That tracked with him too.
“We’re not spying on you,” I explained. “We’re spying on them.”
“The troop has committed treason against the Crown,” Aire defended.
Lyrik raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Blimey. Treason. Groundbreaking concept.”
My molars compressed. If we didn’t give him more, he’d find a way to pump us with another brew later, something containing potentially noxious ingredients to accomplish the job.
And that extended to Nicu.
Aire drew the same conclusion. “My brethren have sided with King Rhys.”
The statement dropped like a bomb. Shock flashed through Lyrik’s pupils, the orbs widening, and his posture tensed. Because even the most solitary individual knew about the conflict between Summer and the Seasons, no one in their right mind would take that intelligence for a lie.
“For fuck’s sake.” The bloke clocked his gaze toward the woods, then kicked his head in that direction. “Any signs that Summer or this troop know what you’re up to? Where you’re hiding?”
“Assuming they’re not intimidated or overly superstitious about the enclave, the troop would have invaded here by now,” I answered. “As for Summer, I’m pretty sure that Royal windbag is too busy holding a grudge with one bejeweled hand and stroking his cock with the other to notice anything beyond the obvious. At any rate, he’s only got so much room in his noggin to retain clues.”
“Good. The last thing we need is a king showing up here.” When Lyrik checked our inquisitive gazes, he spread his arms. “Hey. I’m hardly dabbling in legal substances, even if he’s the monarch of a different nation.”
Yep. Out for himself.
“There’s more,” I hinted.
“There’s always more,” he remarked.
“Not just from our side,” Aire contradicted. “You’re stewing. The maleficence is oozing off you like acid.”
“Oh, my mistake,” the rogue mocked, pushing off the tree trunk. “I forgot how sheltered you castle folk are. Must be nice, being insulated among all that pampered finery and whatnot, but lemme break it down. The ‘little people’ in this kingdom actually live a tough life; being angry doesn’t make us unique, it makes us typical. If I’m pissed off at the world, that means I’m average.”
“You assume too much. I refuse to advocate for Rhys, but neither will I tolerate insults to my Autumn kin. Do not presume to understand or underscore the trials of a Royal.”
“Then allow me to set a lower bar. The Summer King doesn’t exactly inspire cozy feelings from anybody these days. Call me a selfish motherfucker, but I’m no fan of wankers who inherit their titles without earning them.” The spiked earring glinted along the curve of Lyrik’s ear. “No offense meant.”
“No offense achieved,” Aire bit out.
I seconded that. Although this might be the first time our moral compasses all pointed in the same direction—about titles being earned instead of gained through bloodlines—Lyrik knew zero about Briar, Poet, or Nicu. They fought for and deserved their place in this nation, regardless of what this instigator assumed.
But Lyrik did score one point. If the system had been different from the beginning, Rhys wouldn’t have been on the throne, and the fates of countless born souls would have been spared by now.
Something else darkened Lyrik’s expression. “I take it, the songbird knows.”
“We keep no secrets from him,” Aire replied, his tone fixed.
The statement turned my stomach. Once again, I made a liar of this knight.
I kept my gaze neutral as Lyrik’s attention cut from the knight to me. He contemplated us, then nodded. “All right. Do what you gotta do.” Backing up and turning away, he called over his shoulder, “But if you get caught, I’m not bailing you out.”
We stood there, scrutinizing Lyrik as he vanished toward the misty platforms, that long coat flapping behind him as if he’d just disembarked from a pirate ship.
I grimaced. “If he’s watching us that closely, we’ll watch him back.”
“Indeed,” Aire murmured. “If we don’t slay him first.”
The subject dropped that night as we approached the fire pit from our respective cabins. Nicu and I arrived after Lyrik, who stoked the flames, the blaze sketching his stubbled jaw.
By comparison, Nicu looked all the more fae-like in this woodland, with his angular features and jade eyes. Tonight, he’d woven a braid down one side of his head. However, the weave slumped, errant strands loosening.
