Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“What happened?” Keir grabs two handfuls of my shirt and tears it apart, revealing the blood that weeps down my side.
He was pouring himself a drink when I staggered over the windowsill, and the second he saw me, his eyes turned gold with rage.
Though perhaps it wasn’t aimed at me, for all he did was haul me into the wash chambers and hiss under his breath.
“I told you what happened,” I growl, sitting on the edge of my vanity, where he’s cornered me. “There was a ward set over Soraya’s room. I triggered it when I entered, and then Anissa and Belladonna appeared. I didn’t know Belladonna had the ability to bloody me from such a distance.”
“She’s a princess of the Blood Court.”
And clearly, I am an idiot.
“It’s rare that the royal bloodlines breed down so strongly,” I mutter. “I know Malechus and his brothers have the blood magic, but I didn’t expect Belladonna to wield it. Narcissa didn’t.”
Every royal court is ruled by the strongest family in the lands—marriages are kept firmly along certain lines so as not to dilute the magic in the royal line.
But dilution happens.
It’s rare for any but the direct heirs to wield the kind of magic the court is renowned for.
Some fae marry for love, even though they know their children will suffer the consequences. Some are passed over again and again and must settle for a lower-born marriage. And some reject court life and the pressure of upholding their family’s honor.
For a minor cousin to wield the family’s magic so strongly, it means the Blood Court is not just dangerous—but have spent centuries on carefully selective breeding.
It also means Malechus had best watch his back.
“Narcissa didn’t,” Keir confirms. “She was also desperate to try and lift her status within her family.” A muscle hitches in Keir’s jaw as he surveys the wadded-up shirt I stuffed against my side.
I wouldn’t let him touch it until now, and clearly my attempts to contain the bleeding have fallen short.
“Who taught you to medic yourself? A pig farmer who’s never seen a needle and thread in his life? ”
A wraith warrior who cared less about what a wound looked like after he was done, and more about salvaging what he could from the training camp ranks.
“I’ll heal.”
“Not from this, you won’t.” He gently touches my flushed skin and I wince. “That’s what makes them so dangerous. Many members of this court can cut you from a distance, but if a royal cuts you, then you don’t stop bleeding.”
No wonder I’m ruining a second shirt.
I bite my lip. It’s such a little wound but hasn’t stopped bleeding. The one on my back is shallower, but it’s weeping blood too.
“Here.” Keir tugs a knife from the sheath at his hip and I flinch. He pauses, noting my sudden discomfort. Dark eyes search my face. “I’m not going to hurt you, Merisel.”
Cauldron’s scurvy surface. “Zemira,” I grate out. “The rooms are warded, so nobody will hear you call me by my name in here. And it’s a professional hazard of the job. Knives make me nervous.”
He flips it, capturing it by the handle before he offers it to me. “Then you do the honor.”
The honor? I stare at the knife.
Curling my fingers around the hilt, he sets the tip of the blade to his wrist and slashes a thin line across his bronzed skin.
“Goddess’s mercy! What are you doing?” I rip the knife well away from him.
Cupping a hand at the base of my skull, he brings his wrist up. “Drink.”
I slam my palm against his chest. “I don’t know what sort of proclivities you might have, but where I’m from, we don’t drink blood. That’s just a stupid story the fae conjured.”
Keir glares at me. “My blood will heal you. Don’t tell me you’re squeamish?”
“I’ll… heal.”
“No, you won’t. And not in time. I need you whole and hearty, not fainting on the floor in the middle of the fucking wedding from blood loss. Drink, Zemira.”
Help. He used my name.
“Where’s my pragmatic wench now?” he croons.
Currently feeling a little overwhelmed.
But he does speak the truth.
I have a horn to steal, a betrayal to plan, and a prince to escape.
I give into the pressure of his hand and allow him to draw my head forward. The first brush of his wrist against my lips sends a shock of lightning through me, but it’s the wetness of his blood spreading over them that makes me shiver.
It tastes like copper and iron. It’s not unpleasant, but the second his blood hits my stomach, heat spears through me. Weariness sloughs off me and my wound tingles as if the magic in his blood has found a weakness and targets it.
It feels like starshine in my blood. Like heat and warmth, and a tingling sensation that lights through me everywhere.
I fall back against the wall, gasping. I think I just had an orgasm. If the fae knew his blood had the ability to do this to them, they’d be bottling it.
