Flare stood beside him. Paired with a loose dress and waist tie, bangles trailed up the woman’s arms, and a band encircled her forehead. Having vaster and morehorrific experience with confinement, not to mention false incrimination, her empathetic countenance glanced between me and Aspen.
Lyrik must be resting after his injury. For he was nowhere in sight.
However, additional figures materialized. Eliot, his stubbled jaw tight with uncertainty. Cadence, her customary sass absent, replaced by wary consternation. Posy and Vale, one half of the loving pair wincing, the other staring in apprehension.
My senses ran amok. From one witness to the next, a host of reactions clashed.
Shock. Fury. Doubt.
Hurt. Pain. Confusion.
These feelings stirred as erratically as the wind, each one lacking direction. Most of these afflictions, they cast in Aspen’s direction. With the exception of Poet and Briar, who spoke with her prior to my self-assigned detainment.
The rest of the clan must have arrived with Her Majesty in secret, guarded by a second unit of hawks who roosted in the branches and kept watch. Every participant appeared worn out, as if they’d been debating and agonizing for days.
The fellowship we cared for, fought beside, and would stake our lives to protect. The people we built a life alongside. The family we made.
My chest clenched. For once, I could not perceive the outcome. Only that I would not leave Aspen’s side.
“Two of our own,” Queen Avalea began, her attention steering to Aspen. “One who has earned a place in our circle, only to deceive that trust.” As my lady flinched, Her Majesty transferred her gaze to me. “And one who swore a vow of fealty, who has guarded this nation and commanded its army faithfully, yet has elected to take a rather unexpected turn.”
At once, the pretense dissolved. A crack appeared in the woman’s facade, dismay pulling it taut.
“Sir Aire,” she demanded. “Most honorable of knights. I confess, I’m speechless.” Yet with the grace of a monarch, she squared her shoulders and huffed. “Very well. What on earth is the meaning of this? Explain your shocking change of heart before Poet interrupts.”
The jester arched an eyebrow. “I said nothing, Your Majesty.”
“No, but you were thinking a dozen things.”
“And deciding which scandalous angle to take,” Eliot commented.
“He’s got a point,” Cadence remarked.
Despite themselves, Briar and Nicu traded mild looks of amusement before trailing off into bleakness. Meanwhile, Jeryn’s ruthless expression remained consistent.
I broadened my stance. “My loyalty has not strayed from the Crown. But my soul is committed to Aspen. Her fate is my fate.”
“As my fate is his,” Aspen said, her voice quavering nonetheless.
She betrayed them. Even so, she loved each of them with a ferocity that rivaled any blood-related kin.
Avalea drew in a judicious breath. “Then let us decide where that shall lead you.” Directing her gaze to the woman beside me, the queen’s voice carried through the trees. “Aspen of Autumn. You have deceived the monarchy and conspired with King Rhys of Summer for a period of seven years. Do you deny these offenses?”
I clamped her hand, and Aspen steadied her chin. “No, Your Majesty.”
“Then tell us your story.”
And so, she did. Over the next hour, Aspen recounted the trials of her life. From the oak tree, to our fellowship, to Rhys’s blackmail. From manipulating the king to hunting down the knights’ camp. And when it came time for the inquisition, our clan descended like an army, from Poet’s whiplash tongue to Jeryn’s cutthroat inquiries.
Briar understood loopholes. Flare recalled the searing grip Rhys could have on a person. Coming from Spring, Eliot and the ladies had been trained in the art of performance and would see through a trick.
Avalea knew the honesty of her nation. Nicu had witnessed our tale firsthand and remembered every word we’d said.
If anyone could break down Aspen’s defense, it was them. Yet she answered their astute, rapid-fire questions with confidence. Including the part where we fell in love. And perhaps including a few choice intimacies that flushed my throat hot.
Poet’s cunning eyes danced between us. “Forbidden love that leads to treason.” His knowing countenance ticked over to Jeryn and Flare, then burned a fiendish path to Briar. “This looks familiar.”
Flare’s golden eyes softened. At last, Jeryn’s visage smoothed out, unfiltered devotion loosening the contours. Unable to deny that statement, their hands threaded together.
