Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Rylan
The warmth of the midday sun spreads across the balcony, casting a pure, bright light over us, but it’s not enough to burn away the tension that’s been simmering between Eirabella and me. The cold ache in my chest also lingers as I think back to the events of the past and wonder how she managed to draw it out of me. I never talk about that day to anyone who wasn’t there, as if that way I can pretend it never happened. But here I am, spilling it all to a woman I met barely over six weeks ago. And instead of being embarrassed, it’s only made me want to tell her even more about me, made me want her to know me, understand me.
She shifts again beside me, her leg brushing against mine under the blanket, and every time it happens, it feels like a jolt straight to my core. Unlike when we were walking, with the sparks between our hands, I can’t pull away. I should keep my distance, but being near her... it’s becoming a sensation too delectable to resist.
“You’re making me chatty again,” I accuse her after a few minutes of our silence, trying to break the ice, break the mood my confession has cast over us.
She breaks out into that full-face grin that never fails to warm all the way through my heart, her eyes bright with mischief, the wine obviously loosening her up in ways that make her even more dangerous to me. “Am I? Well, you should’ve known better than to give me wine, my prince. Or was that your plan all along? To ply me with liquor so that I can give up all my secrets.”
“Not a plan, but I’ll keep your wine-loosened tongue in mind, if there’s ever a next time,” I say coyly, knowing full well there will be. Because despite everything, I can’t stay away from her.
She’s a drug, and I’m a fucking addict.
And in my mind is certainly not the only place I’m thinking her tongue should be.
Stretching out lazily on the blanket, she sighs contentedly, her cheeks flushed from the wine, her grin fading to a soft smile, wide and easy. Every little movement, every little sound, every gentle breeze of her scent stokes a craving for her inside me that refuses to wane. Her leg brushes mine again, and my cock twitches, aching to be inside her. The air between us crackles, but she seems entirely unaware—or maybe just doesn’t care.
“I think I’m a good influence on you,” she says, running her tongue over the smattering of icing sugar that the fruit tart left on her lips, and I almost combust into one of those fireballs I’m so famous for.
How can she be so oblivious to how close I am to pulling her on top of me, to have her straddle my hips, feel her weight on me, how badly I’m yearning to feel her body on mine, her tightness grinding on my hardness as my tongue traces the line of her delicious neck.
“You’re far too serious. Like, seriously serious,” she adds nonsensically, her voice already starting to slur slightly. Taking another sip from her glass, she giggles adorably, and it makes me smile despite myself.
“Excuse me, I’m a barrel of bloody laughs,” I counter, watching her, unable to take my eyes off her face, her body.
She leans back on her hands, her head tipped back slightly as she gazes up at the sky. Like she’s offering herself up as a gift to the gods. Lucky. Fucking. Gods.
“Sure, if the barrel was full of people you’d just command to laugh or else!” She giggles again at her own joke. “I bet you’re terrible at relaxing. Do you even know how to cuddle with someone? You’re probably completely inept at it. Good thing you can conjure a damn good firestorm because you’d make an awful husband. Your future wife will probably have to negotiate a set amount of snuggle time a day with you, and you’ll probably set a timer”—she’s talking so fast she’s practically tripping over her own tongue as she laughs—“And, oh! I know! You’ll have Grellor storm into your bedroom with a foghorn announcing when it’s time to stop!”
Her assessment of me catches me off guard, and I laugh—really laugh, the sound spilling out before I can stop it.
She sighs, brushing a black curl off her face. “You should laugh more often, you know. I like it. I like it so much, I could eat it up out of a bowl with a big spoon like an ice cream sundae with lots and lots of those red cherries on top.” She tilts her head, forehead furrowed in thought. “It makes me feel… what’s the word? All tingly and happy inside. And it makes you even more devilishly handsome than usual. Even more handsome than when you’re all grumpy and frowny. ”
My eyebrow cocks. “Oh? You think I’m handsome, do you?”
She nods earnestly. “Yep. But… I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Your ego is big enough without getting more inflated and sinking the entire continent. Oh, well. What was I saying? Oh yes, you being terrible hubby material.” She takes another sip of wine, her lips quirking up in a teasing smile. “You make brooding a competitive sport. Always thinking. Always... what’s the word... strategising! No room for snuggles and whispering sweet nothings.”
