Like always.
Chapter
Thirty-Four
“Are we sure the goblet was intended for you?” Aowen asks the following afternoon as we’re strolling the quays of the Nubiium.
The city is grey and drizzly, mirroring my mood. Not very conducive for walking. But Vesper threw a tantrum earlier when we attempted to help her pack up my wardrobe; she banished us from the suite.
Lachlan’s out assisting Sir Quinn, questioning courtiers and gathering evidence. He’s been gone all day.
Well, since this morning, at least. I summoned him to my bedchamber in the ghostly hours before dawn. I didn’t sleep at all last night, haunted by the terrible desperation on Lisande’s face as she choked on her own blood and the horrific, hateful look the duke sent her to the Afterlands with. I needed Lachlan’s mouth and hands on my body to remember I was still alive, still in this.
He was the perfect distraction, of course. Thrumming with power and vibrant life, moving atop me, inside me, my wrists bound above my head in one strong hand as he clung to me with the other. He spent so much time warming me up with his tongue and fingers that as soon as he pushed into me, I had a tiny, fluttering orgasm.
“Come on, Charlotte,” he puffed against my lips, his auburn hair falling around my face. “I know you can do better than that.”
And I did do better. Three times better, in fact. The most intense of which when he clamped his teeth on my nipple as he grunted out his own pleasure, squeezing me so close I feared my ribs might snap.
Perhaps he’d been frightened last night, too. Perhaps he needed the reassurance of my body just as much as I needed his.
He slipped out of me, then out of my room before the sun rose.
Sometimes, I wish?—
“Did you hear me?” Aowen asks, pulling me from thoughts of the man who occupies far too many of them.
“Are you sure that goblet was intended for you?” Aowen angles the parasol, ensuring we’re both covered as the patter intensifies. “How would the poisoner have known which goblet Duke Áine intended to hand to you? Perhaps the duke himself was the intended target.”
“It’s possible.” I shrug. “Hard to know since he tossed his cup aside as soon as he saw what was happening to Lisande. Perhaps both were poisoned.”
“He’s certainly got plenty of enemies outside the castle,” Aowen whispers, and my first thought is of the anti-monarchists. But really, it could have been anyone from Campan’s Vale as well. My heart clenches for poor Mr. Stafford; Aowen had his widow and children quietly relocated to a smalltown in Tír na Strelle, somewhere they would be safe and well cared for. “Or ….” She trails off, eying me with concern.
“Speak your mind. I’ve survived three assassination attempts, found two-thirds of the Bannrhorn, gained the favour of a notoriously difficult court, and won the betrothal of the most self-centered man in the Otherworld. I can handle whatever terrifying theory you’re about to launch.”
She nudges my shoulder, murmuring, “Sounding a lot like a queen lately, Your Majesty,” then pulls me closer, cocooning us beneath the parasol. “What I was going to say is, what if the duke himself poisoned that cup?”
“Why would he do such a thing? He needs me to become king. Not to mention if he wanted me dead, there were plenty of other opportunities to do so. He himself stopped his báshounds from devouring me, remember?”
Aowen sighs. “You’re probably right. Still, I’m very glad we’ll be returning to Tír na Strelle tomorrow. I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. And visiting a few friends.” She taps her lips with two fingers, staring off into the middle distance. Her definition of “friends” must be very similar to mine and Lachlan’s.
I am glad to be leaving Tír na Lune, too. But I cannot help but worry about the mechanics of this ring. How long will it allow me to remain alive if Duke Cernunnos does not come around?
As soon as we enter the dining hall that evening, I learn I had nothing to worry about.
Desmond is seatedin the place of honor next to Torvil.
I halt so swiftly that Lachlan slams into my back.
Careful, little queen.He steadies me while eying his master. Shock pops down thediamrhán. He had no idea Desmond would be joining us either.
Neither did Aowen, based on her furrowed brow and suspicious eyes.
“Charlotte, my darling!” Desmond calls as he rises, reaching me in a few long strides. He tears me away from Lachlan, whose touch lingers on my bare shoulders.
“Come, I’ve saved you a seat next to me,” Desmond burbles, delighted. It’s a strange reunion after months apart. Especially since I barely had any time to get to know him. But he’s acting as if we’ve been acquainted for years.
Torvil looks completely put out by our familiarity.
