“She what?” Branrir paused mid-step.
Vesper looked up with similar bewilderment.
“She chose me,” I said, the words staggering even now. “She didn’t want to marry him.” I gave a mirthless laugh. “We were going to run tonight.”
“You think the king knew?” Thistle’s hand tightened around mine.
“He saw enough to know we were more than just tethered.” I closed my eyes for a moment. “He stormed in with a bunch of guards. I fought, but they tore me from her.”
Thistle's lower lip trembled as her eyes dropped to the floor.
“What did they tell you?” I asked the others.
Branrir grunted. “Said we were being put in holding. Too much ‘royal interference’ or some such nonsense.”
“They said the same to Vesper and me,” Thistle said. “Though I imagine you were the interference.”
My lips twitched upward. “I’m a walking interference.”
A short, dry chuckle sounded from Vesper. “That might be the most honest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
I scrubbed both hands down my face, fingers trembling. “He hit her. I heard it,” I said, anger pumping hot through my veins. “He struck her, or had someone do it. And I—” My voice cracked.
Striking any woman was unforgivable. But strikingher?
Quinn, who fixed everyone’s hurts with soft hands and stubborn kindness. The woman who marveled at every small thing as if the Saints were creating miracles for her alone. The Twilight who eased her wounded horse into a gentle sleep. Striking a soul such as hers was an offense to everything good and decent in this world.
Vesper sighed. “You’re assuming he hit her out of rage.”
My brows drew together.
“For men like Edric, it’s not about punishment,” he continued, green eyes fixed on the cell bars.
Thistle stiffened. “What are you saying?”
“He wants to be remembered as the one she chose. Even if he has to carve that memory into her himself.” Vesper’s mouth twisted, shifting his whiskers. “He’s not angry, he’s desperate—and trust me, that’s worse. A man who’s angry wants blood. A man who’s desperate wants control.”
Control over Quinn.
Control over the future.
Edric didn’t care about her and certainly had no intention of earning her love. The king wanted her magic at his disposal andneeded her to bear heirs. And I’d lost the chance to save her from all of it.
“This is my fault,” I croaked. “If I hadn’t let myself believe we were safe for one damn second?—”
“Mav.” Branrir cut me off. “There’s no way you could’ve seen this coming. Blaming yourself won’t help her now.”
“I don’t care about blame,” I growled. “I care about what that bastard might’ve done to her after I was dragged away. He struck her in front of a room full of guards. There’s no telling what he’d do behind closed doors.” Fury burned under my skin. “If he hurt her, if he violated—” I stood, ready to combust. My jaw locked shut. “I’ll kill him,” I vowed. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands. I’ll flay the skin off his limbs. I’ll break every bone. He will beg for death.”
No one made an effort to calm me. Based on the anger in their expressions, I was certain they’d be enthusiastic accomplices.
Thistle rose beside me. “We’ll find a way to stop this,” she said. “But first we have to survive the night.”
Stillness was impossible.
Ten steps, turn.
Ten steps turn.