“And what makes you such an expert on husband material?” I tease, though part of me is curious about her answer.
“I’ll have you know, Your Highness, I’ve had my share of would-be husbands,” she says as she clumsily waves her hand, the wine sloshing over the rim of her glass. The words are casual, but it sends a searing hot streak of jealousy through me. And I cross my legs at the ankles to stop myself from jumping to my feet and demanding the names of all the men she’s been with so I can send the King’s Guards to slit the throats of each and every one of them. Who in the realms has had the absolute pleasure and privilege of knowing what she looks like, feels like, naked? Knowing what she sounds like when she comes apart in the throes of climax?
I shake my head to clear it of thoughts I have no business having. “You? Fair share of men? Never. Not sweet, innocent, naive little Eirabella?” I taunt her, hoping she’ll give me more details, at the same time, not wanting to hear that she’s ever known the touch of another man.
She grins, her eyes locked on mine as she runs her tongue over the scarlet wine spilled over her fingers, the action making my cock ache. “You’ll be surprised. I might even give your playboy ways a run for their money,” she winks, lustily.
I stiffen. “What playboy ways?”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Please. I’ve heard all about you warming all the Dukes’ daughters’ beds. And I’ve seen how all the females of the court look at you.” She dramatically flutters her eyelashes and pretends to swoon. I laugh again. It’s a perfect imitation of the ladies of the court, except the effect is charming and adorable on her. Not a single one of my mother’s ladies-in-waiting holds even the dimmest of candles to her. No matter how hard they have tried. “Caelum has told me all the stories,” she confesses.
“Don’t listen to him,” I hiss at the sound of my cousin’s name. “He’s a dick.”
She just rolls her eyes. “What’s your problem with Caelum anyway?”
“Nothing. Everything,” I snarl at the memory of him on top of her that day in the combat room. And the sound of her laughter as he trained with her. Laughter that belonged to—not to him! “He’s an incorrigible flirt.”
“As, apparently, are you!”
I grit my teeth. “Don’t believe the stories. Have you ever seen me flirt with anyone?”
She tilts her head again and scrutinises me closely, as if she’s sorting through her memories. I raise my eyebrows in wait. I know what the answer is; she’s the only person I’ve flirted with for the longest time. The only one I’ve felt both comfortable and attracted to that I would even want to flirt with.
“I guess… not,” she admits with a shrug. “Is it because you feel disloyal to Val? You whispered her name in your sleep the morning at the inn.”
Shit. I did what? My tongue freezes in my mouth as I pour more wine into her glass. Also, how does she do that? Ask the questions that I don’t even want to ask myself? Taking a breath, I force myself to say, “Um, I believe you have already asked your allotted question for the day. Not to mention a bonus one.” I force my voice to be light even as my heart squeezes.
Trust me to give up all my secrets in my sleep. It does sting… that she doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed that I seemingly whispered another woman’s name in my sleep. I know how I had felt when she did the same thing that night…
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “What about this question since you’re too chicken to answer that last one: what were you even doing in my room that morning? After we’d agreed that Mathis was going to guard me.”
Shit. I’d almost rather answer the other question. But… this might be the chance I have to ask some questions of my own.
I clear my throat, remembering that night like it was just yesterday. “Mathis was taking the main watch, so I was sitting in the room for a little while. You started screaming. In your sleep. A nightmare. You were very distressed. So, I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t—you just kept screaming, wailing at the top of your lungs. I, er, I guess I was scared you’d wake up the whole damn inn, so… I held you.” That’s not a complete untruth. I was afraid of that. It just wasn’t the main reason. Her complete and utter… fear… that night had been so visceral, I couldn't just leave her languishing in it. I would’ve done anything to make it stop. “Anyway, it seemed to help. Not entirely. But… eventually, you quieted and then fell asleep. When I tried to leave, you asked me not to. So… so I stayed.”
“Oh.”
I swallow. “You sounded so pitiful that even Grellor looked like he was going to hug you.”
“But he didn’t, you did.”
“It wasn’t a hug,” I argue. “It was a…compassionate action designed to calm you down and get you to fall the fuck to sleep. ”
She grins, knowing better. “Oh, Rylan, such romantic words. Is this how you tell all the women you looooove them?”
I scoff. “Never have. Never will.”
