberating.
We’d make a rather striking pair of monsters, don’t you think? ”
He takes a slow step closer.
Panic crackles through my veins. One word from him, and I die screaming. Vero will waste away from the ague. And the kingdom could fall into the hands of someone like him.
“What do you want?” I grit out. “What do I need to do for you to keep my secret?”
“I could use you.” A dark edge slides through his tone. “For now.”
“Give me specifics.”
The torchlight dances in his cold eyes. “You’ll put on a show for the noble houses—one of desire and lust and a hint of obsession. If you fake being my lover, I can climb up to the top spot and unseat Mabon.”
My cheeks flame. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“And you will climb with me. When I win the crown, I will overlook your lies and deceit, and I will grant you a title and lands. Duchess, if you like. It’s the best chance you have of rising.
” His expression darkens. “Or I could always tell everyone the truth I already suspected: you’re an imposter.
Now I know you’ve killed someone important to keep a secret.
Cador was Niniane’s lover. Oh, dear, I don’t think she’ll take this well. ”
It would be a sweet deal. But for one thing, I don’t trust him. And for another, I’m going to try to kill anyone who gets close to the crown. Rion included.
My breathing is shallow, rapid. “Fine. I’ll do what you want. The fake obsession. Whatever you need.”
“Good.”
At some point, I will need to kill him. For now, I’ll play along.
His cold gaze sweeps down my body, assessing. “You’re covered in your victim’s blood. Take off your cloak. Use it to soak up as much blood as you can before you drip evidence all over the fortress.”
“You really know your way around a murder scene cleanup, don’t you?”
I pull off my cloak and brush the velvety material over my arms and T-shirt. I’m taking particular care with my hands so I don’t leave bloody fingerprints everywhere.
“You’ll need to properly heal those wounds quickly, though, or anyone here could immediately tie you to his disappearance.”
I stare down at the ragged gash across my arm, then lift my shirt to look at the bloody red streak across my belly. Scarlet drips down my skin. “I have no idea how to do that without a healer.”
“Lucky for you, I am a healer.”
He pulls off his shirt, and I stare at him, my breath going still. My gaze lingers on the golden tattoos that glisten on his broad, sculpted chest, then dip down to the sharp V carved into his hips. My skin heats traitorously.
“Why are you taking off your clothes? Are you turned on by all the gore?”
“Love, if I were trying to seduce you, you’d know.” He tosses his shirt to me. “You need to cover up the wounds on your way to my room. Head to the White Hart’s Rill in Lyria on the top floor. I’ll take care of everything in here.”
I pull on his black shirt, and the soft, luxurious fabric slips over my skin. It’s ridiculously large on me, the hem and the sleeves hanging down to my knees. Still, I suppose if anyone saw me walking around in this, it would only help with the whole lovers charade.
His shirt smells of smoldering wood, faintly spiced. It brushes against my skin like cashmere. For a warlord, he has sophisticated style and obviously appreciates the finer things in life.
I step outside just as the first blush of dawn streaks across the sky.
Rion could destroy me with just a word, and now I’m putting my life in the hands of a man universally known for his cruelty.
* * *
I make it to the White Hart’s Rill without anyone seeing me, even though it’s close to the top of Lyria. On Rion’s door, I find a painted sign of a white stag standing by a river, wearing a golden crown marked with a triple spiral.
When I pull open the door, I find a breathtaking scene, like a great hall carved from misty forest. It’s even better than my room.
Rion’s canopied bed stands nestled in one corner, and a winding stream burbles gently past it, flowing out a towering gothic window on the other side.
Steam rises from the water, and the hall feels humid and misty.
The floor is mossy stone, with bluebells growing alongside the stream.
Azure flowers climb the stone walls reaching for the vaulted ceiling.
A bridge crosses over the stream, joining the two halves of the room.
I take off my boots and walk barefoot on the mossy stone.
The room is tidy—his bed neatly made. Everything is in its right place.
I move closer to the vast window, peering out above the light spray of water. Rion’s view is of the courtyard—the bridge to the Aether Tower, the arena where we nearly killed each other, the cart track that I raced on one night.
I turn back into his room, looking for anything I can explore.
There’s a wardrobe across the little bridge, and I cross to that and pull it open.
In there, I find his fine clothes and a vast array of daggers.
I don’t immediately find anything that stands out as evidence of Prince Talan’s kidnapping.
A desk stands by his bed. I cross to it and listen for the sound of footfalls outside, then pull open the drawer.
I find a paper inside that stops me cold—a line drawing of an oak, its branches etched with royal symbols.
At its crown, there’s a cauldron emblazoned with a skull, beaming with sun rays—the symbol of King Bran the Great.
On a lower branch is a swan wearing a golden crown, with a chain looped around its throat. I already discovered that one—King Emrys. I believe that was the king murdered in the room above.
Just beneath it, drawn on the bark itself, is a wild man with leaves spilling from his mouth and eyes. I think these leafy faces are called Green Men sometimes. It might be the symbol of Merlin—the great Fey—trapped in an oak.
The Order of the Green Knight?
And finally, I glance down at the last symbol—a raven, a moon, a white rose. The symbols adopted by Auberon when he claimed the throne.
I stare at it, my heartbeat picking up. Is this Auberon’s family tree? I never knew he was descended from Bran the Great. Not that it really matters. He should have died an excruciating death, no matter who his ancestors were.
The important thing is that Rion seems interested in Auberon’s claim to the throne. Does he suspect, like I do, that Auberon could be still alive? A rival to the throne he wants?
Just as I’m starting to slide the paper back into the drawer, I hear footfalls outside. My heart quickens, and I slide the drawer shut just before Rion steps into his room.
I fake a yawn and sit down on his bed like I’m bored. “How did the cleanup go?”
Buttery dawn light spills into the room, washing over his bare chest as he steps inside. When the sun hits his golden tattoos, they blaze like morning rays sparkling off the ocean.
His eyes spark, too. “Generally, I prefer killing to tidying up the aftermath, but luckily for you, I’m very good at both. Drink?”
“It’s five a.m.”
Ignoring my protest, he’s already pouring mead into two glasses. “And you just murdered Niniane’s lover, so I’m not sure why you suddenly care about propriety.” He hands me a glass of mead. “Why don’t you tell me who you are and what you were doing in the Aether Tower at such an ungodly hour?”
I take a sip of mead. “No, I don’t think so. But I’ll fake the romance with you, and that’s all you need to move up.”
He shrugs, and a dark smile curls his lips. “Fine. I know enough not to trust you either way.”
“Likewise.”
“You are, after all, the Murderous Peasant. Everyone knows you’re a monster.” His eyes drop. “Now. Take off your shirt.”