“He’s not ensnared your good opinion as he has the rest of this city?” he asked, though his voice was calm she sensed he was holding back. She understood this sort of forced calm. Graves had wronged him, too. She wasn’t sure how the two were connected, maybe something with their shared fae ancestry, but the two were enemies now.
“My opinion of him couldn’t be lower,” she spat, and instantly regretted the slip. Her tone had been too scathing. She revealed far too much.
Miranda sealed the thoughts of that night away, like she did every time they threatened to spill into reality. She could forget for a little while longer. Graves would be removed and she’d never have to spare him or his evil another thought again.
“I see,” Drake said. Of course he did. She was too transparent. Stupid. Stupid mistake. He stood and moved closer in the span of a heartbeat. She must have been rattled because she hadn’t adjusted her stance or prepared a defensive strategy. All those drilled in instincts to fight and defend, gone the moment her walls had threatened to fall to a very handsome rogue.
He was now close enough for her to catch trace iridescence in his eyes, the shimmer that made them luminous. Close enough to feel body heat and inhale the scent ofhim, not just the spirits—though the exact nuances were undiscernible at present. The sudden rush against her senses overwhelmed. Her mind nearly blank in response.
“I will do what I can to help you stop this wedding,” he said, voice deep and even. It resonated through her bones and she fought a shiver. “All I ask is that if the chance arises, you allow me to deal with Graves however I see fit.”
Miranda looked into his eyes, reading his intent clearly enough. Without a word she nodded.
“Very well.” His entire demeanor shifted and he gave her a wicked smirk. “Then we’ll get started. First, I’m sorry to say I can’t read Faery, either.”
“What?”
He had the damn gall to look like this was a mere detail. Miranda ground her teeth. He had made her agree, made herpromiseto work together, without revealing his ability to read Faery. He was counting on her honor as a guardian to keep her word at any cost. She was going to enjoy proving him wrong. Nothing was more important than her sister.
“Before you attack me.” He peered at her, head tilted. “Which I assume is the direction your thoughts were going—”
“Something like that,” she seethed.
“Well, before you decide on how best to kill me, please consider I have other abilities to offer.”
She crossed her arms, scowling. “Such as?”
“Such as, love, I know where youcanget these translated.Andnot draw too much attention to the fact. If word gets out that a guardian noble is trying to unearthFaery secrets, of a respected alderman no less, who knows what could happen.”
He handed the paper back to her and she snatched it close to her chest, securing it quickly in a secret pocket of her bodice. His eyes dipped, following the motion, and lingered a few seconds longer than she liked. She drew a knife, the flash of steel drawing his eyes to the more lethal parts of her anatomy—her hands—before returning to her face.
“Where can we get this translated?”
His expression soured.
Her patience was wearing ever so thin.
“The Night Court,” he supplied.
Miranda’s heart skipped a beat. “The Night Court? An actual Faery Court? There’s no other place outside—“”
“Nowhere else that I know or where I have…connections,” he said, but she could read the omission in his tone.
Once again, he was not telling her everything. She eyed him as he avoided her. He took a few steps away, which at least freed her senses enough to think.
This room would have belonged to the late Lord Warner, his father. Bookshelves. Portraits. Decanters above the fireplace. A regal desk. All of it passed along to the next Lord through the ages, all of it distinctly human. She saw no trace of Drake here, given what little she knew of him, and for some inexplicable reason the idea made her sad.
Drake kept his back to her as he neared the desk. She wished he wore a proper coat. The loose fit of his shirt was too intimate, a reminder of how improper this entire meeting was, though she had no plans to leave until she got what she wanted.
“What are you not telling me?” She asked, hiding her flustered senses as accusation.
Drake turned to her finally, smile dazzling and fake. “Let’s not make this difficult. We’re on the same side, ultimately, and our working together does not require me to divulge my life’s story.”
She shook her head. “How can I trust you if you’re hiding something?”
He shrugged. “Have to make that call for yourself, love. But right now, I don’t know of another option unless you plan to waltz into the Night Court and kindly ask, or, in your case I’d wager ‘threaten kindly’ is more apt, that someone translate this. Which, will prove difficult for you, guardian or no, the Night Fae are not the accepting sort.”
Miranda scowled. He had a point. “Fine. We’ll go to the Night Court.”