She blinks and then slowly nods. “Well, then, thank you. For… staying. It must have been quite uncomfortable for you. Not like I had been the nicest to you. Before and after.”
“It was uncomfortable,” I tell her the truth. Waking up curled up next to her, hard and wanting her was just about the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been in my whole damn life. “But you have nothing to thank me for. Whatever you were dreaming of, it was making you extremely distraught.” I weigh up something inside me, and then push on. “Since we’re asking about things we murmur in our sleep, who is Samfer?”
Her face instantly darkens and I almost regret asking. I wouldn’t fault her for deflecting just as I had, but she doesn’t. She’s infinitely braver than I am. I’m not too weak to admit that.
“Samfer is one of the reasons I’m still here. Why I’m staying. Why I didn’t leave the day you brought me here, and why I didn’t leave after my burn out.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know… about the deal I made with your father? Did he tell you about it?”
What is she talking about? “No.” I pull myself to my knees, sitting up straight. A deal with my father? That has never turned out well for anyone. I’m living, barely breathing evidence of that.
Her voice is flat and… resigned as she says, “Samfer was my… guardian. In a sense. After my parents passed away from the Winter Fever that took my magic he moved into our house to take care of me. Though I would’ve been better off alone, without him. Under his ‘care,’ though I loathe to use the word, I unknowingly committed some crimes. What they all were, I couldn’t tell you. Anyway, one day, I woke up, and he was just gone . And had taken almost everything in the house with him, everything my parents had left after they’d… died, save for the cot I was sleeping on and some of my mother’s old clothes, some of their personal effects, things he couldn’t sell, I suppose. After he left, the King’s Guards came banging on the door asking questions about him, about the things I’d done with him. Some questions I didn’t have answers for, and as for the rest, my friends in the village lied to the guards, covered for me. That day in the throne room, after you left, your father threatened to round them all up and throw them in the dungeons if I didn’t stay to train to take the Aquilith trial. I… I could never have lived with myself if they were taken. So… I made a deal for their freedom.” She shrugs as if what she’d just told me was nothing.
Anger streaks through me. Disgust at my father blackmailing her with something so out of her control. “I wouldn’t have let that happen. Let him throw you and your friends into the dungeons. I hope you know that, Eira.” She doesn't say anything, just looks haunted as she stares over the view as if remembering her conversation with my father that day. It’s a look I know well. “I’m so sorry, Eirabella. I told you bringing you here was to keep you safe. I… I didn’t imagine my father would do anything so heartless, so despicable.” Though I should have.
She gives me a tight, sad smile. “It’s not your fault. It’s fucking Samfer’s fault.”
In all the times she’s insulted me, yelled my name with hate and loathing it’s never sounded so bitter as when she spits her former guardian’s name. It makes me wonder what she endured under his care. And how I can find him and make him pay, slowly and painfully, for any unhappiness he ever caused her.
“ Fucking Samfer ,” I say, echoing her words .
Surprisingly, for that, she gives me a wide grin. “Damn right!” she giggles and raises her glass in a toast.
I reach over and clink her glass with mine. “I’m sorry for sleeping in your room after you’d asked me not to. I hope you understand why now. I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you, or make you feel unsafe in any way.”
She nods. “I understand now.”
“I’m glad. Or else, I’d have had to tell everyone you drool like a troll in front of a roast boar buffet in your sleep,” I add, with a grin.
Her mouth drops open and she conjures a snowball as if out of nowhere and smashes it into my face before I can even react.
“What blasphemy!” I shout through a mouthful of snow and laughter. It tastes sweet like raspberries. Her magic’s signature smells just like her. “Violence against your beloved prince and mentor!”
She just falls over, hugging her side as she laughs. “I’m not going to lie. Knowing that one day I was going to be able to do that was what was motivating me to train so much.”
I let out a snort. “Glad I could be of help. Now at least show me you can clean it up!”
With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she flicks her wrist and the snow is suddenly gone, and I’m bone dry again. Done without so much as a sweat. She leans back again, downing the last of her wine and conjures a tendril of water to take the glass from her hand and lay it down on the ground beside her, before disappearing as if never there. Such a manoeuvre comes second nature to her now, I can’t help noticing proudly.
