Chapter 53 Carwynn #2
“She went that way!” Breena hollered, dramatically pointing in Aine’s direction.
I had to cross my legs as I doubled over laughing. The dress was too classy for accidents.
A hand came to my chest as I steadied my breath, trying to come down off the high.
And then I felt it. That subtle itch at the base of my skull. An involuntary shiver crawled up my spine, like a finger trailing it. Someone was watching me.
I searched the masses, letting my inkling guide me down that rope.
There he was. Tucked in the shadows behind a pillar, Pogue.
Glacial eyes branded me in place. His face was unnervingly calm, wiped clean of emotions. An overstretched mask concealed everything away, maybe a secret that liked being kept.
His brazen stare didn’t waver, and neither did mine. We both held onto the connection, not knowing exactly what it was, but silently accepted its presence.
A second figure caught my attention, not far from Pogue.
Finley. Holding two bubbling flutes, his eyes drilled into Pogue, frosted and accusing. Then he looked at me. His gaze softened, almost mournful.
When I glanced back, Pogue had vanished.
Flares shot off in my mind. Pogue, Finley—something was off between them. Whatever it was, it was winding tighter like an overstrained cable ready to snap.
I needed to know what was going on. If they were keeping me in the dark, then I knew just the person to ask. The one who seemed to know everything . . .
“I’ll be right back,” I said, placing a hand on Breena’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get our tokens from Lochlainn.”
“Aine has ours already,” Breena chirped. “Go get yours and we’ll do it together!”
I nodded, trying to keep my face from cracking with worry. Turning, I weaved through the swell of bodies.
Dancers swirled in giddy clusters, laughter chiming like bells.
Others hugged the walls, gossiping and barking stories over pints of sparkling drink in their hands.
I adjusted course, fixing my sights on the far corner of the ballroom where a familiar ginger-haired bastard loved to gamble and grin through every one-upping he dished out.
But I didn’t get far.
Deep red hair—closer to my own shade—and gold-flecked eyes blocked my path.
Not the ginger I was looking for.
Faelad.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor yet,” he said. His voice had a deep rasp that slid over his tongue like velvet. A hand extended—an invitation to dance. Perfectly casual. Perfectly polite.
God, I really needed that drink.
Refusing the host of the party would be bad manners and refusing the Lord, bad all around. So I placed my hand in Faelad’s and forced a cordial smile to my face.
“I’d be honored.” I dipped into a brief bow.
He guided me into position with meticulous care, ever the regal robot of etiquette.
The music slowed, no doubt the musicians having spotted their Lord. He led and I followed. Slow, gliding steps. A sophisticated dance meant for viewing, not words. I kept my gaze pinned over his shoulder, but I could feel it—the constant, quiet weight of him watching me.
“Ya look so much like your mother,” he said reverently, studying my face as if searching for her ghost.
My jaw slacked, startled.
I knew David and my mother confided in Faelad before I was born, had shared concerns about the realm and made plans. Something in Faelad’s voice suggested their relationship wasn’t all politics.
“You knew her well?” I pressed, trying not to stumble over my own feet.
“As well as I was able.” His smile curled slightly, slow and sad, a silhouette of dimmed brightness.
“She had the most wild energy about her. Truly magnificent—most beautiful.” If only in the smallest fraction, his face brightened.
“And her wit—by golden stars, that sharp tongue of hers was brilliant. Could cleave a man in two.” A faint chuckle escaped him.
A warmth settled in my chest. Hearing about my mother, how vibrant, clever, and fierce she’d been, felt like kindling dropped into the icy hollow of my heart.
There was compassion in the way he looked at me, although seemingly more complicated. A fondness—like I was both memory and an echo.
“I only know the stories David’s told me. She sounds pretty badass,” I muttered, and a weak smile painted my mouth. “Wish I’d known her.”
The thought tightened my throat, feeling like a specter, cold and in mourning. I swallowed it down.
Faelad’s eyes met mine, holding strong.
“I think you’re more like her than you know,” he said, tone low and distant, as if it solely belonged to the past. “I see that same spark in your eyes—you carry her spirit around with you.”
I felt the gentle sting of tears, but inhaled, and refused to spill them. The admiration in his voice had hit too deep.
“I could say the same of you and your nephew,” I quipped, not realizing until too late that I’d prodded the wrong wound.
A hand stiffened on my back. His face didn’t falter, but something flickered, definitely sharp and sore.
Seemed someone was haunted by his own ghosts too.
“Perhaps,” Faelad said, flatly. Words clipped and careful. “Lochlainn makes a point to avoid me at all costs, so you’ll never get us close enough to make the comparison.” It was meant as dry humor, but I saw right through it. A mask covering the hurt.
“Why?” I asked quietly.
