“Your king commands you from the castle grounds.” His voice was booming and twisted. “Out, until I say otherwise!”
Demons scattered in a rumbling stampede, most heading for the main doors while others exited through hidden ones she hadn’t noticed before.
Lunara wished she was one of them.
Between one breath and the next, King Lyriat reverted to his usual self, no trace of whatever that had been.
Probably the Demonic rage, ninny. What else would it be?
If that was supposed to be the legendary raging of Demons, then it was disappointing. Powerful, yes, but she’d expected more.
“Do you always have to be so dramatic, you wee arse?” Caius said, rolling his eyes.
Lyriat shrugged. “What point is there in being king if I don’t get to have any fun with it once in a while?”
“What point is there in being king if you can’t bring me a fucking chair, Demonling?” Caius growled. “I know I’m repeating myself, but my bones are so weary I could fall over, and I don’t give a shite how many times I have to say it now that no one else is around to hear it. Chair. Seat. Bench. A fucking stool. Anything.”
Brand and Lyriat shared a long, loaded look.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Caius said, his voice strained but gentle. “I’ll swear on whatever you want me to that the Westrealm is innocent. I’ll give a binding oath if it means finding the truth. Just as you said, Baldrir and Fausta were both victims.”
Another tense moment before the king gave the faintest nod, and she would have sworn the room itself relaxed as the guards who’d remained melted back into the shadows.
“Thank the Sisters.” Brand stepped down off the dais. “My skin was starting to crawl.”
“Same. I hate pretending to be something I’m fucking not—like happy to be standing.”
“Calm yourself,” Brand said, the hint of a laugh in his gravelly voice. “I’m getting to it.”
He moved towards Lunara, their eyes meeting. For a single, heart-stopping second, she was exposed, his hazel stare questioning. Searching. Digging for answers she had no intention of ever giving.
And then he brushed past, breaking the connection as he stretched out his hand in the middle of the hall.
Bleeding moons, you have to get out of here.
The floor beneath her feet vibrated, and flagstones folded back over themselves to leave a gaping hole behind. From out of it, the table and chairs from the night before rose upwards, a marbled platform beneath settling into place.
“Your chair, uncle,” Brand announced.
He hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Hedda and Faldir appeared out of nowhere, moving to take a seat along with everyone else, while Lunara hesitated on the fringes, unsure what to do with herself.
Why are you even here? It doesn’t make any sense!
Meliora had been a childhood friend of Lunara’s mother. It was the only reason she’d agreed via Cordelia to help, despitethe risk to herself. And she’d only been grateful when Caius’s last real words to her had been‘No matter what happens, we’ll not be speaking of it, lass. Ever. It’s not for others to know. I’d have my mate mend well and easy, her name safe from the gossipmongers.”
She’d died later that night.
He’d left nothing but a note behind, absolving her of any guilt or responsibility. The end of it had been a firm goodbye.
More like good riddance, probably.
To stand there, no idea what they’d be discussing or what he wanted with her, was a practice in torture.
A hand landed on her shoulder and she looked up to find Lyriat beside her. “Come. I’m sure he has good reason for it.”
It was not a comfort when she found Caius directly across the table with his eyes narrowed on her—made infinitely worse when Brand settled in next to her.