“Back to the husband thoughts,” she muses. “All this”—she waves her hand, gesturing to the castle and its surroundings—“it’s a lot. Like you said, you think about it all the time, the kingdom, the people. That’s a lot going on in your head. I want someone who’s present. Someone who... I don’t know. Can be in the moment. With me. Put me first. Not all the time. But at least some of the time.” She sighs, as if imagining such a man. And he’s obviously not me.
The way she says it, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Can be in the moment with me, put me first.” But for me, she might as well have asked for someone to pluck the moon from the sky for her. But wouldn’t it be nice? my mind whispers. To live in the moment. To be present with her?
She leans in closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Anyway, I stand by my declaration that you’d be terrible at being a husband,” she adds, her grin widening. “And you haven’t convinced me otherwise.”
“I’m not terrible at anything,” I reply, amused. “And I mean… anything. Name it. I’m good at it.”
The edges of her mouth curl up, and what I would give to hear exactly what is on her mind right now. “Oh, I could name a few things, but then I’d be compelled to make you prove just how good you are at them, Your Highness, and I’m not sure that that would be a good thing for either of us,” she teases, her hand landing on my knee, her fingers tracing small circles there. The touch is light, playful, but it sends heat through me all the same. “Fun, but probably not wise.”
I watch her for a moment, her pink cheeks, her bright teal eyes, the way her ebony, blue-streaked hair catches the sunlight. I scooch a little closer, just because I can. She’s clearly drunk, but the honesty she’s displaying isn’t all that different from her sober self. It’s just a little more… slurry. But her openness, her way of sharing what she’s passionate about, her joy for life, it’s the same. As is her complete disregard for the walls I’ve spent my entire life building around myself and the way she has constantly torn them down with the softest, simplest of words like they’re nothing .
She tips her head back again, staring up at the heavens, her giggles bubbling out like music. “You know, I have a feeling I won’t remember much of this tomorrow.” She laughs softly, the sound free and uninhibited, and it tugs at something deep inside me. `
And that’s when I feel the words slip out before I can stop them. I lean over her, my face desperately close to her. “Gods, it’s dangerous being around you, Eira,” I whisper, my voice lower now, rougher, almost needy. “You make me want to do things that I shouldn’t.”
Her eyes meet mine, hazy with her inebriation, the laughter fading as a more serious look flickers in them. “Like what?” she asks, her voice barely audible.
I lean in, my lips almost brushing hers, my heart pounding in my chest. “Like you make me want to say fuck it all and kiss you until we both forget where we are, who we are. Kiss you until you beg me to strip you down to nothing but your soft, sweet skin and trace my tongue over every inch of you until every sliver of you is burned into my mind. You make me want to flick my tongue over your sweet little clit, tasting you, drinking you, until I make you so hot and needy for me that you beg to climb over me and slide yourself onto my cock, the same cock that you have made achingly hard since the moment I met you. You make me want to fuck you, harder and deeper than you’ve ever been fucked before, so that you’re screaming my name, and begging for more, and just as you’re about to come, I’m going to slide down your body and drive my tongue into you again and again and again, until there’s nothing left in your mind but the memory of me making you come completely undone on my face. And then… we’ll do it all over again.”
Her sultry, velvety soft eyes widen, and for a moment, I think I’m going to do it.
Do everything I’ve just said. I think I’m going to give in .
Into every want, every need. Even though I know I can’t.
Not now. Not ever .
“But I can’t,” I murmur, finally pulling back, though every part of me screams to close the distance between us.
The look of disappointment in her eyes nearly breaks me, but I know this is the right thing to do. “Why not?” she whispers, her voice filled with hurt.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Because… about a million different reasons. The first of which being you’re my disciple, and you’re under my protection. I can’t cross that line, Eira. Not when there are a thousand dangers out there waiting for you. And… you deserve better than... this. Better than me. You deserve all the things you want. I can’t… be the things you just said you needed in a man. Although I wish I could.” My voice softens, but the tension remains, simmering just beneath the surface. “Not to mention, you wouldn’t remember it even if it happened. And that would be a damn shame.”
“Well, that’s too bad. I think I would’ve liked doing all those things you just said,” she says with a pout, though it’s hard to tell how serious she is with the wine making her playful, uninhibited. “I told you, you’re no fun. Kissing me… fucking me doesn’t have anything to do with being my husband,” she says with a wink, and I think I’m almost about to give in again. “Think how much easier life could be if you could just let go, Prince Rylan?” Her words slur even more, as if my confession is already far from her mind.
