“I know, but it’s over now, sweetheart. It’s over.” I run my fingers through her hair, taking as much comfort from it as I’m offering her.
“I’m about to shift, Ronan, and I don’t know if I can stop it.”
“It’s okay, Cher. I’m here.”
Footsteps echo in the hallway behind us. I turn my face but keep my body positioned the same way, shielding Cheryl from view. It’s Castiel who’s approaching, looking grief-stricken—a completely different expression than he had during the trial. The question is, which one is the lie?
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I came to check on Cheryl.”
She leans back to stare at the male. “I’m fine. I just had to get out of there.”
He clenches his jaw before replying, “Yeah… me too. I could use a drink. Care to join me?”
“I’d need more than a drink if I had witnessed my own brother’s execution,” I retort.
He rubs his face, then looks into the distance. “My brother knew the consequences of his actions, and yet I can’t help thinking that I didn’t do enough to prevent him from going down that path.”
“We’ll have a drink with you, Castiel,” Cheryl says. “And maybe you can be real with us and explain exactly what’s going on.”
He stares at us for a moment and then sighs. “I can see why you’re friends with Rikkon and Vryenn. Very well. Follow me.”
CHERYL
The moment Ronan pulled me into his arms, my wolf calmed down and the urge to shift went away. Now it’s my turn to ease Ronan’s turmoil. I run a hand up and down his back until his corded muscles relax.
If he didn’t like Castiel before, he likes him even less now. I suppose it has to do with Connor, the brother Ronan lost at a young age. It must be hard for him to wrap his head around brothers who aren’t as thick as thieves. But the sad reality is that blood means nothing to certain individuals.
We take the same mode of transport as before to reach Castiel’s living quarters. He could have walked the wind, but he’s a smart male and could guess the offer would be vehemently refused. I sit next to Ronan and opposite Castiel, who doesn’t utter a word during the short ride, nor does he make eye contact with us.
Once we stop, he hops out of the carriage first, then offers me his hand. I could get down without any help, but I have no reason to be rude to him. A sliver of annoyance drips down my spine when I take Castiel’s hand—Ronan’s annoyance. Now that he’s not shielding his emotions from me, I sense them all. I also know he isn’t upset with me. His aggravation is rooted in jealousy, and I can’t say I hate it. After so many years believing he didn’t care for me, my ego appreciates all the signs that Ronan is, in fact, crazy about me.
Castiel’s apartment is in a different wing of the palace than ours—a fact I notice due to the different colors on the tapestries hanging from the walls. They follow the same color scheme of blue-and-purple tones, but the hues are deeper here.
His quarters are easily three times the size of our room. The living room has a few comfortable-looking couches in a rich velvet fabric of deep purple facing a fireplace with blue flames swaying inside.
“What type of fire is that?” I ask.
“It’s called eternal fire. It doesn’t extinguish unless I want it to.”
I approach the fireplace to inspect it and see that the flames aren’t burning anything. They float on air. “It feeds off Nightingale magic?”
“Precisely.”
I look over my shoulder. “Can any Nightingale produce such fire?”
He shakes his head. “No. That’s a gift I inherited from my mother. She’s from Etheos, a neighboring kingdom south of Lynx.”
Ronan takes a seat on one of the couches and beckons me to join him. “All right, Castiel. It’s time for you to come clean about everything.”
“Right,” he says as if he’d rather do anything besides talk to us. “But I need a drink first.”
He walks to a silver trolley displaying crystal bottles of different sizes. Each of them contains a liquid of a different color. Castiel chooses the biggest in the collection and fills a crystal goblet to the brim. “Do you care for some silverspun?”
“No, I’m good,” Ronan replies.
“I’ll try it,” I say, earning a look from Ronan. I know what he’s thinking, but my tolerance for alcohol is higher than most people’s. “One drink won’t kill me.”
