He turns, eyes sharp as blades. “And bring the wolf. . .and Cashira.”
Yes. I think the king knows more than he lets on, has always known more than the rest of us combined. I want to asks questions, but I give nothing away on the matter.
“I don’t think she’s well enough to travel,” I say, carefully choosing each word like I’m walking through a minefield. “She hasn’t left the house since they arrived. I haven’t seen her conscious, haven’t heard her voice. For all I know she’s still hovering between life and death.”
“Then wait. But when she rises, she comes to me. No court presentation. Not yet. I want to speak with them first, alone.”His tone leaves no room for argument, but something in his expression suggests this isn’t entirely about royal curiosity.
My father opens his mouth then, no doubt to object or offer his own counsel, but the king raises his hand to stop him before he can speak.
If only I could shut him up like that.
“And if Cashira refuses?” I ask, my voice tighter than I mean it to be. The question carries weight. We all know Cashira’s history with the court, the reason she’s been granted sanctuary, hidden away with the forest’s depths.
He gives me a look I’ve seen before, one that says don’t test me, don’t push, don’t mistake my patience for weakness.
“She won’t,” he says with absolute certainty. “She’ll come.”
I say nothing, but my fists clench at my sides hard enough that my knuckles pop. The leather of my gloves creaks in the sudden silence.
This is exactly what I didn’t want. I knew this would happen the moment the court caught wind of her existence, knew they’d want to drag her into their web of politics and power plays. I don’t want her paraded before them like some exotic curiosity to be poked and prodded and judged. I don’t want their whispers following her, their hungry eyes dissecting every word she speaks, every breath she takes. I don’t want their poison touching something that might still be pure.
I want her to stay hidden in the forest’s embrace.
To stay untouched by court corruption.
To stay mine, even though I have no right to claim her.
I haven’t even seen her since that night when she lay unconscious in the wolf’s arms. Haven’t heard her voice or looked into her eyes or discovered what color they are when the light hits them just right. Haven’t learned if she laughs easily or if her smiles are rare and precious things to be earned. Now I’m supposed to deliver her to the very place I swore to keep heraway from, hand her over to the sharks in silk who will tear her apart with honeyed words and poisoned smiles.
Fuck that.
“I’ll wait until she’s stronger,” I say, meeting the king’s gaze with what I hope looks like dutiful compliance rather than rebellion. “Then I’ll bring them.”
King Ayla nods once, seeming satisfied with my answer. “Do not delay longer than necessary.”
I nod in return and leave without the customary bow, my boots clicking against the stone with perhaps more force than strictly necessary.
My father glares at me the whole way out, his disapproval radiating like heat from a forge, but I don’t care. Let him disapprove. Let him think I’m being insubordinate or careless or whatever other character flaw he wants to assign to my behavior.
The longer she stays tucked away in that cottage, protected by Cashira’s magic and the forest’s embrace, untouched by the rot of this court and its endless machinations, the better. The Night Court infects everything it touches with its poison, turning beauty into weapons and innocence into currency. I’ll be damned if I let it ruin her before I even get the chance to see what she truly is beneath whatever trauma brought her here.
Not before I decide whether or not I’ll let her go.
CHAPTER FOUR
ESME
Ican’t stay in this bed for another second.
The walls press in tighter with every breath, every whispered worry that Sam thinks I don’t hear when he paces the length of the small cottage like a caged animal. Tension radiates from him in waves. It’s in the way his shoulders hunch when he watches me like I might shatter all over again, in how his hands clench and unclench at his sides as if he’s fighting the urge to reach for me. The scent of his anxiety has grown so thick it’s almost suffocating, mixing with the herbal remedies my mother brews and the ever-present musk of ancient magic that clings to everything in this place. Maybe I will shatter if I stay cooped up another minute longer, but I’ll certainly break if I have to endure another moment of being treated like spun glass.
My feet find the edge of the bed before my mind fully registers the decision. The wooden floor is cool against my bare soles as I brace my hands on the carved frame, my legs tremble beneath me like newborn fawn limbs. Strength hasn’t fully returned, there’s a hollow ache where my magic used to live, the emptiness that Goddess Ourea carved out of me with surgical precision. Beneath that void, something else pulses. Alow, steady thrum beneath my ribs, not pain, not fear, not my tethered connection to Micah. . . something else. Something I’ve never felt before. Something older. Something that whispers of roots and earth and ancient bloodlines. A call that seems to echo from the very bones of this place.Esme. . .come.
The voice isn’t audible, but I feel it in my marrow, tugging me toward the door with invisible threads.
I don’t ask for permission when I step into the main room, my bare feet silent on the worn wooden planks. The cottage seems smaller in daylight, all rough-hewn beams and windows that let in too much light, too much of the impossible green from outside. I just say, “I need to go outside.”
Sam looks up so fast from where he’s been wearing a groove in the floor that I hear his neck pop. His green eyes are wide, frantic, searching my face for signs of fever or delirium. “Esme?—”
