1 Imogen #2
Something cracked in my chest and all I could do was hold his unfeeling gaze, hoping to dredge up some shame or remorse in him.
Quickly, he flicked his eyes toward the top of the stairs, and the guards turned me roughly.
I spun like a cloth doll, loose and lolling, as they hauled me up to the flower garden.
Each jostle drew a whimper until finally they released me at the top of the stairs, where I fell to the soft grass in a tremoring heap.
Slowly, as the guards all filed in and Lachlan came to stand before me, I sat myself back on my haunches. I went still, quiet. For a desperate moment, I thought to search for my power beneath my heavy shroud of pain. To send out a slew of lures at once and see myself unchained.
The tinny scrape of a dagger torn from its sheath stopped me.
Lachlan shook his head. “I see your wheels turning.” He stooped to pick up the chain that hung between my cuffs. “Use your power”—he pointed the dagger directly at me—“and I’ll have no choice but to use this.”
I locked my gaze onto its silver point. “You wouldn’t have the chance.” Then I studied the resolute look in his dark-rimmed eyes. There was no scheming in that look, no covert meaning in his threat. It set me off-balance, how we had gone from a warm, if awkward, farewell just yesterday to this.
“Two of my guards are Siren-bound, Imogen,” Lachlan said. “They’ll kill you before you can beg. And I’ve told you before, I have no desire to see you dead.”
I’d known Lachlan’s fears over how I might set Varya toward ruin from the first. He’d threatened and scolded me and made his dislike clear. Our discord had sat between us like a reared-back weapon, but I’d never once thought he would bring it crashing down so violently.
He lifted his brows in unhappy irony and gave my chain a tug. “Rise, Your Majesty.”
Not long ago, the Mage Seer had given my guidance: Take what you want. I wanted to curse and gnash. I wanted to scream and be heeded and see all these guards on their knees. But I also wished, more than all else, to live.
I stood with my clamped teeth bared.
The garden around us swayed in a soft breeze as Lachlan led me by the chain—my crown and sword in his other fist—with two of his guards trailing.
Slowly, painfully, we wove through riotous beds of orange and yellow and pink blooms. We passed the glittering fountain that cradled three proud Siren statues in its center. With each step my throat grew thicker.
I’d returned to this place with the purpose of ending a threat, but as I moved closer to the palace, glowing pure white in the afternoon sun, I remembered that I was the danger cutting through the grounds. I was the terror encroaching.
When we crossed under a sun-dappled tunnel of vines, its blooms yawning and plentiful, I stumbled over my own leaden feet.
My pain thrummed. Sparks flew through my vision.
I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the warm rays of light and how they kissed my cheekbones, but it made me think of Theodore.
As intemperate and corrupted as I was, I could never risk his safety, even for Agatha.
A dark and terrifying desire began to flood me at the very thought of him.
It came on like a fever, heat storming through my veins.
My mouth watered with a hunger that needed sating.
I yearned for his blood, for his flesh between my teeth. For his soft lips against mine.
I stopped hard in my tracks. Terror clogged my throat. I could hardly delineate between my own care and desire and the way Eusia wanted to consume him.
Lachlan turned, brow knitted as he glared at me over his pauldron.
“Don’t…” I whispered, struggling to keep my eyes from welling. “Don’t let me near him.”
Unlike Theodore, Lachlan’s face was readily sculpted by his emotions.
Sympathy softened his stern brow, but on its heels came a flash of suspicion.
There was a question he wanted answered, a wariness he needed soothed.
I held his glare and tried to will his trust, ignoring entirely whether I deserved it.
He gave a brisk nod, and then his gaze cut to the soldiers behind me. “You’re dismissed. I have her from here.”
“Sir, we’ll take her,” one of them objected. “You’re not safe with her alone.”
Not safe. How strange to have lived so long ruled by my own fears, only to become the source of it for others.
“You’ve been given your orders,” he said, and started back down the path, toward the palace. A high whimper split my lips at the sudden movement.
Good. Now we would be free to speak. I could try to pull him to my side.
The guards lingered behind us for a moment, and I studied the rigid line of Lachlan’s shoulders, the determined yet vacant way he moved now, as if a vital piece of him had been carved away and it was only sheer force of will that animated him.
It was so unlike him. Even in his anger he’d been effusive, glinting with mischief.
“Lach, wait,” I said, as we reached the empty palace terrace. I tried to slow my steps, but he kept our pace, pressing onward toward the glass door. “Gods damn it, you asshole. It’s about Agatha.”
His strides hitched. I’d found the crack in his armor, and I knew how tender the flesh was beneath. My words were a well-honed blade. “I know where she is.”
But they didn’t pierce. Lachlan carried on, doggedly as before, and led me through the door.