Thank fuck. What was I thinking saying those things? “I never claimed to be easy, Eira.”
She nudges me playfully, and I can’t help but smile. “No. You didn’t. You’re not easy at all. But I lied.” She pokes me in the chest. “You’re much more fun than I expected. Surprisingly. ”
Her head falls heavily against my shoulder, and I let it stay there, savouring the warmth of her closeness. “You’ve surprised me too, Eira,” I admit quietly, remembering saying those words to her in the courtyard. “In ways I didn’t think were possible.” The tenderness in her gaze stirs something deep and dormant inside me. But I push it down. “You’re exhausted. And very, very drunk,” I say, my voice soft. “Get some rest.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles. “You’re bossy, you know that?”
“I do, it’s my job,” I say, smirking as I brush my fingers along her arm. “And right now, my job is also to make sure you’re taken care of, my sweet disciple. You did well today.” I pull the picnic blanket up over the both of us.
Her smile softens, and her head drops lower, against my chest, her body relaxing against mine. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she mumbles sleepily, her voice slurred with wine. “Not easy, but handsome. Too serious but also funny. Terrifying but also kind. I don’t know what to make of you at all, Rylan. Not at all. But I wish you’d let me. I wish that so much.”
I smile down at her, running my fingers gently through her hair. “Shhh, get some sleep, Eira.” The warmth of her, the feel of her so close... it’s too much, but I don’t move. If it could be so, I’d never move from this spot ever again.
“Yes, Your Highness. And I’ll try not to drool this time,” she sleepily murmurs. As her breathing slows and her body relaxes against mine, I feel the weight of everything seemingly disappearing. The crown, the kingdom, the rebellion… here, with her, it all fades.
“And Eira? You already know me better than most,” I whisper, my lips brushing her forehead. And for just a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to have this—really have this. To let her in, to let myself have her, even for just a moment.
The city streets are quiet tonight, but not in the way that puts you at ease. It’s the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like a storm waiting to break. I lead the patrol with Mathis and Grellor at my sides, their footfalls matching mine as we weave through the narrow streets, the cobblestones slick underfoot. The lanterns flicker in the night breeze, casting long shadows against the walls.
There’s a tension in the air, something we’ve all felt for weeks now. The people are restless, murmurs of rebellion louder than they’ve ever been. The King’s Guard has tried to keep control, to stay ahead of it, but it’s like holding back a flood with a sprinkling of sand.
“Enjoy your little picnic this morning?” Mathis teases me to lighten the mood.
I just throw him a glare. I’d had to tell him where I was so that half the King’s Guard hadn’t combed the castle looking for me while I’d wanted some privacy with Eirabella. As the Captain of the Guard, he’d done a good job protecting me. But as my best friend, he’d done an even better job of being a right pain in my ass.
“Shut up about that, already. I just wanted to give her a treat.” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t continue the conversation. I take the chance to ask him something else. “Have you heard from Yosef?”
He shakes his head, his expression tight. “Not since last week. He was supposed to check in yesterday, but nothing yet. Could be he’s just lying low.”
I nod, though the knot in my gut tightens. Lying low isn’t like Yosef. He’s sneaky and cunning. And very good at his job. If he hasn’t had a chance to report in, there must be a good reason. And that’s what worried me.
Before I can press further, the sound of breaking wood snaps through the air, followed by a chorus of panicked cries. My pulse spikes.
“Trouble,” I mutter, picking up the pace, my hand already gripping the hilt of my sword.
We push through the narrow alley that opens into the square, and the scene hits me like a punch to the gut. People are shouting, running, pushing past one another as chaos unfolds in front of us. There’s a group of men at the centre, armed with makeshift weapons, clashing with townsfolk and guards alike.
The shouts grow louder, cutting through the night air like jagged glass. I feel the palpable fear crackle through me as we near the crowd, and I know this has the potential to get ugly fast. Mathis and Grellor flank me, ready, my pulse racing as the first blow is struck—a heavy crash of weapons falling, and a scream that rips through the noise.
We rush forward, swords drawn. The crowd is seemingly turning on itself, but I know better. There are instigators mixed in with the innocent townsfolk, pushing, fighting, inciting the violence against the growing storm of bodies and chaos. I shove through the crowd, my focus narrowing. I won’t let this get out of hand. Not while I’m here.
