I can’t imagine the three of them not being friends. He nods as his thumb begins sweeping over the back of my hand.
“I was this little kid, and he didn’t want any part of that. Dax and his sisters took care of me. I think kids freak Darrio out. I don’t know.”
Or he wants them so badly he can’t stand to look at them …
I keep it to myself. The thought sinks low through my stomach.
“Where the hell was Darrio?”
He’ll hear about this. How could he abandon a little boy like that?
“Darrio was away a lot until I got older. We didn’t really become friends until I was almost eighteen. He spent most of his time with the wardens. He’s a commander here. The Armed Seven go to him for tactics and planning.”
“TheArmed Seven?”
What the hell does that mean?
“The wards between our realms and others are guarded and protected. There are seven realms, therefore there are seven arms of soldiers. The Armed Seven are placed at each location. The magic of each ward is different. We can’t change the magic of their realm, so the nix continue to come.”
Mindlessly, his hand leaves mine, pushing across my lower stomach so slowly my thighs shift together to fight off the tingling feeling of his hand on my body. His palm settles on my hip as he seems to consider the realms, his friends’ lives, his own life.
Maybe even mine.
My fingers brush against his, just over my hip.
“We’ll figure it out, Ryder.”
I don’t know what I’m promising. I haven’t got a clue what he’s worrying about.
But I’ll do anything to wipe away the worry that seems to be pressing into him.
He looks to me, studying every curve of my face.
I want to lean into him. Wrap my arms around him and repeat that I’ll make everything okay if it’s the last thing I do.
Then a booming voice breaks the tension between us.
“What’s your verdict, Concord?”
My brows crease together and I sit up to find a crowd of people now gathered at the front of the building. Ryder pushes off from the dirt. He extends his hand to me and pulls me up with ease, my body skimming his as I stand.
I don’t bother brushing off my dusty jeans as I walk toward the mass of people. They circle the entrance of the gate.
Their bodies meet mine as I shove my way through the crowd. Ryder’s steps follow close behind mine, and soon enough we’re looking at the few people centered in front. A man who seems to be the leader of the bunch stands over someone bowing at his feet.
Ice is held in the leader’s gaze as he stares down at the fae in shackles. His features display nothing but disgust. Everyone’s attention is on the fae in the iron cuffs who kneels in the dirt.
Is he a prisoner?
A woman with long, dark hair kneels on the ground a few feet from him, her shoulders shaking as quiet cries leave her slim body. She looks to the prisoner with fear and sorrow in her glossy eyes.
Sharp angles make up the judgmental face of the man who they called Concord, the leader. He’s thin and wiry, but he seems to hold the power in this situation.
It feels … unwelcoming here. Like I should take a step back and never return.
“Confess your sins to the Blood Moon tonight. Atone for what you’ve done, and may the gods grant peace upon your soul,” Concord finally says to the prisoner, a sneer pulling at his thin lips.
May the gods grant peace upon your soul?
