The same Mr. Geltrinn my father always bought tobacco from on market day back in Braemar. Somehow, he and his wife survived the battle and escaped the locked down city.
I draw in a long breath, ready to shout their names, ready to warn them about the impending attack by the Winter Court army, only for a large hand to clamp over my mouth.
I flail against the hand, my screams muffled, but Gideon quickly drags me into the forest before anyone can notice my distress.
No, he says through the bond, his voice hard as steel.You will not speak to anyone else. You will not warn anyone else.
Please, I beg him, still fighting, still screaming against his hand.Please let me warn them. They’re from Braemar. I know them.
I’m sorry, little moth. I can’t allow you to warn anyone else. This time, when his deep voice fills my head, his tone is somewhat apologetic. But I sense his thoughts easily enough. He’s not bothered that the Geltrinns won’t know the attack is coming. It’s my distress that’s bothering him, and he regrets that he’s being so forceful with me.
Why don’t you just glamour me to be quiet?I ask through the bond, an edge of challenge in my tone.
He doesn’t growl aloud, but I hear the reverberation inside my head, a noise of frustration that courses through the bond.
Still keeping my mouth covered, he continues dragging me through the forest. I kick out a few times, though my feet mostly end up trailing through the frost-covered underbrush.
Tears escape my eyes. I’m furious. And hurt.
Though I knew he wouldn’t allow me to warn anyone but my father, I still feel betrayed. When I saw two people I recognized from Braemar, I hoped he would understand. I hoped he would make an exception.
But he’s a cold Winter Court lord.
He’s a vicious fae commander bent on revenge.
The moment the unkind thoughts surge through the bond, I feel his answering hurt, a sharp wave of despair that makes my chest ache in return.
I go still in his arms. For several heartbeats, neither of us moves. My anger still burns hot beneath my skin, but then reason begins to break through the storm of my emotions. His warning from earlier returns to me—some humans possess enough fae blood to see through glamours.
Oh, gods.
If I had shouted to the Geltrinns, if I had drawn their attention, someone else on the streets might have noticed Gideon. A soldier. A guard. Someone with enough fae ancestry to see past his human disguise.
My breath catches. I might have endangered us both, and this realization drains some of the fury from me, leaving only grief and shame in its wake.
Gideon, I whisper down the bond.
Slowly, he removes his hand from my mouth, though he keeps me close, my back still pressed to his chest for a few seconds longer before turning me to face him. His expression is tight, his jaw clenched, but rather than anger, his eyes are filled with regret.
If you had warned them, he says through the bond, his voice deep and steady,others in Hollins might have learned about the impending battle. Soldiers may have fled. They may have scattered into the mountains and escaped justice. I could not allow that.
Tears sting my eyes. There’s a part of me that still wants to argue, but another part of me that understands.
“I know,” I whisper aloud this time, my voice trembling.
His gaze searches mine, his expression wary.
“I still wish I could have warned them,” I say. “But… I suppose I understand why you stopped me.”
“I know this isn’t easy for you,” he says quietly. “You do not have to like what is coming, little moth.”
A sob lodges in my throat. The thought of the bloodshed to come turns my stomach. Innocent people will die, maybe even the Geltrinns, and though I hate that Gideon’s grief is driving him toward vengeance, a part of me understands why.
“You don’t have to apologize for caring,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
Warmth flows through the bond, rolling back and forth between us, a gentle sort of peace that’s filled with understanding and forgiveness. I close my eyes and lean into him, exhausted by all that has transpired this morning.
“Come,” Gideon says. “We must return to the cabin.”
