60. Willow
Chapter 60
Willow
W e enter the dining room, and a riot of scents and colors assaults me. The table groans under the weight of a feast fit for kings—roasted meats dripping with savory juices, fresh bread still steaming, and fruits so ripe they look ready to burst. The Yule decorations are still up, evergreen boughs and glittering ornaments lending a festive air that feels oddly out of place given our current predicament.
In the corner, Fox still stands in his statue form, a silent sentinel watching over us. Someone has draped a chain of flowers over him, the delicate blooms bright against his stone. My heart clenches at the sight.
To my surprise, the entire hive is seated around the table. Legion is at the head, his imposing figure radiating authority in his official House of Shadow military mandarin collared coat. Long, raven-black hair spills over his broad shoulders as he dips his chin to meet my eyes. “We don’t have much time,” he warns.
“Eat fast. Got it.”
I tense when I lock eyes with Emrys. His fingers drum an agitated rhythm on the table. His pale skin seems to glow, making the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. He, too, wears his official military coat—black, tailored, and cut to intimidate.
Styx perches on his seat like a bird, ready to take flight. His mood seems to shift with each moment—scowling and then curious. I feel like he’s been unintentionally caught in Emrys’s machinations. But what do I know? He keeps his walls up with me.
The baby dragon huddles beneath the table and gnaws on what looks like a whole roasted chicken. His scales shimmer with an iridescent sheen, changing color slightly with each movement.
And then there’s Varen. He sits beside the window at the end of the long table, looking more refreshed and alert than I’ve ever seen. A sharp clarity has replaced the haunted, faraway look usually clouding his eyes. But there is a strain around the edges, a reminder that he’s not entirely well. Yet.
His long, elegant fingers are wrapped around a steaming mug . . . and he’s not muttering about bees.
“We fed,” he explains quietly, almost nervously. My heart swells, hardly daring to believe it. Emotion fills his eyes as I walk toward him—recognition, wonder, and something deeper I can’t quite name.
I kneel and place my hands on his knees.
“Hi,” I whisper, looking up at him with a tentative smile.
His lips twitch. “Hi.”
That look is everything. My lashes lower, and I drag in a big lungful of his honey and jasmine scent. I’m overwhelmed with emotion, hot and needy. I want to ask if I can kiss him. I need to feel his lips on mine. But if I do, my control might unravel, and I might really do what Bodin asked and forfeit the trials. Maybe run off to Elphyne.
“Yes,” Varen whispers. It takes me a moment to realize what he means. He’s not reading my thoughts.
Is this his psychic ability? Has he seen me ask the question?
A grin splits my face. I leap onto his lap, cupping his jaw. His whole body tenses when our lips meet, and then he melts into the kiss with a soft groan that sends shivers down my spine.
“You have no idea,” he whispers hoarsely against my lips, “how long I have yearned for this moment.”
“Aw,” Styx’s mocking voice breaks the moment. “Do we all get a kiss?”
I twist to glare at him and flip up my middle finger.
“Feeling left out?” I quip, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you preferred your affection with a whole lot of deceit.”
His smirk falters before returning full force. “Come now, fangs. You already know what hole I prefer.”
I squirm and blush. How dare he make me feel . . . I don’t know, like I’m the bad one here. Sort of. I don’t hate him. I just want him to trust me. I want to trust him. “You and Emrys knew how to restore your memories for years, and you said nothing.”
“Technically, I knew for weeks,” he points out.
“You knew in the temple when Fox took your place.” I glare at him, blood going cold. “You lied to me—pretended not to know me.”
His lips part. Close. A blush creeps up his neck. “I was disoriented. It took me a while to realize the truth.”
“You and Emrys worked together?—”
“Don’t lump me in with that wastrel,” Emrys snarls. “My reasons are?—”
“Your reasons ?” I cut him off, anger flaring. “You helped Puck capture Nightmares. You betrayed us all. What possible reasons excuse that?”
The room falls silent, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Emrys’s eyes flash dangerously, but there’s a flicker of remorse behind the anger. Styx’s eyes lower, and he frowns.
“We have made mistakes,” Legion interjects, his authoritative voice cutting through the tension. “But now is not the time to rehash grievances.”
