“What’s important is that Kaelan is on our side. He has no designs on thieving the Crown or bringing the Lands under the auspices of the Throne. Lavana has claimed her Prince and she has been here for the last seven years. She defeated Alanna. Claiming Kaelan would strengthen your chances of not having to meet her in combat—”
“I will not break my word,” she said through her teeth. “Find him. Tie him up.”
She charged through the bushes, back towards the house, certain that she was right.
Sleeping with Kaelan while in her Shine was wrong, and claiming him out of the question. But she couldn’t help remembering that day at Eris’s... how overpowering his desire for her had been; how good it had felt to be touched by him; what he had said...
She rushed into the kitchen, where the brownie was a gray and brown blur zipping through the lamp light, cleaning and organizing and cooking all at once. Up the back stairs, she raced towards the west bedroom, her heart pounding.
Was Damion right? Had she been ignoring Kaelan? Resisting him? Why? Because of Honey? Or Endreas? Or because of how she’d felt when he’d died? The hollowness had been overpowering. While she knew they stemmed from having his heart-place within her, it didn’t make the feelings she’d experienced any less real. Or any less terrifying.
Regardless, she cared too much for Kaelan to break her word.
When her Shine had burned out, maybe then, she could talk to him. Maybe then she could open herself to the possibility that something had changed between them beyond the influence of their instinctual attraction.
But the Shine was all instinct, primal and unforgiving. If she saw him now, there would be no conversation. Not until after the Shine had ended, which could be hours or days.
Fortunately, it seemed Flor had Kaelan occupied elsewhere in the house, because she didn’t see him.
Hurrying into the room, she pushed the door shut and leaned her back against it. Though it had only been a short time since Meer had appeared, the wood floors shone. The globes over the oil lamps on the walls glittered. The four-poster bed was freshly turned down. Only the faintest hint of mustiness hung under the aromas of lavender and sage, which were bubbling in a diffuser on the night table.
“Meer?” she called softly.
The brownie popped up before her, the lightest sheen of sweat on her brow.
“Your bath is through there,” Meer said, pointing towards an open archway. “I am quite busy acquiring new clothes—”
“Can you secure the doors and windows of this room?”
“Secure them?” Meer asked.
“Lock them. I’m in my Shine,” Magda said, holding out her softly glowing arms as evidence. “I don’t want any... stray Princes knocking down my door or breaking my windows.”
Meer’s nose wrinkled. “Whoever heard of a stray Prince?”
“I need to rest,” Magda said more strongly. “If Cae is allowed in here, I won’t sleep... possibly for days.”
Meer’s eyes widened. “That’s unacceptable. I’ll secure the entrances, but you’ll be locked in.”
Magda sagged. “That’s fine. Thank you. And will you do you me another favor?”
The brownie gave Magda a look that suggested she was already quite put-upon.
“I asked Damion to tie Kaela... Cae up with gorgon rope,” she said. “Please see that it’s done.”
“Why in the Lands would you—?”
“Because Cae has a very unusual ability to traverse the Shadow Realms, which he could do to enter my room. The gorgon rope can prevent him from doing so.”
Meer’s eyebrow lofted. “Thatisquite unusual. I will see that it is done, but you must see that you are bathed and in bed at once. I have a great many preparations ahead of me. I may not return to you unless you call for me.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
Meer gave her one last sour look and then disappeared.
Magda tried the door knob. It turned, but the door didn’t budge, not even a creak. She let out a long breath and then wandered into the bathroom.
Amorphous gray and blue-veined tiles covered the floors, the walls, the ceiling. A deep tub carved of the same marble, native to the Eastern Cliffs, sat beneath a stained-glass river tableau. Brownie-lights glowed, pulsing and ebbing through the glass in rippling blue and green ribbons, so that the room appeared submerged underwater. Steam collected on the tri-fold mirrors above the sink and an aromatic blend of jasmine, honeysuckle, nutmeg, and cream filled the air—Rae oil. Her own personal perfume blend, which she hadn’t smelled since she’d been exiled. How Meer had discovered it in such a short time, Magda had no idea, but all at once, it brought tears to her eyes and unknotted the muscles in her shoulders.
