CHAPTER 10
The couch felt like an embrace of cobalt suede, its broad back brushed grey by the silver spill of moonlight, while the large cushions soaked in the orange warmth from the mantel and the muted glow of the spotlights overhead.
Reagan had asked if I would mind his staying in the room, in his own study. If he was making an effort to be civil, I supposed I could do the same.
We wandered along the aisles and uncovered a modest collection of romance novels from writers I didn’t recognise.
He’d admitted he had never noticed those before and had no idea if any of them were good.
Most of the books in this study had belonged to the many ancestors who had filled these shelves long before either of us existed.
With a stiff neck, I traced the spines until I plucked one at random, mostly to end the blatant stare he kept burning into the side of my face.
We retreated to separate corners. I claimed the couch. He took the table, and a heavy silence followed.
It was a nice room. It smelled of fresh ink and burning embers, with an undertone of pine and frost that I suspected drifted in from the enormous window.
It felt like a lovely cell. A cell I might survive for a year if I learned to minimise my own trouble. That meant staying on his better side and holding my tongue. He could be reasoned with. Our quiet shared presence proved as much.
Yet, I still didn’t know why he lived under a sentence that forced him to lose control of his form.
Did I truly want the answer?
Yes.
Murder was a crime among his people, too, a truth I reminded myself of far too often. If he had killed someone, then what did that have to do with all the people in the city? The truth had to be linked to his estate.
“Why are you nervous?” he asked, pulling me clean out of my thoughts.
“What?” I replied too quickly. “I am not.”
His eyes swept over me as though he could sift through my mind. “I can hear your pulse.”
I frowned at him. “You cannot.” We were nowhere near close enough for him to hear anything of the sort, even in the quiet of the room.
“Am I wrong?” he said with a faint smirk, a deliberate little provocation that only pushed my pulse higher. “Why are you nervous?”
“What crime did you commit?” The words escaped me before I could steady myself. I forced my tone into something calm. “You mentioned your sentence, but I never asked why you were given it.”
He leaned back in his chair, his chin dipping as the earlier smile slipped away.
“Are you afraid?” he asked, searching my face.
I didn’t want to admit it, and whatever he gleaned from my silence, he didn’t seem to like it.
I started to rise from the couch. “I think I’ll—”
“Wait,” he said pointedly. “Sit.”
For a moment, I debated leaving. But there was never a situation in my life that I willingly chose ignorance.
I sank back into the couch.
“What happened is common knowledge. You could have asked the staff if you wanted.” His hands settled on the armrests. “I was sentenced for negligent conduct as a ruler,” he said, the admission dry, unadorned.
It wasn’t enough to soothe my quickened pulse. I hoped he might remain civil enough to offer more.
“What did you do?”
Reagan exhaled heavily. “I suspected you would ask eventually, being bound to someone you barely know.”
I stayed silent, watching his gaze drift past me toward the window.
“Negligent conduct means I didn’t fulfil my obligations as Lord of Mountheim and an . . . incident occurred. It was bad enough that, for two years, the estate survived only because of the staff. Cerridwen and Barracus.”
“Why did you neglect the estate?” I asked.
He paused, clearly reluctant. “Why would a fifteen-year-old, who didn’t want his uncle as regent but had no other options, also not want to rule?” He laughed low. “I didn’t take it well when my parents were murdered.”
I swallowed at the blunt admission, but didn’t speak.
“This was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to track down my parents’ murderer and make them pay.
Slowly. But six years ago, I was away from the estate for three months, and Judge Malory, the magister you met, summoned me to Court.
She told me to relinquish my title and leave Mountheim Hall so the next in line could take my place. ”
His jaw clenched for a heartbeat, hard eyes still on the window.
“I refused, and had a very poor moment of judgement when I might have frightened some of the staff. I made a mess, tore apart Malory’s chamber, the hallways, and the tiles on the walls.
I thought it was unfair that I was punished.
” His mouth twitched as if he found the memory almost laughable.
“When she noticed the power I was clearly not careful about wielding, I thought she would send me to Pavilion. But instead, she passed her sentence.”
“She took into account my years of negligence and decided to call in Fate to judge me. Fates are rarely merciful, so it rippled across the estate. That is why my people have those features, why I turn, why the farms fail no matter what we do.”
He returned his attention to me.
“So that is it. Now you know.”
“Does your sentence also cause the attacks?” I asked softly.
“No, no. But my wards are weaker now. They don’t keep out creatures like they should. The strength of the land reflects the strength of its ruler, and right now, my estate is weak.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry about what happened with your parents.”