I knew I shouldn’t have kept digging, but the question itched beneath my skin. It didn’t add up. Both men were clever and powerful, yet Faelad allowed Lochlainn to run around rampant, unchecked, surrounded by a pack of pesky thugs.
Why?
Faelad let out an exhausted breath as his eyes drifted toward the back of the ballroom. When he looked at me again, it was with a kind of disheartenment.
“Lochlainn was meant to be Lord.” The words hit like a heavy boot slamming down a silent room.
Um—what?
“He was only a child,” Faelad explained, face pinching in.
“Luckland needed a strong ruler after his parents’ tragedy.
” He paused, mouth pressing together. I recognized the gesture, an attempt to hold back emotions from flooding in.
“Though it was unprecedented, I was second in line. So I took his father’s place.
” His voice went low, coated in something unspoken.
Regret? Guilt? I shuddered to think if it were something darker. “Lochlainn’s resented me ever since.”
Holy hell.
The fogged window of their relationship suddenly wiped clean in my mind. Yeah . . . a resentful nephew with a guilt-twinged uncle who let him stomp around town like a tweed-wrapped thug. That made sense now.
“I’m sorry. For all of your losses,” I said solemnly. “I’m sure that was a difficult time.”
Faelad dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“We can only play the cards we’re dealt,” he murmured, “and hope luck doesn’t run out.”
His half-smile hid something unreadable, likely knowing.
“May the fates bless ya during the Trials. We’re fortunate to have ya representing our land and all that it stands for—loyalty to our people, and to the good of the realm.
” A profound look pinned me in place. “Maura believed you’d be meant for greatness.
We’re counting on that, more than ya know. ”
As if unconsciously, his grip squeezed in silent plea.
“Thank you,” I replied, working a polite smile to my lips. “I’ll do my best not to let you all down.”
What did he know and why wasn’t he saying it?
Faelad stepped back, and he dipped into a deep, regal bow, then receded into the crowd.
Well that was . . . odd. To say the least.
My mind was engulfed by the flames of curiosity. How did the previous Lord and Lady die? Why did the way Faelad said they were counting on me sound like a hex wrapped in silk?
My stomach growled, dragging my thoughts back to reality.
Finley was nowhere in sight, so my feet headed toward the banquet table.
The gold-trimmed cloth sparkled under the warm glow of the orbs above.
Food piled sky-high on tiered gilded trays—pastries, shiny fruits, chocolate-dipped everything, and gold-flaked cakes stacked like edible castle walls.
Steam billowed from the far end. Rich gravies, spiced meats, fresh-baked breads, and savory delights arranged like a luxurious charcuterie board.
My hand reached for a familiar truffle, hoping it was the same carrot cake one I’d had at the market. Just as I plucked it, the table rattled. Trays clinked as something thudded beneath.
The chocolate toppled out of my fingers and down to the floor. I bent to retrieve it when a plump little hand shot out from under the table and snatched it up.
“You little—” I cursed, grabbing a handful of fabric and lifting it up.
There they were. Huck and Pudge. Sprawled out like lazy security guards drinking on the job.
Gravy stains splattered their tunics, an artistic crime scene.
Judging by the pile of discarded half-bitten treats, they’d been doing this for some time now.
Pudge froze mid-chew, his tousled strawberry curls askew. Huck scrunched his face into a dramatic cringe, caramel-brown eyes pleading innocence.
“I’m telling D—”
Flash!
The tiny gremlins vanished before I could finish.
“Feral little raccoons,” I mumbled under my breath.
I reached for another truffle, but my inkling flared again—razor-sharp, angry, urgent. Hair rose on my arms and a piercing cold licked at my ankles. In the corner of my vision, a dark mass darted across the ballroom.
I whipped around. But there was nothing. Just music and laughter. The uninterrupted merriment of the evening.
Rolling my shoulders, I tried to shake it off. But it still clung to me, prickling the edges of my mind.
Without thought, my feet moved. Bodies of rough and silky materials suffocated me as I made my way to the quieter edge of the room.
That’s when I saw it—a door. Cracked open enough to draw my attention.
I slipped through. A long, grand marble hallway stretched before me, glimmering sconces casting light across the floor.
I didn’t know what wing of the castle I’d wandered into, but it didn’t matter.
My senses were too invested . . . and I was now invested too.
Voices. Two of them. Deep and tense, volleying back and forth.
I crept closer, drawn in like a magnet to trouble, padding my feet softly on the floor, careful not to give myself away.
I recognized the tones immediately. Lochlainn. Pogue.
Eavesdropping was childish, but I did it anyways. There was a weight to their conversation. It felt like bugs crawling over my skin.
“. . . too important,” Lochlainn’s snapped.
“So is she your pet, then?” Pogue seethed, his words carving for blood. “The moment she arrived, you assigned Finley to follow her—playing the charming, innocent pup, reporting back. And for what? To get him close enough to properly leash her now?”