10 Imogen #3
But I saw it all. The sun lit everything with shining clarity.
The stoic woman in blue robes reminded me of a sturdy pillar.
She stood straight, her black hair slicked and marbled with white, and the pleats of her heavy clothes were so perfectly uniform they appeared as carved grooves.
Eftan was as he’d ever been, stout and prim, scowling and indignant.
And utterly disappointed in his king. He didn’t bother hiding it.
Lachlan had been right to worry that Theodore’s council would turn on him. And I… I’d been right to leave when I had. I forced my attention back to Theodore and his torturous gaze. “I deny your request.”
I wanted to curl back into my hammock belowdecks. I had never wished for Theodore to see me like this, desperate and empty, with matted hair and a body crushed by pain and grief. And yet there he stood, his gaze locked on me in the morning light.
“Halla, I’m certain your husband is downhearted to know you have fed such a terrible monster for so long.” I pulled myself straight, keeping my eyes on her. “Helping me with this spell will surely win you back some favor. That is what you wish for, isn’t it? Favor?”
Halla looked to Theodore with rounded, desperate eyes, and I knew I’d struck the proper chord. It was favor she sought.
Eftan had turned crimson. He pushed his way toward me. “This is a farce. Your Majesty, if we give another moment of our attention to this proscribed criminal, I will see to it that—”
“That what?” Theodore cut him off, threat tensing his every muscle. Even in the face of one of his king’s most reductive glowers, Eftan kept his head high.
The captain had ordered a launch boat to be readied. Beside me, sailors heaved it on its pulleys, but I’d fallen motionless, arrested by the way Theodore strode toward me with staggering purpose. Too close, too fast.
Lachlan urged me toward the launch. “Get in.”
As I hurried to do so, a hand clamped around my wrist. It was hot, and firm, and sent sparks shooting up my arm. My body pulsed as Theodore tugged me toward him until my shoulder pressed into his hard chest.
Lachlan lunged. “Let her go.”
But neither he nor I moved. The world seemed to turn misty. There was only Theodore’s menacing face tipped down to mine and his heat seeping through me. Slowly, he raised his other hand and took the front of my uniform into a tight fist.
Hot, sludgy power began to pour through my stomach.
He spoke quietly, his words a deep scrape. “What in the name of the Gods do you think you’re doing?”
My blood scalded my veins. “Release me.”
His head tilted in warning. “Imogen—”
Lachlan’s sword rang as he pulled it from its scabbard. The silvered point glinted at the edge of my vision, where he held it toward Theodore’s chest.
Only Theodore’s furious eyes cut toward Lachlan. “Stand down.”
Lachlan didn’t budge. “My sword is pledged to Queen Imogen until our journey is complete.”
Theodore scowled, dubious gaze darting between Lachlan and me, before his mouth flattened into a line.
I knew he could feel the wild race of my heart beneath his hand. “Release me.”
He shook his head, just barely. “You’re hurt.”
“You’re married.” It was a pathetic thing to say, made more so by the way my voice cracked.
His face softened, even as his desperate grip on the front of my coat firmed.
“Theodore…” I said his name softy, so only he could hear. “I’m fine.”
His knowing look lanced through me. “Liar.”
My mouth fell open, but no defense came forth.
I wasn’t certain how much time passed as we stood like that, close and angry, taking each other in, one feature, one breath, at a time.
The corner of his full mouth began to lift.
Not quite a smile, not quite a frown, but it revealed that lone dimple in his cheek all the same, and my resolve shattered.
My fingertips burned as my talons stretched forth. I shoved his chest. “Release me. Now.”
Dark heat reared through me as Theodore stumbled back, arms out at his sides to keep his balance. Lachlan swept in between us, his sword poised to protect me. I grasped for some composure, which was a feat with sailors, Theodore’s council, and Halla watching on with wolfish, shocked attention.
Eftan crossed the deck with measured steps and stopped at the tip of Lachlan’s blade. He gave me a small smile, dark eyes glittering with loathing. “In time…”
He did not need to speak the whole of the threat for me to understand.
Lachlan held his sword higher, the end now trained on Eftan’s throat. The chancellor’s entire countenance remained cold, locked on me, until he eventually began a reluctant retreat.
I set a shaking hand to the middle of Lachlan’s backplate. “Thank you,” I whispered, grateful for how he had not once balked.
“Get in the boat,” was all he said in response.
I finally gathered myself enough to move, took a step toward the launch, and froze. In the midst of the chaos, Lachlan had drawn a second blade.
A dagger, clasped tightly behind him, and its sharp end was pointed directly at me.