Though, if anyone touched her, pretense would not suffice. A spare blade in my jacket would fly, skewering the offender’s heart.
Aspen’s outline blended into the stockpile of weapons. Slowly, I pried a sword from its scabbard, my pulse beating a frenetic rhythm. At last, she poked her head from beneath a side panel, found my gaze, and smirked.
For fuck’s sake. Clearly, she’d found something of note. Nonetheless, a glare dug into my face.
Was she actually enjoying herself?
At the neighboring fire, a female with a wiry mouth—Dame Muriel, Third Commander—hunched over and fedkindling to the pit. “Last time His Majesty sent word, he seemed impatient. As if he lacked the time for a long conference.”
“Maybe he has a mistress,” a male page judged. “Or several.”
“Nothing unusual about that. The more important question is if he’s got spawn scattered across that forsaken oceanic kingdom.”
Aspen’s eyes darted to me. At the downward pump of my hand, she nestled her head closer to the grass, reducing herself to a set of pupils flaring like dots.
Despite their betrayal, the troop’s Autumn propriety remained hypocritically intact. This offhand discussion centered around Rhys’s infidelity. More crucially, the implication that he had sired illegitimate heirs all over Summer.
Though from the sounds of it, these knights hadn’t gleaned much. For them, this provided nothing but idle gossip.
A figment strutted in my direction. Unclasping his trousers, the male page who’d conferenced with Dame Muriel ambled toward me, about to yank out his pecker and piss on my head.
I’d been so distracted by the topic and monitoring Aspen that I hadn’t sensed this disruption. For although I could move quickly, I was not the jester, his son, or a certain axe-wielding sneak.
Aspen’s eyes flashed with hellfire. And impulsiveness.
Shit. Better they find their first commanding officer sleuthing instead of her. Unfortunately, two seconds did not grant me the luxury of beating this stubborn woman to the punch.
“Aspen,”I mouthed through clenched teeth.“Don’t you dare—”
But when did she ever fucking listen to me?
Before I could finish that sentence, my companion scrambled from the tent. Then she lurched to her feet and jumped into view.
30
Aspen
Five minutes ago, life was different. The plot had been straightforward: get in, sleuth, get out. Given our combined history, Aire and I should have managed this with our eyes closed.
Only amateurs expected things to go as planned. We had contingencies in place. Though, none of our strategies involved me throwing myself to the wolves like a leg of roasted mutton.
Well. Sometimes shit happened.
All it took was an overactive male bladder to change the course of history. No point in dwelling. Even less a point in questioning what the hell I’d been thinking, much less freezing up now.
Own my actions. Don’t look back. Keep my head on my shoulders, so it doesn’t end up rolling across the ground.
Every figure in the camp snatched their weapons, steel whizzing into the night. Some of the warriors launched to their feet, while others corralled themselves around the blaze, and the rest sat on logs, pretending they weren’t grasping blades under their cloaks. Scarred, whiskered, or tattooed. Countless faces stared me down like a bug. From burgundy to orange, every set of eyes tapered, cast in fuming light.
I kept the mantle’s hood tucked fast. In this disguise, they wouldn’t link a concealed face to Aspen of Autumn.
A blond corona of hair poked from the bushes. Aire’s gobsmacked features watched, his expression strung between horror, exasperation, and ferocity. To be frank, I couldn’t tell which he wanted more. To strangle me or shield me.
Within seconds, Aire brandished both swords in his fists. Like a bird-of-prey about to take flight, he vaulted to one knee, moving soundless and swift.
“What the fuck?”he mouthed.
Couldn’t blame him for that. Not with the premonition burying its claws in his head.
