Chapter 17 #2
Beatrice swallowed wrong, choked, and burst into coughing to try to clear her own saliva from her lungs. Even as she coughed, she turned to look at Benedict.
Benedict had stumbled back, his sword going slack in his hand. He gaped between Lord Chauvlyn and Beatrice. “I…uh…”
Lord Chauvlyn gestured between them. “It has to be the two of you. Unless you want me to kiss her, and I doubt that would have the same effect.”
Benedict took a step closer, his sword lowering further.
She sucked in a breath, finally getting her coughing under control.
She faced him, easing a step closer as well.
She barely had the sense to ensure that her goblin woman glamour was back into place.
Those from the Court of Knowledge might still guess the truth of her identity, but Nick was sobbing with his ears over his eyes, Domitius was hiding behind several of the women, the swordmaiden was busy fighting, and Demetrius knew the truth anyway.
Kiss Benedict. A month ago, such a thing would have been unthinkable. She would have kissed a giant talking snail before kissing him.
But now? Now her pulse thumped harder in her ears. Her palms grew sweaty, her fingers slippery on the iron rod still in her hand. Nor was it fear that prompted such sensations but an almost aching anticipation that stole her breath and froze her where she stood.
He halted before her, close enough for their breaths to mingle even if he didn’t yet touch her. “If you wish to protest…”
“No.” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible amid all the shouts and clangs of battle going on beyond Benedict. “Why would I wish to protest?”
“I just want to make sure…” Benedict lightly rested his hand on her waist.
“Just kiss already.” Lord Chauvlyn’s tone had gone sharp and slightly nasally.
Beatrice started just as Benedict leaned down, and then his lips were on hers, his hand on the small of her back, pressing her closer.
Then she was too busy kissing Benedict—too wrapped up in the new sensations of her first kiss—to pay any attention to anyone or anything else.
Her first kiss. Her toes curled. Her fingers somehow found their way to fisting in the front of Benedict’s shirt.
This. This was just what she imagined her first kiss would be like. Funny how she wasn’t even disappointed that it was with Benedict. Instead, she couldn’t imagine kissing anyone else.
“The rift is gone.” Was that a trace of humor in Lord Chauvlyn’s voice? No, surely not. It must simply be scorn.
Beatrice jumped at the interruption, and Benedict pulled away, his hand falling away from her waist even as he turned away with a cough.
Right. They were supposed to be escaping. Not kissing.
When she glanced over her shoulder, the door was nothing but a regular doorway into a small room with stone walls and a stone floor.
Probably a storage cellar of some kind. Perhaps for faerie wine, though it was empty now.
Only the smears of her blood, dark as it soaked into the wood, gave any sign that anything untoward had happened there.
The rush of fae guards down the stairs seemed to have stopped. To one side, the two swordmaidens had piled the dead while those they’d managed to incapacitate and capture were in another pile. The rest of the escaped prisoners huddled against the other wall.
As Ariadne led the way up the stairs with the other swordmaiden chivying the rest to follow, Beatrice reached into her pocket, pulled out one of the tiny red primroses, and dropped it on the floor in the doorway.
Then she headed for the stairs. As she placed her foot on the bottom stair, she turned, looking over her shoulder at where Lord Chauvlyn remained leaning against the wall. “Are you coming? You can, you know.”
She wasn’t quite sure why she made the offer. It wasn’t like she had the power to actually offer him asylum in the Court of Knowledge if he wanted it.
He regarded her with his dark, hooded eyes for a moment before he shook his head with a hopeless huff. “No, I can’t. I am in enough debt for this rescue as it is.”
“That’s not how rescues work.” Beatrice pointed to the primrose she’d dropped in the doorway. She had no idea what Lord Chauvlyn had done with the one she’d handed to him. “This rescue was as freely given as that primrose.”
“This is the Fae Realm. Even things freely given have a cost.” Lord Chauvlyn’s hand clenched at his side. “And the cost of disloyalty is too high.”
“You don’t have to stay loyal to Claudius.
” Why would Lord Chauvlyn stay here after what had been done to him?
Sure, this cottage was his home. But his home had been turned into a place of terror instead of safety, and she knew all about leaving a home that wasn’t really a home any more.
There were times it was best to just pick up and leave everything behind.
Lord Chauvlyn shook his head again, his gaze dropping from hers briefly. “There are some things worth staying for. You wouldn’t leave one of your siblings behind.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Beatrice wanted to squash that pesky sympathy once again. She took another step up the stairs before she half-turned once again. “Whoever you are staying for, I hope you can rescue them.”
If Lord Chauvlyn replied, she didn’t hear it because she was already dashing the rest of the way up the stairs.
Benedict was waiting for her at the top, and when he held out his hand, she took it. His fingers were warm around hers, his grip solid and reassuringly strong. Thanks to the glamour, the two of them were the only ones who could see the golden glow this time.
“Are you all right?” Benedict gestured to the blood dribbling down her other arm. “I’m sorry closing the rift demanded…that.”
“It’s fine.” Beatrice shrugged. The cut stung, but Lord Chauvlyn had been right. The top of her forearm was much better than her palm would have been. “It’s nothing the healers can’t fix easily enough. Now, let’s get out of here.”
Together, they set out through the Tanglewood toward the safety of the Court of Knowledge and the Great Library.