“Better than letting you die because you’re as stubborn as a mule.” I step in closer, dropping my voice right to her ear. “I knew you were a masochist, Princess, but trust me, I know way better ways toenjoypain.”
Her breath stutters, just for a second. It’s barely there, but I feel it—I feel everything when it comes to her.
“I should’ve locked you in your fucking room,” I mutter, more to myself than her. She rolls her eyes and walks off.
Classic Avilyna, pretending she’s fine while the fire’s still burning hot. She heads for the living room, where her friend is passed out cold on the couch, silver hair as a beacon of trouble. Wyll’s parked against the wall behind her, arms crossed, wearing that half-smirk that says he knows exactly how deep in trouble I am.
“Wake her up, I need to question her.”
“No, you don’t,” Avilyna snaps, spinning around. “Vanessa needs rest.”
“She might be a spy,” I bite back. “Rest can wait.” She stops dead in her tracks. The idea clearly never crossed her mind. Because Avilyna’s used to things being black-and-white. People are either loyal or they’re not. But I grew up in the grey, where smiling faces lie, and the sharpest knives are always hidden behind friendly backs. She’s royalty, sure, but she hasn’t learned the real game yet.
I have.
I was raised in it. And if she wants any chance at surviving long enough to become Queen, she’d better learn fast.
“Van is not a spy,” she says with a scoff, like the idea is ridiculous. Avilyna looks around, probably hoping for backup, but the room stays quiet. Caleb’s on the stairs, eyes glued to his potions as if they hold all the answers.
Nalaka’s by the kitchen entrance, arms crossed. She offers her a tight smile before cutting in. “We’ll wait until she’s stable before anything.”
I shake my head. “We don’t have time for stable. If she’s working with the enemy, she’s already passed the damn message. We wait too long; it’s our throats on the line.” Noises from the kitchen intensify my irritation: “Sakura, keep it down!”
“Hey! You don’t talk to her like that.” Avilyna’s anger leaks through her words as she comes chest to chest with me.
Sakura pops her pink head out of the kitchen, making the blood on her face look like doll makeup with her jovial air. "Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be disruptive. I was just preparing a balm for the acid burn infection. The lavender and thyme seem to be having a bit of a disagreement. Though lavender can be quite stubborn about its proportions. I’ll make sure to keep it down. Wouldn’t want the eucalyptus to startcomplaining."
Wyll’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he crosses his arms and mutters, “And I’m the one who’s supposed to stay sober.” At least he waited until she was back to her potion-making before opening his big mouth.
“The difference is, when she’s weird, it’s cute. You? It’s just annoying,” Caleb adds.
“Aww, you think Sakura’s cute! Need help planning the wedding?” Wyll steps toward him, grinning.
Caleb strongly shoves him back before he can get too close. “Yeah—how about you shut the fuck up?”
“You’re no fun,” Wyll pouts, flicking his gun in a lazy arc before catching it with practiced ease. “Anyway, it’s better to be safe than to bring a snake to the Institute.”
That gets Avilyna’s attention. I feel her stiffen next to me, her posture snapping straight as she turns toward him.
“Wyll Lindir, you better not be calling my best friend a snake.”
He shrugs, “Just saying, venom usually hides behind a pretty face.”
“You tell me about it,” I mutter, the words slipping out before my brain can catch them. Avilyna’s head snaps toward me. Her glare is scalding, enough to make me flinch.
Yeah. Definitely should’ve kept my stupid mouth shut.
"Well," her voice is colder than a Kallahan winter storm, "I guess that makes you the antivenom. Ineffective… But still trying to be useful. Howcute." She finishes with a smirk and an exaggerated mocking pout, fucking infuriating.
My nostrils flare as I draw in a sharp and shallow breath; the subtle ticking of my jaw betrays just how unnerved I am by her. My little terroris all I can focus on, a match held close to dry kindling. She’s in my blood, under my skin, always a step away from driving me over the edge.
Obsessed?
That word doesn’t even scratch the surface.
“Honestly, you two are impossible,” Nalaka chimes, exasperation leaking through. “I say we put this ridiculous argument on hold until tomorrow. A good night's sleep does wonders for clearing your mind or at least, it might work on some of us.” Her words linger in the air, but they don’t do much to cut through the tension. Protocol is still protocol, no matter how personal things get. Ignoring it never leads to anything but collateral damage.
I step outside, needing air, space, something solid to keep from snapping. Inside, Wyll’s probably doing his best impression of a host, assigning the discussed rooms as if we’re all on vacation and not caught in a waking nightmare. As expected, echoes of Nalaka insisting she’ll use her room only for late-night missions reach me from the open windows.
