A guest?
Without mentioning anything to me?
I might have words for Ryc.
Cyran, endures the scowl not necessarily aimed at him and says, “Lady Lilith invited King Fenryn.”
Lilith?
If that’s the case I certainly have words for her.
“All I can do is ask,” Ryc responds anda sigh follows. “I would rather not tell her at all, but he won’t relent until he sees her.”
He?
He who?
Someone other than Fenryn?
Ishehere?
“Do you think he’ll tell the rest of the council?” Fenryn asks.
At the mention of the council, my heart leaps into my throat. Hastily, I reach for our bond, for the golden rope between Ryc and me. The wall that greets me makes it clear Ryc is maintaining a mental ward.
My eyes narrow as ice-cold panic takes root in my chest. Theonlyreason Ryc ever places a mental ward is when he’s dealing with the High Council.
Releasing Eve, I turn toward the gate.
I need to leave.
I don’t want to see or be seen by Fenryn.
Or whomever this other “he” is.
Cyran steps into my path.
“Leaving the castle grounds at this time is ill-advised, Lady Ves,” Cyran says, impervious to my clear desire to remain hidden, and gods I could wrap my hands around the fae’s throat.
How hard is it for him to speak quietly?
“If you would—”
He stops short as I pivot without slowing into the brush off path, toward the castle.
“Ves,” Eve calls in a hushed whisper. “Ves, wait!”
I’ve avoided Fenryn and the rest of the High Council since my return. If I have my way, I’ll continue to avoid them still.
Stumbling through patches of manicured bushes, flowers, and trees, I climb onto a large, moss-covered boulder and peer up. There’s bound to be a window within reach. With any luck one of them will be unlocked or left open.
In the line of windows, one lies slightly ajar.
Perfect.
“Ves, you godsdamned heathen,” Eve’s fierce whisper is punctuated by the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves.
I scoff a smalllaugh.