“Split up!” I bark to Mathis and Grellor, and we expertly rush forward to take our places, our blades drawn. The rest of the guards take up their places around the square.
Then, as if on cue, mayhem explodes around us. A man charges toward me, a crude blade in his hand. His eyes are wild, desperate, as are his movements. I parry easily, my sword meeting his with a ringing clash of steel. The sheer force of the blow knocks him back, and before he can recover, I twist, knocking the weapon from his hand with a swift strike .
“Stay down,” I growl at him in warning, but there’s no time to wait—another attacker comes at me from the side. I twist, avoiding the strike, and slam the hilt of my sword into his gut. He crumples, wheezing, and I move on.
Mathis is already in the thick of it to my left, his sword flashing as he takes down another attacker. Grellor is several feet from him, his brute strength overpowering two men who try to rush him.
I feel the heat building inside me, the magic stirring, but I hold it back, waiting. Fire is dangerous in a crowd like this—too many innocent people could get hurt, water too hard to control for close targets. But the moment I spot one of the instigators raising a flaming torch, ready to hurl it into a nearby stall, I react without thinking.
I flick my wrist, and water surges from the nearby fountain, dousing the torch and the man holding it. He stumbles back, gasping as the wave slams into him, knocking him off balance. I twist my hand, and the water follows my command, swirling around his legs and binding him in place.
“Stay down, if you don’t want to get hurt worse,” I shout at him as I turn to face the next threat.
Another man charges at me, and this time I let the fire surge. Heat blooms in my palms, a controlled fireball, and I sweep my hand forward, sending a wave of fire across the ground. The flames lick at the man’s feet, forcing him to stumble back without burning him. His eyes widen in fear, and I use the moment to disarm him with a strike of my forearm.
The air is thick with the scent of sweat, fear, and smoke. Everywhere I turn, the attackers are pushing harder, desperate to break through the line. But we’re faster, better trained. The guards are holding, their blades flashing as they fight to maintain control.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of our own—Rorik, a younger guard—raise his sword high, about to bring it down on a man who’s already on the ground, defenceless.
“Stop!” I shout, grabbing his arm before the blade can fall. “He’s already down.”
Before he can respond, a rough voice cuts through the chaos: “Death to the royal family! Death to the king! Death to the Celestaris and the Keepers! You’re nothing but a brood of greedy tyrants! And the time is coming for each and every one of you!”
I whirl around in time to see the man who’s yelling lunge toward me, but before he can get far, one of the King’s Guard cuts him down, slashing his side. Blood spatters the cobblestones, and the man falls to his knees, clutching his wound.
Even through the pain, he shouts again, “Look at them! Look at how brutal they are!”
I catch sight of the tattoo on his arm—a familiar dagger, but crude and jagged on his scarred skin. My heart races, but I keep calm. I stride forward, pulling the guard back before he can strike again.
“Let him be,” I say, my voice hard.
I crouch down, grabbing the man by his collar, yanking him up until his eyes meet mine.
“Who are you speaking for?” I demand, my voice low.
“Kyros Valen! And Nir’ath Darin!” he spits. “The rebellion will spill all the blood we need to, to make everyone see that we need true rulers back on the throne!”
My grip tightens, my fury rising. “Look around; we’re not the ones hurting the people.”
He rears back and spits in my face, yanking out of my hold and slipping out into the watching crowd before I can stop him.
“Grellor,” I growl low to my own trusted guard, “follow him. I want to know where he’s going.”
“Sir. ”
“Rorik!” I shout for the younger guard. “Make sure no one else gets hurt. If there are injuries, get them taken care of.”
He nods, squaring his shoulders at the responsibility, already moving to rally the guards and calm the crowd. Once I’m satisfied he has it under control, I cock my head; Mathis knows what I mean.
We slip into the shadows of a nearby alley, away from the noise. I turn to Mathis, my voice tense. “Did you see the tattoo?”
Mathis nods, his expression grim. “I saw it.”
“Not one of Nir’ath Darin.”
His face is grim when he shakes his head.
I exhale slowly, the weight of it all settling in. “You know what this means.”
He sighs as he says, his voice tight, “We have even more enemies than we thought.”