He pauses, a warm smile spreading across his face. He sits back in his chair, the wood creaking as his weight shifts. I swear it creaks a little less every night.
“He was stuck in a damned tree,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “He saw me and started calling out for me to help him. Now, I was a snot-nosed kid back in those days. I walked right up to the tree and said, ‘What idiot in the Deer Court would try to climb a tree?’ His face turned red as a tomato and he said—and I’ll never forget this—‘I’m Prince Silas, I’ll have you know. Help me down at once!’”
One corner of my mouth tilts upward at the image of Ivan speaking back to a High Prince. To my father.
He freezes when he sees my smile, but thankfully, continues with the story. “I stared up at him and I said, ‘And how am I supposed to help you?’ The next thing I know, your father jumps from the tree and starts screaming.He had broken his damned ankle.” His chuckle is warm and quiet, the kind that comes with a memory of a time long gone. “We became fast friends after that.”
He turns his head to stare at the dark tree line, his smile fading. “One night, many years later, we were out at a tavern. Your father was rowdy then. He lost his sense of pretense when he was High King, but as High Prince? He was kind, yes, but let’s just say he knew exactly who he was.
“Back then, there was tension between the Fae Court and the High Houses. I don’t know what your father did, but he ended up pissing off some High Fae males. They followed us out of the tavern, yelling horrible things our way.
“They didn’t pick the fight with your father, though. They picked it with me. Your father knew the basics of combat, but he was no warrior. He put up as much of a fight as he could to defend me, but there wasn’t much we could do against two fully grown High Fae.”
He takes a long sip of water, still staring at the forest. The moon has begun its slow descent.
“They took a blade and sawed my antlers from my head.”
I close my eyes and hiss a deep breath, the winter air like shards of ice against my lungs. The pain…Bile rises, but I force it back down.
His breath is shaky as he continues. “Thankfully, I passed out. I don’t remember it happening. Your father never forgave himself. After that, we started training together, promising each other that it would never happen again. We would never be weak again. He offered me the position of his second-in-command the day he took his oath.”
“Ivan—” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“It was a long time ago,” he says. His voice is tired in a way I’ve never heard from him before. I wonder how much strength it takes to smile after something like that. “In a way, it made me better. I haven’t felt weak like that in a long time. But right now, I feel powerless.”
I nod. I know exactly what he means. I wish I didn’t.
Two days pass, then three. Three days of pacing and staring out the windows, looking for any sign of Asmo walking toward the cabin. The second night he’s gone, I ended up falling asleep outside wrapped in two blankets, Ivan watching over me under the starlit night.
Now, I toss the newspaper back onto the coffee table, sending a lone pen skittering over the edge. The newspapers have been utterly useless. I had foolishly been hoping that there would be something about the prisoners Marik took during the tithe. As if he would allow something like that to be printed.
“What if we reach out to the other courts?” I ask to the remaining members of my court. “Maybe they know something.”
Luca massages his temples. “We don’t know if they’re in league with Marik. I would highly advise against that plan.” His tone is dry and laced with annoyance.
Ivan gives me a pitiful smile. “He’s right, Mae. Plus, it would give up the only advantage we have—that Marik and Cora don’t know we’re alive.”
“It’s been three days of nothing,” I groan, my head in my hands. “We can’t just sit here.”
“We have no other choice,” Luca snaps. I don’t blame him; we’ve had the same conversation nearly a dozen times. Me, wanting to take action, although I have no idea what that would look like. Luca and Ivan, shutting the idea down instantly. Holly, sitting and watching both sides silently.
Until now.
“Mae,” she says softly. “Have you considered that maybe Asmo told Marik it was really him? And that they’ve been working together?”
I turn to her, and the fire in the old stone hearth sputters out. “Would you like to rethink that question?”
She momentarily drops her gaze at the cold fury in my voice. “I’m sorry, but Marik is a skilled liar and manipulator. Asmo is his brother, histwinbrother.You don’t think that maybe they were working together this whole time?”
Luca and Ivan share a look. As if they’ve had this conversation before. As if I’m not the only one who’s questioned Asmo’s trustworthiness.
“Asmo wouldn’t betray us,” I say through gritted teeth, looking around the room at each of them.
“How do you know that?” Holly asks.
I will myself to take a deep breath and I feel the temperature in the room return to normal. “I know it here,” I say, holding my fisted hand to my chest. “He wouldn’t do that to us.” I can’t explain how, but I know it in the very matter of my bones. Despite my earlier anxieties about Asmo, I find every word to be true. I justknow.I refuse to believe that the way he held me in the dark was a lie.
But Holly has a point—one that has niggled at me in the last few weeks. I was so easily fooled by Marik and Cora. I had no idea the games they were playing. Asmo is Marik’s brother.
