I slip back into the cottage and make my way to our small room where my mate lies curled on her side like a cat in sunlight. Her silver-white hair spills across the pillow in waves that seem to catch light even in the dim interior. For a long moment, I just watch her, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips part slightly in sleep. Everything’s about to change again, our fragile peace shattered by royal summons and political necessity. I need this moment of calm to anchor me through whatever storm we’re about to enter.
“Angel,” I murmur, brushing my fingers along the sharp line of her jaw. Her skin is warm and soft, and I can feel the steady pulse of life beneath it. “It’s dawn.”
Her eyes flutter open, revealing those stunning silver-gray irises flecked with light like captured star fire. For a heartbeat, she seems disoriented, lost between sleep and waking. Then recognition floods her features along with the weight of everything waiting outside these walls.
“Sam.” She reaches for me automatically, and I catch her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. Her fingers are still warm from sleep, and a slight tremor betrays her nerves.
“He’s back,” I say quietly, not wanting to shatter the moment but knowing I have to.
She nods, sitting up and running her free hand through tangled hair. “Okay.” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s nervous, terrified, if I’m being honest, though she’d never admit it aloud.
I catch her face between my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze directly. “Hey. Look at me.”
She does, those extraordinary eyes searching mine for reassurance I hope I can provide.
“Whatever happens at court, whatever we learn about your father or the politics of this place, it doesn’t change us,” I say firmly. “You and me. We’re solid. That’s not negotiable.”
Her shoulders relax slightly, some of the tension leaving her frame. “Promise?”
“With everything I am.” I press my forehead to hers, breathing in her scent; cotton candy, morning rain and something uniquely hers that will always mean home to me. “You’re stuck with me, Angel. For as long as you’ll have me. Hell, probably longer than that.”
She kisses me then, soft and sweet and desperate, and I pour every ounce of love and determination I possess into it. When we break apart, there’s new steel in her eyes, the kind of resolve that carried her through everything else life has thrown at us.
“Let’s go meet a king,” I say as I pull away and hold out my hand tomy mate.
Esme puts her hand in mine and smiles up at me confidently. “Let’s.”
CHAPTER SIX
LOCKE
If the wolf grumbles one more time, I’m going to slit his throat and bury the body under the nearest hedgerow.
I mean that with love, of course.
Three bloody days on the road, and all he’s done is circle the women like a muttering storm cloud, snarling at twigs and glaring at me every time I so much as look in Esme’s direction. It’s a wonder his eyes haven’t frozen that way or popped out of his damn skull. The constant weight of his suspicion presses against my shoulders like armor that doesn’t fit right, and I’m beginning to think he’d rather I walked backwards the entire journey just so he could keep me in sight.
The journey might’ve been tolerable if not for the constant thudding of Sam’s horse behind mine, close enough to breathe down my neck like I’m going to spontaneously lunge for Esme if he doesn’t stay glued to her side. His mount’s hooves beat an irritating rhythm against the packed earth, a percussion of paranoia that’s been driving me slowly mad since we left the forest. Newsflash, pup, if I wanted her, you wouldn’t see it coming. Apparently subtlety isn’t in his vocabulary, just like sitting quietly isn’t in his skill set.
Cashira, at least, has the decency to be silent. She’s said little beyond the occasional low-voiced word to her daughter during our breaks, murmuring comfort or guidance in tones too soft for the rest of us to catch. There’s something almost ritualistic about the way she speaks to Esme, as if each word carries weight beyond its meaning. Esme hasn’t spoken much either, just nods and listens with that careful attention she gives everything. She watches everything like she’s memorizing it. The shape of the trees with their twisted branches reaching toward an overcast sky, the color of the clouds as they shift from gray to silver, the bend in the trail as it winds through valleys carpeted in moss that glows faintly underfoot. Eyes wide, cautious, unreadable. Always watching, always taking it in, like she’s cataloguing every detail of this realm in case she needs to remember it later.
The wolf? Gods. If he’s not glaring, he’s pacing. If he’s not pacing, he’s growling low in his throat like distant thunder. If he’s not doing either, he’s muttering insults under his breath like I can’t hear him, each word deliberately loud enough to carry but soft enough to pretend it wasn’t meant for me.
Spoiler alert, you insufferable canine. I can.
We’re stopped now, midway through a winding valley trail where ancient stones jut from the earth like broken teeth, resting the mares before we push through the last few ridges that separate us from the castle proper. The air here tastes different, charged with the kind of magic that makes mortal skin prickle and fae blood sing. I dismount, roll my shoulders to work out the knots that three days of tension have tied there, and lean against a twisted black-bark tree. It weeps silver sap down the side like it’s bleeding light, each drop catching the filtered sunlight and throwing it back in prismatic flashes.
Esme brushes a hand along her horse’s mane, fingers gentle as she works out a tangle, then glances at me with those pale,luminous eyes that seem to see too much. “What are their names?”
“The horses?” I flick a brow, noting the way she studies me like she’s trying to solve a mystery. “You’re riding Starlight.”
She gives me a look that’s equal parts amusement and exasperation. “That’s not your name for it.”
“No,” I smirk, enjoying the way her mouth twitches like she’s fighting not to smile. “Her actual name is Rotbreath. But I figured Starlight would be more your vibe.”
She blinks, and this time the amusement wins. “You gave me a horse named Rotbreath?”
“Affectionately. She only farts when we’re going uphill.” I gesture toward Sam’s mount, a sturdy bay mare with intelligent eyes and a patient disposition. “And that’s Ass.”
