“And you know this after a sennight spent listening to her lies.”
Quinn slowly turns his head and levels me with a glare. “I’m well acquainted with evil, Wren, and that woman is—”
“My parents’ blood is on her hands.” Rapunzel may not be evil, but she’s not innocent either.
“Wren—”
“If it was your father who John poisoned, and she denied you the means that would have saved his life, you would feel as I do,” I reason, and then I visibly cringe when I realize my error.
“Actually,” Quinn drawls, “I would offer her my undying gratitude.”
“You’re being deliberately obtuse.” I roll my eyes at Quinn’s sarcasm. “You understand my meaning, you fucking asshole.”
Quinn heaves out a heavy sigh and rubs his hands together. “It’s you who’s being obtuse. No, you will hear me out,” he insists when I try to speak over him again. “Yes, Rapunzel could have helped your father. But you weren’t the one locked in a goddamn tower and had it shoved into your brain that you were a danger to the world your whole fucking life. You’ve known this woman since you were a boy. Think about it, Wren. Do you honestly believe she is so evil that she would sit back and do nothing while your parents suffered? She was more terrified of her power than she was of stepping one foot out of that prison for twenty-four years. Think about that, you pigheaded dick. She’s not John, no matter how badly you need to paint them with the same brush.”
Fuck Quinn. I don’t want to hear this right now.
I assumed he, of all people, would understand my resentment toward Rapunzel. Instead, here he is arguing on her behalf. “Is this the way of it?”
He narrows those fierce eyes at me. “The way of what?”
“You choose that bitch’s side over mine?”
Quinn’s bitter laugh echoes throughout the empty hall. “You’re a fucking fool if you think I would take hersideover yours. But that doesn’t mean I won’t call you out when you’re wrong. And in this, my friend, you’re allowing anger and grief to rule your mind. That will get us killed.”
He pushes off the chair and strides out of the hall, leaving me with his warning—and that’s precisely what it was, a warning of the inevitable—to question…everything.
Fuck him, and fuck Rapunzel.
19
RAPUNZEL
All eyes keep drifting to me. It’s unnerving—and irritating. One would think by now their curiosity would be spent. I’ve been here for two weeks and know each man who calls Dyhurst home. Still, their scrutinizing gazes make me feel like an oddity rather than a person.
Actually, notalleyes drift to me.
One person refuses to glance in my direction. Wren keeps his head down, scowl firmly in place, as he shovels food into his face. Tempting as it is to toss a plump apple at his stubborn head, I resist the urge. I wish I could blame his behavior on John having torn through another town, but that would be a lie. To the devil with the grumpy man. If he wants to ruin his meal, that’s on him. He’ll not spoil mine. Not when I spent much of the afternoon cooking it.
After Arthur and I selected the ripest pickings from the garden, we brought our bounty to the kitchen. There, I helped Bryce—a cantankerous, battle-scarred former soldier who mans the cookfire like the warrior he is—prepare the evening meal. Although he made a big show of acting bothered about having me underfoot, it took little time for him to grudgingly admit we make a good team. Now, it’s become a regular occurrence for me to assist him in his precious domain.
It’s wonderful to have a purpose.
Exhausted after a day spent working to maintain the castle, I hide a yawn behind my hand. I’m relieved when those curious gazes finally leave me alone. Conversation shifts to John’s latest attack on Haversville village. But talk changes fast, and I struggle to keep pace as voices whirl around me. These people care for each other with their easy smiles and playful banter. My heart tugs at the interaction, and I laugh at their bawdy jests. Emma gets right in there with the men, her wit as racy as theirs.
With Wren seated at the head of the long, battered wooden table, it’s clear he’s the unofficial leader of this motley band of renegades. Dax is at his right, already a bit intoxicated. To his left is Quinn, who repeatedly slides that chilling—and unreadable—gaze over me. Warrick, a former huntsman like Wren, left to bring aid to the recently destroyed village.
If John’s army is in the area, it could mean Sybil is also. She might have spread the rumor I’m here, not realizing Wren had taken me and brought me to this remote corner of Rygard. Hope flares in my chest that if I find her, she can help…
…put me right back in a cage.
At least with Wren, my future is unknown. With Sybil, I know what awaits me. Walls. Isolation. A lifetime of loneliness. Her good intentions are more brutal than anything Wren has planned for me.
I glance at my captor and itch to slap the scowl off his flawlessly handsome face. And, as if he reads my thoughts, his mouth kicks up in a sneer, and he gives me a single shake of his head. He whispers something to Quinn, who lifts a black brow, his devious grin sending a warm flush to my cheeks.
They’ve left me alone this past fortnight, with Dax stealing kisses here and there as I’ve settled into my newfound freedom. But I’ve sensed a growing tension whenever he, Wren, and Quinn look at me. Their tension is a brewing storm. One that’s slowly whipping me into a frenzy, their eyes reminding me of the pleasure they’re capable of bringing me.
This castle may be a decaying shell, but itisstill a fortress, complete with a fully functioning gate. There is always someone stationed on the parapet keeping a watchful eye. And, as Bryce warned me while pointing a battered spoon in my face, I’d best not run. Quinn will find me.
