“Behind her?” I drawl. “I remember not long ago when you claimed a woman should know her place.”
He glares at me with those coal-colored eyes. “Fuck you. I don’t recall.”
“How convenient.” Then we reach Rapunzel, and fuck, I’m about to decimate her pretty smile. She steps up on her tiptoes and brushes her lips over mine before settling back on her flattened feet. Then gives Quinn an equally tender kiss.
“Are you avoiding me, Wren Kincaid?” She swats stray wisps of hair away from her dirt-smudged forehead.
Yes.“No.” Her cheeks flame with a charming blush when I take in the bruises we put on her exquisite body last night. “Next time, we won’t be so rough.” I nod at her throat.
“Yes, we will,” Quinn counters.
Rapunzel touches the bite marks. Her grin turns from enchanting to devious. “Now that, Wren, would be a true punishment.”
I drop my gaze to the juncture of her thighs before tracking back to her face. “Are you sore?”
The woman rolls her eyes and plants her hands on her hips. Her audacity. “Wren, you asked me this twice last night. Twice I assured you I’m fine.” And I’m stalling…until Dax joins us, and a frown furrows Rapunzel’s brow. “What’s wrong?”
“Come with us, Zee.” I take Rapunzel’s hand and lead her toward the keep.
“Wren, you’re scaring me.” She falls in step beside me, her icy fingers squeezing mine. Right then, it’s as if Rygard weeps for her because the first fat drops of rain fall. “Should I be worried?”
I heave out a sigh as we enter the hall. “We’ll talk in our chamber.”
Rapunzel digs in her heels and grinds to a stop, causing me to jerk her arm. Her gaze darts between us. “You’ll tell me now.”
I glance at Ian, Tristan, and Kenric, who are busy in the hall. Before I answer her, however, Quinn comes to my rescue. “Upstairs, Rapunzel. Now.”
“Dear God.” She slaps a hand over her mouth, her following words muffled. “Sybil is dead. John killed her. Or…”
Dax shakes his head, cutting her off. “No, Little Captive.” Then he drags a hand through his unruly blonde hair. His eyes are twin gray storms. “We have no reason to believe the worst.”
Yet.
Rapunzel drops her hands and draws in a sharp, fortifying breath. Then she takes the lead and walksusto our chamber. Dax guides her to the bed, and when she sits on the edge of the mattress, she worries her hands. Dax sits beside her, not touching her, but stays near enough that if she needs him, he’s ready.
Quinn stands beside the bed, leaning against one of the thick wooden posts, arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s coiled so tight; his tension is a living entity around us. His black eyes stay locked on her. I stand before her, fingering the hilt of my sword, the weapon a comfort because never in my life has my heart hammered this hard and this loud.
“Wren, please—”
“The constable who burned Haversville is the same prick who oversaw almost every attack in Rygard.” My gaze flicks to Quinn because it was his childhood friend—his sister’s former betrothed. “Stephan of Glasburg was John’s right hand. He was also the bastard who slipped the poison into my father’s wine.”
Her wide, green eyes fill with tears. “Wren…” My name is a pained wail. “Oh, God, Wren, I’m sorry.” Then her expression shifts from anguish to puzzlement. “But why would he offer you this information, knowing you would kill him for what he’s done?”
“He didn’t. I did.” A muscle tics in Quinn’s jaw at his boast.
“I didn’t get the chance,” I say—both of us simultaneously. “And it would surprise you what sins a man will absolve himself of when on the precipice of death.”
“Most men also shit themselves.” Dax isn’t lying. I’ve witnessed my fair share of men empty their bladder and bowels on the battlefield.
“Quinn killed Glasburg before I got there.” If Quinn wants her to know the gruesome details, he can tell her another day. “I felled two men in Haversville. One died instantly. The other…lingered…long enough to confess certain secrets regarding John.”
Her brows furrow in confusion and anger. “Secrets worse than murdering your father?”
“Yes, Rapunzel.”
She’s gripping her hands together hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “I see.” Then, in the pregnant silence, she reads me with those perceptive green eyes because, after all these years, she’s one of three people who know me best. “This secret is about me.”
“Yes.” I don’t want to drag this out because after twenty-four years of being fed a lie, Rapunzel deserves to know the truth. But I find this moment more brutal than any battle I’ve fought. I go to her and pry her fingers apart. Hold them in mine. “John sent his most trusted soldiers out with a warning. The king’s exact words to them were, ‘If even one precious hair on my daughter’s head is harmed, I’ll cut your throats myself.’”
