ChapterFifteen
After a long and grueling journey, we make it to the palace just as the sun dips behind its tall spires, which seem to stretch into the clouds. I lean my head on Nash’s shoulder. When I said the journey was grueling, I meant for the brothers. My precious ass got carried the entire way.
We stalk through the cobblestone courtyard and round the east wing of the castle before ducking in a side door. Nash’s arm releases me and I uncurl myself from around him. I was beginning to think he’d forgotten about me hanging there. Alas, no.
The four of them crowd around me. I clutch my tray tighter to my chest and eyeball the colorful scarf still tucked against Malachi’s chest. “Tell no one where you have been, what you have seen, or what you stole,” Hart whispers harshly.
I roll my eyes. “I’m a Burgher, not stupid. Why would I confess to being at the scene of a murder attempt?”
Theo huffs a laugh and spins on his heel before stalking away from me. I grab Malachi’s arm before he abandons me. “I need to get back to my chambers so I can change and accompany Gwyneth on her walk with Charming.”
He tilts his head. “You don’t trust him?”
“Of course not. He’s after one thing and one thing alone.”
“And what’s that?”
“Her floof.”
Nash’s eyes narrow and he grabs my hand before tugging me in the opposite direction from where Theo stalked off to. I would have totally gotten lost. I wave at the twins as we disappear down a hallway and then pound up a set of stairs. Nash's legs seem to stretch for miles as he strides ahead of me, and all I can hear is the sound of my own feet pounding the floor as I try to catch up. Damn Hallowed and their vertical achievements. Nash flings open the door to my chambers and pulls me inside. My mirror man makes an appearance, eyeballs the idol-like creature that escorted me in here, then disappears. Well, okay then.
Gwyneth is nowhere to be seen. She’s probably finishing up at the library. Oh wait, I’ve been gone a whole diurnal—she is going to be so mad. The beds are immaculate, and our clothing is folded on a chair. I wonder if Gwyneth did it or if we qualified for maid service while Charming is wooing Gwyneth’s floof?
The door snaps closed and I spin, expecting to find myself alone, but Nash leans against it with his arms folded. A darkness clouds his gaze as he scans me from head to toe and back again. I take a retreating step toward the bed.
“Who are you?” Nash says. The deep timbre of his voice vibrates inside of my chest.
“Daphne Stone from Strongfair.”
His lips tip up at the side, but it’s not amusement coloring his features, it’s wicked intent—and not the fun kind.
“Then tell me, Daphne Stone from Strongfair, how have you bewitched my brothers?”
“There is no bewitching occurring,” I snap. “How dare you. I am not a maiden who would resort to witchcraft to ensnare a male. If they can’t accept me for who I am, chaos, curse, and all the disaster I bring, then I will not waste my life on potions and lotions. It wasn’t meant to be.”
He pushes off the door and strides toward me with a predatory grace, like a beast stalking its dinner. His gaze narrows and focuses on me like I’m the single thing that matters right in this tempo. I freeze. That’s what you do, right? Or is it run? Nash crowds me until my back hits the bedpost.
His fingertips drag across my jawline, the sensation of his touch sending a shiver through me. “Somehow, I believe you. You may not have intentionally set out to win the hearts of my brothers, but with every turn and each new calamity, you worm your way into our minds.”
He wraps his arms around me and grips the post, caging me in. My chest heaves beneath his body and my blood pumps faster in my veins as I tilt my head back to stare at him.
His eyes drop to my mouth, making my lips tingle with anticipation. He sucks in a breath. He is the hidden darkness, the shadows that stalk the sun, and the most dangerous of creatures. But no matter his words, I know without a doubt Nash Stirling will never hurt me. In fact, I’m certain he won’t let anyone else hurt me, either.
“What did I promise you?” he asks, his voice a guttural rumble that makes my toes curl in my boots.
“That you would return anything your brothers did to me threefold.”
“And yet you still let Mal kiss you.”
“‘Let’ is a strong word.”
“And Hart.”
“That was accidental.”
He huffs a laugh. “Hart does nothing by accident.”
“Perhaps I want you to make good on your promise,” I utter. My voice is all raspy. What is happening? Who am I? His eyes grow hooded as he leans back and unwinds the sash from around my waist.
