34. Chapter 34 #2
“Oh, I’m not a noble.” Her smile stayed easy, even as her fingers fidgeted against the folds of her dress. “Lady Isolde was correct, at least about that.” She paused, squinting slightly. “And you are? I remember you from last week, I think, but I never caught your name.”
“Tharan.” He pulled a glowing tablet from his coat and tapped the screen with a stylus. “And you are?”
“Emmaline.” She shrugged. “A clerk for Lord Greymane.”
Tharan’s eyes looked down, taking in the sweep of her dress. “Really? That’s spider silk.” His brow lifted. “It’s been centuries since I’ve seen anyone wearing the real thing.”
Emmaline’s smile brightened, genuine this time. “You like it? It was my mother’s.” A pause. “From before… well, before everything changed.”
His mouth flattened slightly, but he nodded. “I see.” He slid the stylus back into a narrow pocket. “Now, about those accusations from Lady Isolde…”
She opened her eyes wide, innocence dialed up just enough to make Deyric cough softly into his fist.
“I honestly have no idea what she’s talking about.” Her voice dropped, conspiratorial. “But is it true? What they’re saying? About her… and the younger Lord?”
Tharan’s mouth tightened. “It seems so.”
He looked her over, sharper this time. “So, you’re saying you never had a personal relationship with Lord Caelith?”
“No, sir.” A dry, sharp bark of laughter cut the night air clean in two. “Like the Lady, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know my name.”
“Really? She wasn’t the only one who mentioned a servant with an unhealthy fixation on him.”
Fucking Jenni, she thought, but her smile stayed fixed, her pulse the only thing betraying her.
“I suppose I can see why some women might have been interested. He is a Lord, after all.” She tilted her head, leaning into Deyric’s side. “But, Officer, I’m here with my mate.”
The smile she gave him was bright and real, down to the bone, her whole chest tightening—not from nerves, but from the sheer fact that the word fit now, fit better than her own skin.
Tharan’s mouth slipped open, shock rolling across his face. “Mate? There haven’t been any new mate bonds since before the War.”
She pressed closer to Deyric, who didn’t miss a beat, chiming, “The Goddess has been generous.”
“I don’t believe it.” Tharan shook his head, muttering to himself as he scanned his glowing tablet. “Megee! Get over here!”
Before Emmaline could ask what the hell a Megee was, her attention snagged lower—Deyric’s hand sliding down on her back, his palm tracing circles where the dress dipped low, exposing bare skin.
Heat simmered through her, memory flashing of exactly how they’d spent the hours before this little reunion.
“Boss?” A deep, slightly winded voice answered from behind the gliders, and a large male Corgi trotted out of the search formation. His fur was dark with splashes of silver around his muzzle and paws, his ears slightly lopsided like he’d gotten into one too many scraps.
Tharan gestured toward them. “These two are telling me they’re mates.”
“Like… from the Goddess?” Megee took a cautious step closer, nose lifting. “Oh, hells. That would explain why the pups keep getting distracted.”
Tharan’s brow furrowed. “What?”
Megee edged even closer, sniffing once, twice—then gagged, coughing like he’d swallowed his own tongue. “Great Goddess preserve me—yeah, yeah. Confirmed. They’re mates. No question.”
He staggered back another step, shaking his head like it might clear the air. “Goddess, that’s pungent.”
Heat climbed Emmaline’s neck, burning straight to her ears, while Deyric, the bastard, just laughed low and entirely too pleased with himself.
“Does that answer your question, Officer?” Deyric asked.
Tharan didn’t answer right away, eyes blinking too fast, like he couldn’t decide whether to bow or start praying. “Amazing.” His voice came soft, almost reverent. “She favors us once more.” He stared off into the distance.
Deyric looked to Emmaline, caught her shrug, then stepped in before the silence could stretch too long. “Sir?”
The officer startled, clearing his throat.
“Oh—yes!” He straightened his shoulders and tried for something resembling authority.
“Apologies, sir. It’s just… It’s been so long since we’ve seen mates.
It’s…” He swallowed, emotions threatening to swarm him again before he managed to recover.
“It’s good. It’s been too long since the Goddess last smiled on the Ellyllon. ”
Deyric gave a polite nod, but Emmaline arched a brow. “And Isolde’s accusations?”
Tharan waved the suggestion off like a bad smell. “Ridiculous. Of course. No one with a mate would tempt fate like that. Even for a Lord.”
His voice trailed off, eyes flicking to Emmaline, the wheels turning behind his eyes—
Unless under coercion.
He didn’t say it. Didn’t have to. The silence said it for him.
His gaze softened into something worse than suspicion—pity.
Deyric stepped forward without hesitation, blocking Emmaline from view. “Can we go?”
Tharan’s head jerked in a nod. “Yes. Yes, of course. Please, enjoy your night.”
Deyric turned, taking Emmaline’s hand, fingers interlocking with hers as he led her toward the gate. She followed, but her head stayed turned, watching the officer until they were nearly out of sight.
“Almost done,” Deyric whispered against her ear, his breath warm, grounding her as they crossed into the night.
“Sir!”
The shout rang out behind them, freezing Emmaline in place.
Deyric spun, planting himself between her and Tharan once more, every muscle in his back as tight as a drawn bowstring.
Emmaline’s arms slid around his waist, hands curling into the fine silk still stretched across his chest. She pressed her cheek to his spine, breathing him in, trying to memorize the feel of him—just in case this was the last time.
This is it. He’s taking me in.
But Tharan didn’t draw his weapon. Didn’t call for backup.
“They won’t get away with this kind of thing anymore.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll see to it personally, and the Sentinel himself will back me.”
He offered his hand—not to Emmaline, but to Deyric.
“Whatever happened here… you’ll never hear from the Patrol about it.” His gaze flicked past Deyric’s shoulder, meeting Emmaline’s eyes for one fleeting second. “Go. Live in the Goddess’s light.”
Deyric shook his hand, grip firm, no words needed.
Tharan turned on his heel and walked back toward the castle, shoulders squared like a man stepping onto a battlefield he knew he might not survive. And for a long breath, neither of them moved. Then Deyric’s fingers brushed her cheek.
“Told you.” His mouth pulled into a smirk. “The Goddess likes us.”
“Ha!” She shoved him lightly as they stepped back onto the road. “She’s got shite taste, then.”
Deyric’s hand slid lower, fingers reaching just under the edge of her dress, teasing the skin at her hip. “Worked out in my favor.”
She rolled her eyes, but her grin didn’t fade.
They walked side by side into the night, hand in hand, making for the tavern where Ursula was almost guaranteed to still be drinking.
Emmaline’s feet ached, her body still thrumming with satisfaction and the phantom sting of fingernails and teeth—and through it all, a thought tickled at the edge of her mind.
If the Goddess had been generous enough to saddle her with Deyric, what poor bastard was going to end up matched with Margo next?
Or Cassidy.
Or Ursula.
She snickered to herself.
Love in the Vale was going to be a godsdamned bloodsport if the Goddess was involved again—and Emmeline wouldn’t miss a second of it.