The idea is too heartbreaking to bear. “You might be right in that the lykin have been forever changed. But there will be a time when a new precedent can be set. Maybe power is handed and gained peacefully and the leader is more of a spiritual guide—one connected with the old and the new—than a battle-ready warlord. Maybe they do lead all packs, but the leader is chosen from among them. There are many possibilities.”
“I like your vision of the future better than mine.” He gives me a tired smile.
“I believe that the lykin will fight for a brighter future, if given the chance. And that someone will step forward to lead them into that future.”You, I want to say,You should do it, Evander. But I don’t. If he is to lead, then it is a burden he must choose to bear of his own accord. It doesn’t matter if I think he would be the most perfect choice. What matters is what he thinks.
But the idea of the fang crown of the wolf king landing on Evander’s brow distracts me a moment.
I can see it so clearly—feel it, even. Evander’s voice echoing throughout the main hall of Den, as he holds court with the alphas of the many packs of the lykin. People look to him for sage counsel on the history of their peoples. They do not make the journey to Den out of fear or force, but for guidance and to connect with an ancient past. And me…I walk among windswept grasses. The fresh scents of earth and water are my company as I, with the spirits’ help, bring back trees and animals to the plains. I would help him rule, if there could be a place for me.
“Faelyn?” Evander’s tone suggests that it might not be the first time he’s called for me. I blink, returning to the present and abandoning the fantasy. Evander and Aurora have stood. He holds his hand out expectantly to me. I must’ve truly been lost in my thoughts to not notice. “We should head back.”
“Right.” I take his hand and he helps me up. Our grip lingers, but only for a second. Yet, as we walk back, side by side, our knuckles brush against each other in the cramped passageway. My fingers twitch as I fight the urge to lace them against his. Just one touch would be enough…one moment of him—of us.
But that is not to be had tonight. We head straight back to the king’s chambers. The fire still crackles in the hearth.
“Good night,” Aurora says, loud enough that Conri would hear if he’s in the bedroom. The curtain is drawn and theshadows long on the floor, making it impossible to tell if he is or isn’t there. “Thank you again, Faelyn, for your help. And for your escort and guard, Evander.”
“It is my honor to serve the king,” he says dutifully.
“Rest well, Aurora, Evander.” My attention only briefly lands on Aurora, and sticks to Evander as she disappears behind her curtain. The flickering orange light of the fire highlights every dip and divot in his muscles. I shamelessly fantasize about how those biceps bulge when he grips my hips as I am atop him.
I love you, I mouth to him.
The shadows on his face seem to darken. His hand moves of its own accord, reaching for me, but he abandons the motion. Pain fills his moonlit gaze.
I love you. Always, he mouths back. Then he turns, striding out of the room with purpose, as though he had to gain momentum to ensure he would actually leave.
I linger, staring at the outline of where he just was. The caves are colder at night. But the winter in my heart only accentuates the chill. I have to move as well, in the opposite direction from him. But all I want is to run to him. To tell Evander to take me far, far from this place. Somewhere that we never have to think about any of it, ever again.
Soon, I reassure myself. My day was spent strengthening Aurora and plotting our escape. We will all be free within two mere weeks. They’ve endured this pain—worse—for years…I can hold out for a handful of days more.
With a bracing breath, I practically charge into the bedroom, past the point of no return that is the curtain. I slow the moment I’m plunged into near-total darkness. The only light is from the beam that is cast from the firelight underneath the curtain. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and, not knowing the layout of the room, I don’t move at all.
“I’m here, my queen. Come forward.” Conri’s tone is low, sultry, but that of a command. The shadows shift before me, accompanied by the sound of moving fabrics.
I do as he asks, my eyes slowly adjusting while I shuffle forward. The room comes into focus. It’s all shades of black and gray, a hint of orange. There’s barely enough light for me to make out the oversized bed that takes up most of the space. There’s a table off to the side, against the wall, framed by two chairs. I can see the dark splotches of tapestries hung from the walls, but I cannot make out the patterns woven into them.
“Not far, now,” Conri coaxes. I head toward the side of the bed he is not occupying, based on the sound. But he stops me with atsk. “I’m not over there.”
Bracing myself, I correct my course and walk around the foot of the bed, toward him, dragging my fingers to keep my bearing, they trail along the thick furs and quilted blankets piled to ward off the chill of the caves. As I near, he reaches out a hand. Conri is shirtless, blankets pooled around his waist. I can only hope he has something on beneath them.
“I have been waiting for you.” He takes my hands in both of his and kisses their backs. It is a gentle and tender display. Which makes it all the more sinister, knowing his true nature.
Bardulf and Conri are men cut from the same cloth. But where Bardulf was overt and brash, Conri is cunning and methodical. He’s a man who doesn’t have a need for haste because he truly believes that the world will bend for him. It’s merely a matter of time. And, if it doesn’t, then he will break it by force.
“I am sorry to keep my king waiting.”
“I will allow it, just this once. Is Aurora well?” Once I am in hand, always Aurora next. I doubt there has ever been a day in Conri’s entire existence that he didn’t spend worrying over the things that guarantee his control over the lykin.
“Yes.” I rest a hand on his shoulder. “But I am tired from our time communing.”
The silence that follows is unbearable. He takes far too long to formulate what should be a few words. I wonder what is going through his head. Fear fills my blood, weighing down my body at the absence of him saying something, anything.
“Then we should have you rest,” he says finally. Without warning, Conri pulls me forward and I clumsily fall onto the bed. He expertly twists as I fall, arms shifting around my waist. I let out a softoofsound almost identical to the plush mattress as it accepts my weight. “Comfortable, isn’t it?”
I open my mouth to agree without thought, but pause, shifting, sinking in farther. It is easily one of the most comfortable beds I’ve ever lain in. The mattress itself doesn’t feel as if it’s made of hay, but rather?—
“It’s feathers,” he answers my question without my needing to ask. “Only the best, for the king and his queen.” Conri’s arms tighten around my midsection, drawing me closer. We’re chest to chest, noses nearly touching. His leg drapes over mine, foot wrapping around my calf like he’s some kind of sea monster ensnaring me. “It will be a good life, you know.”
