Halted by a large, corded arm, the vaulted ceiling comes into view. Coughing and wheezing, I brace to meet the floor.
I do not.
Fenryn’s face appears above mine, as he catches me. The expression upon his face is one of pure annoyance. I’m not returned to my feet, instead I’m lifted and slung over a shoulder with little effort.
“Damn hellscat,” he says with a small laugh. “You’re going to get hurt if you leap into that.”
Breathless, I’m left reeling for longer than I’d like.
With slow, steady steps, he backpedals, retreating from the line of kings, from Ryc. Struggling to breathe, I’m left with a dizzying view of the floor and Fenryn’s backside curtained by silver curls.
Using the belt of his robes as a ground, I push myself as upright as I can manage. Knees locked by his grip, I fling myself backward,straightening myself and take aim at his face.
“Good gods, Ves!” Fenryn shouts, shielding his head with his arm. “You’re feral!”
A deep, horrified scream sears through the room and I freeze in my assault. Twisting, I peer over my shoulder. From this vantage, granted by Fenryn’s height, I see over the wall of fae kings.
Ryc rises, hands bloodied.
“Consider the blood tithe claimed,” his cold voice loud in the silence of the room.
“Tanila,” Rowen commands, his tone stern.
“Of course,” she replies, hurrying toward Ganus upon the floor.
Face buried in his hands, he writhes upon the floor.
Relief drops my fists.
Not dead.
But my wild heart doesn’t slow.
“Alaryc, take Vestaris and await me in my study,” Rowen says accompanied by a firm stare that doesn’t invite argument.
“See, we’re done,” Fenryn says, his voice low as his grip loosens and I slide to my feet. “You got me good,” he laughs, wiping away the crimson from his nose.
The wall of kings breaks as Ryc approaches.
Drawn by forces I’ll never claim to understand, my feet move as golden eyes meet mine. Seeking his embrace, he curls himself around me as I push myself to my toes. His lips find mine and I cling to him, my sanity hinging on his touch.
“Your life,”his voice resonates through our bond.“Above all else. Always.”
?????????????
For a study, it looks nothing as a study should.
Walls decorated with fine art, clutches of plush seating with a few low tables, a desk in the corner of the room closest to the door, and—my brows furrow—a bar?
Along the far side of the room, an elaborately carved darkwoodbarstretches across the length. Leather-topped stools and bottle-filled shelves compliment the setting. The bottles gleam in the light pouring through the eastern line of windows, casting an array of glowing amber upon the white wall.
Venturing deeper into thestudy, I approach the windows and the various plants soaking up the sun. The view granted is similar to the view from the hall. This… doesn’t feel like a study.
It feels like a tavern.
Like The Lioness.
Albeit much nicer.