With his eyes boring into mine, I thought I saw a hesitation, something he didn’t share but that cut through him. Reagan returned to the pages of his book without replying, as if he knew I’d noticed and tried to hide it.
I wasn’t sure if I’d read him correctly, but even if there was something he wasn’t saying, I didn’t want to pry. Not anymore.
And neither of us spoke again until Reagan rose to his feet.
“I’m more tired than I thought. I’ll leave you to enjoy the study. Good night, Jane Darling.”
He walked around the table, no smile in sight, leaving his books behind.
Not sure if he would hear me as he rushed out, I only murmured, “Good night, Reagan.”
◆◆◆
Grunting noises echoed from somewhere the next morning.
The sound stalled me on the staircase for a heartbeat before I moved to investigate. The grunts guided me through an empty hallway on the ground floor.
A loud thud followed a woman’s grunt, coming from behind the door across from me, making me freeze. I pushed the door slightly, trying to be quiet.
Gwinifer jerked back, dodging a strike, her fists raised as she stared straight at someone I couldn’t see, but based on the arms and the height, it looked like a man.
I stepped inside, creaking open the wooden door. Gwinifer paused mid-move, standing upright just as Reagan glanced over his shoulder at me. Her eyes darted back, and in a single, fluid motion, she brought him crashing to the floor.
The crack of his body hitting the ground was muffled by a rubber mat, and she was on him in an instant, her weight pinning the mage before he could even draw breath.
“Better work on that focus, brother,” she panted faintly, with a knee securing his arm and the rest of her body holding him down.
Reagan, despite his current situation, chuckled hoarsely. “That was good, Gwin,” he rasped. “Shame you’re so smug.”
He jerked his head up with obvious skill, hitting his sister’s chin. He flipped her over, reversing their positions. His knee pressed into her side, arm braced against her throat.
“I win,” he gloated.
With a wince, Reagan pulled away from her, raising his arm and bringing his elbow close to his face.
“Is that a burn?” I asked, and indeed his skin had a raw, angry mark.
“Gwinifer cheats. And doesn’t know when to admit defeat,” he said, healing his own forearm.
Gwinifer stood up, smiling widely. “He is a sore loser.”
I stood there, unsure whether to leave or stay. But I was rather impressed by how skilled they seemed to be at fighting.
“What exactly are you doing?” I asked.
“Training,” Reagan answered, rolling his shoulders.
“For?”
“Waltzing,” Gwinifer said from the corner of the room, tipping a water bottle to her mouth. “Combat drill. It’s part of battle mage training.”
“Battle mages don’t use their powers for combat?” I asked.
“They do, but spells might take a few seconds to wield,” Reagan explained this time, standing up and brushing some dust off his short-sleeved black shirt. “And sometimes, you don’t get those seconds. So physical fighting is one of the disciplines required for the position.”
“Plus, he needs the practice,” Gwinifer added, nodding toward her brother.
Reagan tsked and glanced at me. “You’re welcome to join us.”
“I have no intention of becoming a battle mage,” I replied.
“Self-defence isn’t important for battle mages only. Or are you too busy doing something else?” he asked. “Perhaps sneaking around the Hall?”
I’d been doing that, alone, after most of them had gone to their chambers. I had no idea how he knew about it.
He smiled at my silence.
“We’ll start easy,” Gwinifer said, setting the bottle down on the floor, her lips pulling back in amusement. “Unless you’re scared.”
I snorted, wondering if they used these childish tactics to get under each other’s skin. “I have no experience. It hardly seems fair to jump into a fight with either of you.”
Reagan leaned against the wall, watching me as if he were plotting something. “We’d teach you first. Surely, you don’t think we’d hurt you for the fun of it.”
That’s exactly what I think. From the little I’d observed, these two were clearly skilled and just twisted enough to find entertainment in pain. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I don’t think—”
“Give it a chance,” Reagan pressed, his voice smooth like honey-coated steel.
I had to stop following the noises in this place.
Still, learning basic defence could make me less vulnerable. That didn’t require any powers. What else was I going to do today, anyway? As large as this castle was, I was tired of roaming its hallways after five days.
“Fine. But you are teaching me,” I said, pointing at Gwinifer.
Her smile spread, dark and full of ill intent. “Wrong choice, Red. You should’ve picked him. He’d go easy on you.”
Reagan gave a one-shoulder shrug, and I wondered if she was right.
Gwinifer returned to the centre of the mat, her posture deceptively relaxed.
I took a deep breath, stepping forward. “Anything goes?” I asked, half-joking, to cover my nerves. “Punching, kicking, biting?”
Gwinifer cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. “Sure. But just know . . . if you bite me, I bite back.”