Chapter 22 #2
“I don’t know their history, but I do know you deserve more than just a couple of butterflies. There is someone out there who is going to match the absolute greatness that is you,” Bridget said. “And if it’s not Castor, he’s definitely missing out.”
“I am pretty great, right?” With a half-hearted smile, Delphine lifted her chin. Her watery gaze cut to the other side of the room. Alexia stumbled off the treadmill, gasping for breath. “Should we go save her now?”
Fighting a laugh, Bridget shrugged. “Maybe in a few minutes.”
Bridget had never attended a more awkward dinner in her life.
According to Cade, his family used to eat together every night.
It used to be one of his favorite traditions.
Until Riker died. And then he left for three years.
Since then, he’d avoided it like the plague.
Every dinner either turned into a fight about the future or the tournament, according to him.
Bridget eyed the twelve-year-old she wanted to throttle.
Sitting between her and Cade, Nylah stuffed a piece of chicken in her mouth.
They were here because of her. She’d turned her big brown eyes on Cade the moment she’d heard the unwanted invitation from Cassia.
So far, the talking had been minimal. The few short conversations that had transpired all revolved around Quinn, the army, which cities were being reinforced, and a letter Cade needed to deliver to the King of Andarre.
Bridget took a sip of wine and forced some mashed potatoes in her mouth.
The swirling tension in the windowless room was ruining her appetite.
And the long sleeved, blue dress she’d borrowed from Cassia itched her elbows.
“Why is the letter so important?” Cade asked. “It’s not like he replied or acknowledged anything from you in the past.”
Deckard raised a brow. “I’m surprised you ever noticed my efforts between the adolescent partying and escape to the human realm.”
A shuffling to Bridget’s right distracted her from Cade’s terse reply. Nylah pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and gently smoothed it out.
“What’s that?”
“I drew this earlier,” Nylah whispered. She tilted the paper.
On it, a poorly illustrated man sat on a throne.
His wild hair resembled snakes and his nose took up most of his face.
A bolt of lightning shot out of a hand the size of a quarter.
The crown sitting atop the man’s head was Bridget’s only clue that she’d drawn Deckard.
She’d certainly taken creative liberties.
And clearly, Cade hadn’t given her any tips when she asked to borrow his sketchbook.
“That is… something.”
Bridget tried to push the paper further into Nylah’s lap. Deckard looked like a troll. She imagined him flipping over the table if he saw it.
“I’m going to give it to him,” Nylah said, jumping out of her seat before Bridget could stop her.
Falling into her sister’s velvet chair, Bridget’s mouth fell open as she watched Nylah skip around Cade and plant herself next to Deckard at the head of the table.
The king immediately stopped talking. Cade and Cassia dropped their forks.
Bridget lost her ability to form words. If she wasn’t so horrified, the absolute bewilderment on his face would probably make her laugh.
“I don’t believe I summoned you over here,” Deckard said.
Nylah handed him the paper. Silence pierced the air as the king’s dark eyes roamed over the drawing. Bridget held her breath and braced herself for a growl or blast of magic or—
A deep, hearty noise escaped Deckard’s throat. It grew louder the longer he stared at the paper. He was laughing. Bridget couldn’t believe the amused lines forming around his eyes or the way his chest shook. Next to him, Cassia paled like she’d seen a ghost.
“I haven’t gotten one of these in a long time,” Deckard said. After one last chuckle, he put the paper on the table next to his plate and continued to eat.
Bridget locked eyes with Cade. He looked just as confused as she felt. What the hell, he mouthed. With a satisfied smile, Nylah plopped back in her seat between them.
Cassia craned her neck to look at the drawing. Her nose wrinkled. “Is that what passes for art in the human realm?”
“Aren’t stick figures your specialty?” Cade countered.
The room fell into brief, pointed silence.
Deckard’s gaze swept over the table before landing squarely on Cassia. His brow furrowed. “Why are you wearing gloves?”
Bridget’s eyes darted to silk white gloves lacing Cassia’s fingers. A bold choice for dinner.
Cassia glared. “Why do you think?”
Between bites, Nylah cut them off. “What happened to your hair?” she asked Deckard. Her words were slightly muffled by the food in her mouth. “I saw an old painting of you. It used to be brown.”
Bridget remembered the exact one. They’d passed by it during their tour. She’d never seen it before and hadn’t been able to give her any answers. For all she knew, his long white hair had always been that color.
Any previous humor left on Deckard’s face disappeared.
His mouth fell into a straight line. Gripping his knife in his right hand, he said, “When my youngest son succumbed to the effects of magic, I tried to save him. Despite my efforts, it didn’t work.
I couldn’t channel enough power. Consequently, my hair reflected my actions.
The spell I tried to perform drained my hair of its vibrancy.
It seems something similar happened to your sister. ”
Surprise jolted through Bridget’s. She hadn’t expected the honest words, nor the acknowledgement of her. He’d been avoiding speaking to her all night. Peeking at Cade over Nylah’s head, Bridget’s heart twisted. The hard lines of his face were steeled into a cold mask.
Across from him, Cassia wasn’t as composed. Her lower lip trembled. “What are you talking about? What spell did you try to do?”
Deckard cleared his throat and roughly sliced his knife through a large piece of chicken. “It doesn’t matter now. It was a terrible accident and…”
“That’s what you’re calling it now?” Cade growled, his voice low and harsh.
As a flicker of rage began to brew on Deckard’s face, darkness consumed them.