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. I’m furious. I’m not ready to forgive. I didn’t experience every memory they had in that tower, but I know they are family to each other. I know their ranking system would severely affect Styx’s state of mind. I know Emrys is traumatized. And they are my mates. I can no more send them away than I could forget about them. They feel the same way about me. It’s probably why they’re being such assholes. They’re finding it hard to deal with, considering how long they’ve fought against a female in their lives. Emrys was cruel, but he pulled me away from death. Styx has been helpful as much as he’s hindered. Trust will be hard to claw back, but not impossible. We will find a way through this.
Bodin growls, “Eat quickly, Calamity. We don’t know what the first trial will entail and should get there early.”
I stay perched on Varen’s lap but reach for the table, loading a plate with an assortment of breakfast foods. The rich aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats makes my stomach growl.
Styx ponders Bodin’s remark. “My bet’s on something delightfully cruel. It is Puck we’re dealing with, after all.”
“Or his dragon,” Emrys points out. “The Hunt has infected his mind.”
“This isn’t a game for your amusement,” Bodin snarls, his fingers leaving shadowy scorch marks on the polished table. “Or have you forgotten what’s at stake?”
Legion clears his throat, silencing the brewing argument. “Willow needs our support, not our squabbles.”
“Support?” Emrys scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “What support can we offer when we’re bound by Titania’s?—”
“Enough,” Varen interrupts, his tone soft but firm. His arms tighten protectively around my middle. “We may be bound, but we’re not powerless. Styx, you will shadow Willow into the below.”
“But isn’t that cheating?” I ask.
“Fuck cheating,” Styx scoffs. “This whole exhibition is a joke.”
“What if you’re caught?” My eyes widen. “I’ll get disqualified. Maybe executed.”
“I never get caught,” he counters darkly. Holds my gaze. Then shrugs. “If I have to be seen, I blend in.”
“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Legion promises. “Don’t worry.”
“I should do this alone,” I tell them slowly. “If everyone exhibitor is mortal, we’re all in the same boat. Surely, Puck won’t set up a situation where we’re all expected to die. You need soldiers for the war. He needs subjects to fawn over him.”
No one looks convinced. None of this is normal.
The Wildling chooses this moment to poke his head above the table, shadow curling from his skull’s nostrils. His black, liquid eyes lock onto my plate, far too intelligent for a mere beast.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, but cave and toss him a piece of bacon. He snaps it out of the air with surprising grace, then licks my fingers. “Such a good boy.”
“Charming,” Styx mutters.
I grin at him with a mouth full of food. He grins at me with fangs, plucks a twig from the Christmas tree, then rips it apart. My gaze swings to the tree, to the unopened gifts. I twist to ask Varen, “Do I have time to?—”
“Yes.”
I shove food in my mouth so Legion and Bodin see I multitask, then race to the tree. I load up with gifts and drop one on the lap of each of my mates, then fork another mouthful of food into my mouth and say, “Happy belated Yule-Christmas.”
No one moves. The only sound is my mouth, masticating food. I swallow and look around at their stunned and concerned faces.
“You open them,” I explain. “They’re gifts. But hurry.”
They look to Legion, who purses his lips and tugs the ribbon from his gift. It is the signal for the others to begin. I can hardly contain my excitement as they unwrap and reveal an item I made or stole. Styx has a collection of charcoal from Varen’s fireplace. Emrys scowls at his book of poetry, but he flicks through the pages. Legion has a new brush—bejeweled, ornate, and stolen from the temple. It might have a magic surprise. I should warn him. Bodin has hair beads. Varen has a jar of honey. He turns it over in his hand, catching light in the amber.
“I know they’re dumb,” I mumble. “But I had to give them now.”
At their continued silence, I take a drink.
I think I broke them. They don’t know what to say, but I can see their gratitude on their faces. It’s enough for me. Legion clears his throat and announces that it’s time. Everyone files out of the room. Varen and I are last because I collect two more gifts under the tree, and he lingers by the door.
“Got them,” I say, smiling fondly, jogging to him.
He grabs me, pushes me against the wall, and steals my breath with a crushing kiss. His taste is heady and oh-so-good. It’s over too fast, and I’m left dizzy and hot. So, I almost miss his whispered words against my lips. “One will betray you. One will try to kill you.”