Alora glowered.
Of course. No matter his pretty words, she was still his property.
“How can I be your queen when I am made to feel like a captive in my chambers?”
He chuckled and took a drink. “Very well, if you do not fear my demons, then I will allow you to walk the castle so long as the Harbingers accompany you on your persistent wanderings.”
Because he knew she would find a way to meander even without his permission.
“And I want a weapon to protect myself from your kind,” she blurted next, since he was being lenient. “Made of Nightstone.”
Rune arched an eyebrow at that. “The Harbingers are enough.”
“You said I could demand anything.”
Sighing, he pressed on his forehead as he softly groused,“Abyss take me…”
“I want a knife, Rune.”
“Very well.Onceyou have learned how to master it.” He placed a finger on her lips before she could argue. “You must train to use weapons first, little bird. Then you may have as many pointy blades as you desire after you have proven how to use them.”
Alora growled, “I can prove it now, if you would like.”
“Temper, temper,” Rune chuckled. “I cannot have my delicate bride hurting herself.
She rolled her eyes. At least he hadn’t said no. “As for what I came to discuss, tell me what it will take to save Argyle.”
He leaned back in his chair, wine swirling lazily in his goblet. “Patience,” he said. The edge of a smirk touched his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The affairs of mortals take time.”
Shadows flickered at the edges of the balcony as if restless under the strain of their discussion.
“What is taking so long?” She frowned. “You are a god, are you not? You know magic in ways mortals don’t. You must at least know how to break a simple curse.”
Rune’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint she had provoked his pride. “Ah, but you see, this is no simple curse. The magic woven through it is powerful.Ancient.” His tone darkened on that word, dreadful and cautious all at once. “Nonetheless, to break a curse is the same as breaking any great spell. You must kill the source or the one who made it.”
The one who made it…
Then someone had cast the curse, but the question was who. She had suspected Rune at first, but the way he described it dispelled that belief.
Ancient, he’d said.
The word weighed on Alora’s mind. She searched his face, reading the way his eyes didn’t quite meet hers, the faint crease between his brows he tried to smooth away with a sip of wine.
A curse that even a god hesitated to name? Her stomach knotted. Whatever dark magic had swallowed Argyle, it wasn’t normal sorcery, and Rune’s evasiveness told her he’d seen it before.
“What are you not telling me?” she murmured.
“It will take some time to find the answers,” Rune continued as if she had not asked. His fingers idly threaded through her hair, but she could see through his charm. “Meanwhile, relax and enjoy the luxuries your title gives.”
“You always do this,” she snapped.
Rune arched a brow. “Do what?”
“Distract. Deflect. Pretend like everything is a joke while the rest of us bleed for answers.”
His smile didn’t falter. “I have never been fond of bleeding.”
She twisted in his lap, trying again to rise. But he held her in place, not forcefully. But enough to make her feel the weight of his demand.
