“I only know the stories David’s told me. She sounds pretty badass,” I muttered, and a weak smile painted my mouth. “Wish I’d known her.”
The thought tightened my throat, feeling like a specter, cold and in mourning. I swallowed it down.
Faelad’s eyes met mine, holding strong.
“I think you’re more like her than you know,” he said, tone low and distant, as if it solely belonged to the past. “I see that same spark in your eyes—you carry her spirit around with you.”
I felt the gentle sting of tears, but inhaled, and refused to spill them. The admiration in his voice had hit too deep.
“I could say the same of you and your nephew,” I quipped, not realizing until too late that I’d prodded the wrong wound.
A hand stiffened on my back. His face didn’t falter, but something flickered, definitely sharp and sore.
Seemed someone was haunted by his own ghosts too.
“Perhaps,” Faelad said, flatly. Words clipped and careful. “Lochlainn makes a point to avoid me at all costs, so you’ll never get us close enough to make the comparison.” It was meant as dry humor, but I saw right through it. A mask covering the hurt.
“Why?” I asked quietly.
I knew I shouldn’t have kept digging, but the question itched beneath my skin. It didn’t add up. Both men were clever and powerful, yet Faelad allowed Lochlainn to run around rampant, unchecked, surrounded by a pack of pesky thugs.
Why?
Faelad let out an exhausted breath as his eyes drifted toward the back of the ballroom. When he looked at me again, it was with a kind of disheartenment.
“Lochlainn was meant to be Lord.” The words hit like a heavy boot slamming down a silent room.
Um—what?
“He was only a child,” Faelad explained, face pinching in. “Luckland needed a strong ruler after his parents’ tragedy.” He paused, mouth pressing together. I recognized the gesture, an attempt to hold back emotions from flooding in. “Though it was unprecedented, I was second in line. So I took his father’s place.” His voice went low, coated in something unspoken. Regret? Guilt? I shuddered to think if it were something darker. “Lochlainn’s resented me ever since.”
Holy hell.
The fogged window of their relationship suddenly wiped clean in my mind. Yeah . . . a resentful nephew with a guilt-twinged uncle who let him stomp around town like a tweed-wrapped thug. That made sense now.
“I’m sorry. For all of your losses,” I said solemnly. “I’m sure that was a difficult time.”
Faelad dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“We can only play the cards we’re dealt,” he murmured, “and hope luck doesn’t run out.”
His half-smile hid something unreadable, likely knowing. “May the fates bless ya during the Trials. We’re fortunate to have ya representing our land and all that it stands for—loyalty to our people, and to the good of the realm.” A profound look pinned me in place. “Maura believed you’d be meant for greatness. We’re counting on that, more than ya know.”
As if unconsciously, his grip squeezed in silent plea.
“Thank you,” I replied, working a polite smile to my lips. “I’ll do my best not to let you all down.”
What did he know and why wasn’t he saying it?
Faelad stepped back, and he dipped into a deep, regal bow, then receded into the crowd.
Well that was . . . odd. To say the least.
My mind was engulfed by the flames of curiosity. How did the previous Lord and Lady die? Why did the way Faelad said they were counting on me sound like a hex wrapped in silk?
My stomach growled, dragging my thoughts back to reality. Finley was nowhere in sight, so my feet headed toward the banquet table. The gold-trimmed cloth sparkled under the warm glow of the orbs above. Food piled sky-high on tiered gilded trays—pastries, shiny fruits, chocolate-dipped everything, and gold-flaked cakes stacked like edible castle walls. Steam billowed from the far end. Rich gravies, spiced meats, fresh-baked breads, and savory delights arranged like a luxurious charcuterie board.
My hand reached for a familiar truffle, hoping it was the same carrot cake one I’d had at the market. Just as I plucked it, the table rattled. Trays clinked as something thudded beneath.
