43. Chapter 43 #2
“She did.” I couldn’t resist the chance to commend Luna.
“Remarkable woman.” He said it with a warmth that I felt like a hand on something that belonged to me. “How is she faring?”
Mine.
The word was a visceral sensation—a tightening in my chest, a low, dangerous pull of magic that wanted to answer him in a language he couldn’t misinterpret.
I mapped exactly how long it would take to crush his throat.
Two seconds, perhaps three if he tried to scream.
The image came with troubling ease and zero remorse.
Yep. I was definitely still irrational.
“She is well,” I said pleasantly, still trying to hide the snarl that wanted to erupt from my throat. “Thank you.”
I picked up my pace. He matched it.
“I wonder,” he continued pleasantly, “if a small gesture for her might be appropriate. Comfort in recognition of what she endured.”
I stopped walking.
“No.” The word escaped, laced with an edge.
It was baffling to me that this weak man believed he was worthy of Lunette.
She’d suffered far more, had overcome far more than he could ever have imagined from his life of absolute comfort.
“She requires rest,” I said, each word deliberately enunciated. “Not attention.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “Perhaps later, then.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I said quietly.
The atmosphere between us became heavy, as if the air itself understood this wasn’t a suggestion.
Something calculating flickered in his eyes. “Noted.”
Had he been testing me? Fuck.
I inclined my head once in dismissal and walked away before I did to his neck exactly what I’d been daydreaming about.
The second reason I regretted the detour strolled my way wearing purple robes. Vaustin Maeron seemed determined to ruin my day.
“I’ll be brief,” Vaustin said. “I know you’ve had a trying day, but courtesy demanded I inform you directly. The Assembly has concluded its work here. Lady Lunette is no threat. We will depart soon.”
“I appreciate the courtesy,” I said, my tone clearly indicating I meant the opposite.
Benevolent gods, could this possibly be true? Maybe the Assembly was pulling back, giving themselves time to strategize how to get around the writ I’d sent out limited their powers in Larethia.
“Of course,” he said. “She is extraordinary, though. My father will be very interested to hear how capable she proved herself.”
I had heard interested in Maeron’s voice when I was fourteen years old, standing in my brother’s throne room while the Chancellor explained, with great warmth and patience, that my magic was simply too volatile to remain unsupervised.
That the Assembly only wished to help. That it would only be for a time.
Reina had refused, and Berian couldn’t deny her because she was running more than half the kingdom in the shadows. I hadn’t known then that they were after her too. She’d never let on that anything was amiss other than normal politics.
“I’m certain he will be,” I said carefully. “I’ll pass along your compliments to the lady.”
He studied me for a moment too long. He had his father’s eyes—that same quality of looking at a person and seeing an asset first, a human being somewhere much further down the list. Then something behind his eyes shifted toward covetous, and I had to stop myself from pulling my magic to the ready.
“Yes. Well,” he said rather curtly. “Good evening, Prince Regent.”
Double fuck. Reina’s worry that I looked like I wanted to fight had already borne rotten fruit. He’d sensed the rise and repression of magic in my body.
The court was meant to believe Lunette and I were romantically involved. It was the only way to make every ambitious lord realize that placing Lunette beside Berian would carry complications. But Vaustin Maeron was not the court. He was an enemy.
There was a difference between giving the Tir a story and handing the Assembly the blade they could press to my throat. They could believe Lunette mattered to me. But they couldn’t be allowed to understand just how completely.
If it came to a fight, Vaustin would be trouble. He could take away my powers, and he had some of the best magical training in the entire world. But he would be fighting for something he wanted. While I would be fighting for everything I had.
That made a difference.
He bowed and walked away with far too much self-assurance. Nothing about his departure signaled the retreat I would’ve preferred. He’d found exactly what he’d come looking for. That was the only reason men like Vaustin Maeron ever left graciously.
What he’d found was written all over my face. Every second I’d failed to look indifferent. Every careful non-answer. I’d handed him a map and marked the most vulnerable spot with an oversized circle.
He’d walked away smiling.
She wasn’t safe. She wouldn’t be safe until she was untouchable. Until she was mine in every way that the laws of every kingdom recognized.
I had to make her mine, have her in my bed with my name on her lips, and a title attached to her name. I had to marry her. Soon.
But I had to convince her of that first. In hindsight, proposing to her the way I had was incredibly foolish. Not only did it sound flippant—even though I’d meant it—but she’d only just begun to open back up to me, and I’d basically thrown myself at her.
I didn’t think I could survive another rejection. And I still had no idea how I was going to protect my brother.
My temper was worn down to a single thread by the time I arrived at Berian’s chambers. On my approach, the guards snapped to attention and stepped aside without a word.
Berian’s rooms were quieter with the chaos scrubbed away. The air still held the sharp scent of medicinal herbs, but the fire’s warmth was pleasant not oppressive.
Reina’s handpicked healer briefly greeted me then shuffled out of the room with a polite goodbye. I crossed to the bed.
Berian was curled on his side under a mountain of fur, his face still drawn and pale, shadows bruised deep beneath his eyes. He looked older than he had only yesterday.
His eyes opened as I approached. He turned his head slightly.
“Shadow,” he said weakly.
I pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. “You look terrible.”
His expression hardened. “You let it happen.”
For a split second, the old reflex to self-recriminate surged up. It began with you failed, continued with you’re not enough, and ended with you’re the problem. All of it, every single word, was a road paved by my own flesh and blood.
I crushed the reflex.
“No,” I said evenly. “I didn’t.”
A faint huff of something that might’ve been a laugh escaped Berian.
“Did you know they weren’t removing any corruption from you?” I asked, my voice coming out more measured than I felt. “That they were draining your magic. Not the Fae blood you share with me through our father.”
He frowned faintly, unable to accept that he might’ve been wrong.
“You asked for it,” I pressed on. “They were going to keep draining you until there was nothing left, Berian.”
He said nothing for a long moment. Then his voice took on the flatness I knew well. “Your mother made you worse. Mine was human.”
I could scarcely believe he was reducing this to a childhood squabble, arguing about whose mother was superior.