35 LONNIE
UNDERNEATH
I threw open the doors to the banquet hall, and a dozen eyes turned to me.
I let them stare, feeding off their shock as I crossed the threshold with purpose etched into every stride.
On the balcony, I’d remembered the conversation that Bael and Scion and I had back in the inn. My dagger was not made from Source-forged metal, which could mean that the assassin would heal his wounds and eventually wake. However, as Scion had told me, there were very few creatures who could live without their heads.
I strode toward the table, my head high, and for once I didn’t mind the weight of the obsidian crown. Blood from my blade, and the gift I’d brought the king dripped onto the floor, leaving a long crimson trail behind me.
King Gancanagh rose, his regal composure marred by a frown that seemed out of place in his court of mirth and splendor. “What is the meaning of this?”
he demanded, his voice the crack of an unyielding whip.
“Lonnie!”
Ambrose exclaimed, seeming to forget he’d aimed to hide my identity.
He jumped to his feet and rushed forward, but I brushed him off, my gaze fixed firmly on the king.
Approaching the table, each step was a deliberate punctuation in the silence that had befallen the room. The nobles recoiled as if I were a tempest unleashed. And perhaps, at that moment, I was.
I stopped before the king, and with a flourish, I dropped the head in the center of the table. It rolled across the polished wood, and came to rest before the king, its sightless, snake-like eyes accusing. “Your hospitality is unmatched, King Gancanagh.”
“What the fuck happened?”
Ambrose paced angrily across our room, the rage practically radiating from him.
As soon as I’d dropped the head, Ambrose had whisked me from the room before the king could react. It was probably for the best. If he’d meant to kill me with his assassin he no doubt would have found a way to deny it. If perhaps he wanted to try again…well, then we would lose the opportunity to search for Bael and Scion.
“I thought we couldn’t speak,”
I murmured under my breath.
“Fuck that, I don’t care,”
he yelled loud enough to shake the crystal chandeliers. “Who hurt you?”
I shook my head vigorously. He might not care, but I did. I wasn’t about to destroy my chance to find both my mates and my mother, simply because he was worried about me.
Annoyed, Ambrose dragged me into the bathing room and turned on the shower. “Talk to me.”
I quickly recounted the attack, and as I spoke a small smile curved his lips. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just pleasantly surprised at how well you have mastered your lessons. It seems you can hold a sword correctly, after all.”
“I don’t know about ‘correctly’ but I can certainly point it in the right direction.”
I muttered. “But I would have preferred not to have to. If the king can see everything, how could he miss an assassin in his own home?”
“I don’t know,”
Ambrose said, looking even more frustrated by that statement alone.
“True,”
I agreed begrudgingly. “Why don’t the wives speak? Even when we were attacked, the queen just stood there, completely silent.”
“Again, I don’t know. They never have in all the times I’ve visited this place.”
He let out a loud, frustrated growl. “I fucking hate it here. Not being able to see is infuriating.”
“Now you know how the rest of us feel.”
He glared at me. “That is not amusing. If I could see, we would know who tried to hurt you, since I doubt any servant of Gancanagh would act without orders.”
“Do they take orders from anyone but him?”
“I don’t believe so, but it seems strange he would have sent them on purpose when his own wife was put in danger.”
I paced the bathroom, thinking. “How do you know the king?”
“I told you, we do business together?—”
“No,”
I said sharply. “How did you meet? Why would he know my mother?”
Ambrose sighed, running a hand through his long silver hair. “Gancanagh has always been interested in power. It’s his primary driving trait, he wants to rule and believes he was born to do so.”
“Well, he does rule,”
I snapped. “He has my fucking congratulations.”
“Yes, but he has been the king of Underneath for about thirty years, which must seem long to you, but to me is hardly anything. Before then, he spent ten years or so making a bid for the crown of Elsewhere. We met because it was he who marshaled the prisoners and afflicted in Aftermath. He is the original Dullahan.”
I gasped, leaning back, as if I could evade the very implications that came with that statement. “Then how did he become king? How did you take over the army?”
He sat on the edge of the large bathtub, leaning his elbows on his knees. “After some time in Aftermath, Gancanagh made his way to the capital. He met Raewyn, and learned from her that he was unlikely to ever capture the obsidian crown.”
