Chapter 58 #3
I bent a finger under her chin and gently nudged it up. Her red-rimmed eyes met mine, the sight of her pain like an axe between my ribs. “Is there something else?”
She paused for a terribly long time. Finally, her chin dipped in the smallest nod. “I need to call a meeting of my advisors.”
I waited for more, but for now, her reasons stayed trapped within the shadows of her eyes. “Tonight?” I asked.
Teller ran past us, holding up the ceremonial dagger and grinning as Taran chased him around the yard. I hadn’t seen either of them look so unburdened in months.
“Let them have one more night,” Diem murmured.
My instincts bristled. One more night before what?
“Set the meeting for the afternoon,” she said. “Mother, Teller, and I are visiting my father’s grave in the evening.”
I tensed. “You’re going there tomorrow?”
Too soon.
Diem nodded. “She thinks we need closure, and I want to put all this behind us while we can.”
Again, her words nagged at me, a loose thread begging to be pulled, but my racing thoughts carried me away. Tomorrow is too soon. It’s not ready. I forced myself to break our embrace, wrong as it felt. “Why don’t you join our siblings? There’s something I need to handle before the ceremony.”
Diem nodded, and I flattened my hand against the bare skin on her back, needing to feel her warmth beneath my palm.
I pulled her in and indulged in a kiss that set my chest aflame.
Her fingers rose to my face, tracing my scar, and I was instantly ready to abandon any plan that would take me from her side.
But I’d been working on a project for weeks, and her intentions threatened to ruin my plans. I’d hoped for so much more time to prepare. When it came to her, I always seemed to run out of it too soon.
I broke the kiss with a soft grunt of regret. Her grip on me tightened. “Luther?”
“Yes, my Queen?”
“You know how much you mean to me, right?” Her hand lowered to my heart. “I don’t need a mating bond to know that I love you. And I don’t need one from you to know you love me, too.”
Old habits sprang to life. I carefully masked my true feelings and buried them deep, then manufactured the brightest smile I could muster. “Of course, my heart. It pleases me to hear that.”
Her face fell. She’d always seen right through me. The look she gave me was almost apologetic.
I tried a little harder, made my smile a little warmer. “Tell Taran if he starts the ceremony without me, I’ll tell Zalaric about his bald phase,” I teased with a wink.
She turned away without laughing. It was an effort not to follow, especially when I saw her walk toward Alixe. I couldn’t resist the urge to linger and study their conversation: Diem’s solemn speech, Alixe’s ashen reaction. Diem pointed south—toward Fortos—and Alixe gave an obedient nod.
“Luther?” Aemonn’s voice caught me by surprise. I’d so rarely heard it without its usual condescension. “Thank you for defending what I did with Baird.”
I cocked my head. “Why didn’t you just tell Taran your concerns?”
“Why didn’t you?”
The question was fair. Uncomfortably fair. At the time, I’d doubted Baird, too. I’d feared Taran was too enamored to listen, and I didn’t want him to hate me if I was wrong. As his closest friend, Taran had deserved more from me than silence.
Distasteful as Aemonn’s actions were, he’d been braver than I was. Taran had just found his life’s greatest joy, and he had his brother’s schemes to thank.
Taran gave up his pursuit of the dagger and returned to his mate-to-be, who rewarded him with a kiss and a loving smile.
Zalaric’s pretend indifference had given way to a new, unrestrained affection.
I was proud of him. I knew well the cage of suppressing one’s emotions, and despite its lonely cost, it wasn’t easy to leave.
But I was more certain than ever that it was worth the risk.
“They’re wearing white,” Aemonn remarked. “Descended mates wear red.”
“Mortals wear white when they marry,” I explained. “Taran suggested they do it to honor Zalaric’s mortal side—and to make their fathers irate.”
Aemonn smirked. “Taran never was afraid of Father. He always wanted to fight back.” Laughter rose from the friends gathered around Taran and Zalaric, their smiles brilliantly aglow. Something wistful and raw passed over Aemonn’s face. “Maybe I’m the one who should have listened.”
“Maybe you should start today.”
I held out my hand. Aemonn eyed it warily, and I arched a brow in subtle challenge.
“Fight back,” I goaded.
He shot me a glare, though it was more bluster than bite. He gave my hand a firm shake, then moved to pull away, but my grip held fast.
“Mend things with your brother,” I said. “I’ll support you. I owe you that much. But if you hurt him again—or Zalaric, or Diem—no debt between us will save you from what I’ll do.”
I walked away without awaiting his reaction. My threats had never meant much to Aemonn, because I was not the man he feared. Garath’s control was Aemonn’s real war, and it was one he’d have to wage within himself.
I had my own battles to fight.
Tonight, I’d face the most important of them all.