Quinnie?
My jaw clenched so hard I nearly cracked a tooth. Her name was already a problem. But a nickname? From him?No. Absolutely not.
“Here?” she asked, voice composed but wary.
“I’d prefer privacy,” Edric replied, as if offering a gift instead of issuing a demand.
I’m sure you would.
Even if I weren’t tethered to Quinn, there’s no way I was letting her go anywhere alone with this man. Every muscle in my body locked from the sheer effort it took to stay seated and not vault the table.
I scanned Quinn’s face. Her expression was neutral, but I could feel her unease rippling down the tether and the weight of the history she hadn’t explained.
I rose as she did, not a heartbeat behind her.
Edric turned, scrunching his nose as if smelling something foul. “You’re not needed, Sir…?”
“NotSir,” I said coolly. “It’s just Mav. And I have to go wherever she goes because of?—”
“The tether,” Branrir, Thistle, and Vesper all said in unison, flat as recited scripture.
Edric’s stupidly blue eyes narrowed as his mind caught up. “Ah,” he said, rehearsed smile curving, “you must be Quinnie’s currentservice projectfor the century.”
The temperature in my blood dropped ten degrees. I opened my mouth, already knowing whatever came out wouldn’t be diplomatic, but Quinn beat me to it.
“He isnota service project,” she stated—clear, firm,lethal.
I’d never heard that tone from her before. It went beyond assertive; it wasunsheathed.
“We are tethered,” she said. “He goes wherever I go. Or…” Her gaze sharpened. “We can have this conversation right here, right now, in full view of every guest and gossiping courtier. The choice is yours.”
I gaped at her.
And fell for her all over again.
Edric’s smile thinned, turning brittle. He clearly wasn’t used to being challenged, especially not in public. The king dipped his chin. “Very well,” he said through his teeth. “This way, please.”
He offered his arm to Quinn. She hesitated, then took it. She glanced over her shoulder at me. It was quick. But it said everything. “I’m sorry. Please do not make this harder.”
I gave her the barest nod in acknowledgment.
Our group exited the ballroom, following guards down another ornate corridor. Edric walked a step ahead, escorting Quinn like she belonged to him. I followed behind, one step off-center, keeping a clean line of sight to his spine—in case I needed to drive something sharp through it.
At last, we reached a set of carved doors. A pair of guards with a ridiculous number of feathers on their helmets ushered us through.
The receiving room was a shrine to one man’s delusions of grandeur. It was smaller than I expected, oppressive despite its opulence. The ceiling arched low. Heavy curtains shrouded narrow windows. Candles crowded every surface. The scent of melting wax clung to the back of my throat.
Everywhere I looked, I sawhim.
Half a dozen statues lined the walls, each a variation of pompous. Edric immortalized in marble or bronze. And then there were the portraits. One showed him in battle armor, standing atop a fallen beast. Another captured him gazing into the distance as though he’d solved mortality. And, of course, the centerpiece: Edric in his coronation robes, framed by such blinding light it looked as though he’d been born from the sun.
A massive mirror dominated one wall, in the off chance thisasshole forgot what he looked like. Near the center stood an impractically large desk, the chair behind it a smaller version of his throne.
Vesper landed lightly atop what I swear to the Saints must be bust number 233 of Edric-as-a-warrior and muttered, “How many versions of your face does one room need?”
No one laughed.
Well, I did?—