“Due to the curse?”
“Right. He was hardly worthy on his own, and did not have the patience to wait for Grandmother to die so another hunting season would begin. Gancanagh is not a foolish male, and decided to leave his pursuit of Elsewhere and return to Underneath to fight for that crown instead.”
I furrowed my brow “But isn’t Raewyn his mate? Why leave her?”
Ambrose shrugged. “In my opinion, he lacks the emotional range necessary to complete a mating bond. Or, perhaps it was that he was unwilling to risk his life to be with her. He’s selfish above all else, and it only took a few short years after he left for him to kill the king and assume their role. Since then, not much has changed within this court.”
“And you became the Dullahan?”
He nodded. “It really wasn’t all that difficult to imply I always had been. The mask makes it so that even some of my most loyal soldiers don’t know what I look like, and I still felt that the rebellion was necessary for the long-term benefit of the country.”
My mind reeled, and I took a deep breath. “How did you both know my mother?”
He shrugged. “She was part of our army. Not a particularly relevant member in some ways, but she’d grown up in the court of Nightshade and had an almost fanatical hatred of the High Fae.”
“Oh.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. It made sense, yet for some reason, hearing the truth for the first time did not make me feel any better. The reality was almost anticlimactic.
“Wait,”
I demanded. “Is that how you knew my true name—because you knew my mother? Have we met before?”
He grinned, as if remembering something amusing. “Once.”
I reeled back, shocked. “I don’t remember.”
“You were very young and, I might add, very annoying. I all but forgot you existed entirely until you were perhaps seventeen.”
“Why then?”
“By that point, I was working on expanding my magic. I needed something to measure my progress by.”
My brow furrowed. “What? I don’t?—”
He waved his hand, and cut me off. “This is all ancient history, and has little to do with the original matter at hand, which is that I can’t think of any reason Gancanagh would bother to kill you.”
“Kill Rosey, you mean. You implied I was her.”
“Only because I believe he knows your true name from many years ago, and I do not want to test if he would be powerful enough to use it on you. Ambrose moved closer, until I had to tip my head up to meet his gaze. “I won’t let anyone harm you, especially not the king. You will not go anywhere without me from now on.”
My breath caught, and as I looked up at him I suddenly forgot the rest of the questions I’d meant to ask. “I’ll have to, if I’m going to find?—”
He pressed a finger to my lips, quieting me. “Perhaps, we can discuss it more in the morning.”
When it’s light out, and our conversation will not be overheard, I finished silently. I nodded.
Ambrose glanced at the still running shower, and stepped back, reaching down to pull off his shirt. “If that’s all, I may as well use this, as long as it’s running. Proper baths are the thing I miss most while on the ship.”
“Oh…”
I muttered, and began to back out of the room. “Alright then.”
“You’re welcome to stay and assist,”
he called, his voice taking on a flirtatious edge. “You too need to wash that blood off.”
“Er, no,”
I stammered, still backing up. “I’ll wait until you’re finished.”
“Suit yourself.”
I darted across the bedroom, and only then realized I’d forgotten to close the door behind me. I hastily averted my eyes, heat flooding my cheeks. Oh gods.
As the sound of water cascading echoed through the chamber, I closed my eyes and tried to steady my racing heart. How had he managed to so quickly turn my thoughts from miserable questions, to…other, far less upsetting things.
This was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts.
Darting to the bed, I flopped down on top of the crimson blanket, and closed my eyes. However, the sound of the shower would not let me forget what was going on only feet away.
The sound of the shower continued, so loud I could almost imagine I were standing beneath it as well.
I closed my eyes and, feeling slightly guilty, let my hand travel down my side. My fingertips skimmed the edge of my trousers, then quickly, as if I couldn’t stop myself, I slid my fingers lower.
My clit throbbed with anticipation, and goosebumps rose all over my body.
I dragged one delicate finger between my folds, then rubbed faster, tracing little circles.
My skin got hotter, and I opened my eyes to peer through the open bathing room door. I let out a breathy moan. “Oh.”
Ambrose faced the wall, not looking at me, but still I could see all too much. My traitorous gaze lingered a moment too long on the planes of his sculpted chest, his body, the water pouring over him…
I whimpered and arched off the bed, sinking two fingers into my core.”