“Better?” The knowing look in his eyes makes me slap his shoulder with the heel of my palm.
I stare at him.
There’s a promise in his eyes. One that says he can take me away from here—from all of this.
One that will protect me at all costs. One that says there’s a court of dreams out there, with a gorgeous sun-kissed palace filled with servants to tend my every need, and beds draped in silken sheets.
I can almost hear the sound of waves dashing against the sandy beaches below that palace.
The taste of dates explodes in my mouth as if I just bit into one, and the caress of fingertips skates up my hips.
If I close my eyes, I’m right there.
Feeling those dangerous lips chase their way up the slope of my neck, the graze of teeth threatening to dig deep into the muscle at the base of my shoulder—
This is his most dangerous aspect.
He gets inside your head.
He gets inside my head and conjures a dream of a new life, where I never need worry about my father again.
I could be a fairy-tale princess draped in silk and velvet who never need worry about another thing in my damned life if only I would let him whisk me away.
If only I could promise him my heart, my body, and my soul.
For one breathless moment, we stare at each other, and I’m surprised at how much I want that lie.
Because it is a lie for someone like me.
My heart is a fist of stone within my chest. My body a weapon I use at will. And my soul? If I owned it myself, I would never, ever let another dare take it from me.
“Better,” I rasp, swinging my legs off the vanity and letting my boots hit the floor.
He doesn’t back away.
I’m left pressed flush against his body, curling my fingers into fists before I can touch him. It’s like his blood now calls to me. A little shiver of that post-orgasmic bliss steals through me. I want his hands on my skin. I want that connection.
Damn it.
“I need to wash,” I growl out, because I desperately need him out of this room.
Keir finally gives me space, sidestepping toward the oils sitting on the vanity. “So what next? Since Belladonna and Anissa are clearly not responsible for your sister’s disappearance.”
“They’re involved in something,” I correct.
Belladonna’s a royal princess, and the lady of the Dawn Court may—or may not—be involved with Belladonna’s brother, according to gossip. And what had she meant about those letters?
Why would she be searching Soraya’s room for them?
“But not your sister’s disappearance,” he points out.
“Mistmark, then,” I tell him, trying to ignore the shiver of desire in my blood as I turn the faucet on.
“He and Soraya had a certain history together. He’d recognize her on sight and would move to strike her down if he saw her.
Besides, if anyone is going to know where the horn is, it’s going to be him. ”
Keir scowls into the distance. “How are you going to get to him?”
That is the problem.
“You’re not going to enter his rooms the way you did tonight.” There’s a hint of anger in Keir’s voice. “You nearly died.”
I blow a breath of frustration through my lips. “A slight exaggeration, my prince. And no, I’m not going anywhere near Mistmark’s rooms.”
Not until I know how he thwarted my sister’s assassination attempt all those years ago.
“No,” I repeat. “I need more information. I’m working blind here. Normally I know what I’m looking for. It’s simply a matter of finding it. Now… I need more information. Time to go play simpering lady of the Greenslieves.”
* * *
The men spend the morning hunting the woods, including Keir.
I plead a headache and leave the ladies to their own devices on the front lawns.
From a stolen glimpse through the window, it looks like they’ve set up a field of archery.
Several servants appear to have been roped into the game, and they’re wearing targets over their clothes.
I don’t know what the ladies are shooting with—their arrows appear to have blunted ends, and every time they strike a servant, a colorful cloud of powder erupts, until the servants look like they’ve been dusted with powdered sugar.
It gives me time to ghost through the castle, avoiding both servants and nobles alike as I work out the layout of the palace.
I try the door to Mistmark’s room, but it’s locked. Usually not a problem, but a servant’s footsteps echo through the hallway, and I’m forced to retreat. I don’t want to enter after last night’s fiasco, but it doesn’t hurt to check.
Malechus’s rooms are guarded by heavily armored guards. Belladonna’s chambers sit at the opposite end of the hallway to his, and there’s a redcap squatting outside her door. Definitely not someone I want to meet on a dark night.
I retreat to the garden so nobody starts to wonder about my actions.
“Lady Merisel!” calls one of the archers with a malicious glee. “Come and try your hand at the targets.”
The targets look like they’re drunk. One serving girl with a fox tail falls into another’s arms, giggling and nuzzling at his neck. From the tails on his coat, he looks like the butler, but no butler alive would grab a housemaid’s bottom like that.