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The Raven did not look at me but simply quietly walked at my flank like a silent sentry. When my pace slowed, his did as well. When I turned to address him, he pointedly ignored me, and I let my question fall just as quiet as he was.

A gentle warmth filled me from somewhere behind my ribs and washed slowly through me. It felt like easing into a hot bath on a winter’s night, enough to soothe my nerves. I relaxed into it as we marched the halls until, once again, we were standing at that cursed carved oak door.

The others fell away, bound for their own duties. It was I alone who was assigned to attend the Ard Rí’s chambers. My heart was racing with the memories that were kind enough not to become crystal clear but were painted along the landscape of my nightmares nonetheless.

We stood there, him breathing loudly but in a slow rhythm, and me clawing at my lungs, trying to match his measured pace. Neither of us moved, both of us staring at the door as if, at any moment, it would burst open and attack us. It never did, and instead, we seemed like two loons stalking a closed door.

“He is not in there, Cricket.” The gentle thunder of his voice didn’t spook me. I had been waiting for him to speak. Waiting for his rich baritone to wash over me and remind me that the two of us existed in a material plane instead of in some horrific nightmare. He forged on, as if sensing the way his voice soothed me. “He spent the evening with one of his many mistresses. I’m not sure which one, but he was not in his Lady Betrothed’s bed this morning when she rose.”

“So, he’s engaged and still a problem to all of womankind,” I whispered with snark.

“And when they are married proper, he will still be so. Such is his way.”

“Is that common for your people? To take marriage so flippantly?”

I wanted the question to bite and dig in, to ruffle him as deeply as standing in front of this door was ruffling me. I wanted him to fall over the edge of fear with me . . . so I wasn’t feeling it alone.

He remained steadfast, though. A lighthouse in the fog, steady, even, reliable. His eyes never left the door. His hand, hovering fractions of an inch from mine a mere promise between my hand and his, never moved.

“It wasn’t always so, but, yes. Our marriages are mostly political alliances. Marriages in name only.”

“What woman would accept her husband fucking anything and everything that moves?”

“Our Lady, The Sapphire Speaker. Heir to the House of Magic. They’ve been betrothed since she was a babe.”

His voice remained soft, pitched in a conspiracy to build syllable by syllable, an illusionary world where it was just the two of us in a warm, comforting, peaceful meadow.

“I thought the House of Magic was dead?”

A soft smile played across his lips.

“You’ve learned so much of our ways so quickly. Yes, the House of Magic was destroyed and every member of its court with it. All except her. She is the daughter of two gods and was freshly born when the court was destroyed. She could not have been guilty of the crimes against magic the House was accused of. His Majesty saved her and only her.”

“And that doesn’t seem gross to you? He manages to save her as a baby and then raises her and gets engaged to her?” My brow furrowed in judgment as I finally turned to look at him. Placid calmness laid on his stunning features, but he kept his forest gaze from me, settled on the door. “Where I’m from, we call that grooming.”

“I’m not sure what that has to do with hygiene, but it is not . . . unheard of here. Of course, the bride to be is usually kept from the marriage bed until she is of maturity, but it is not unheard of for Fae nobility to betroth their children before they can even walk.” He sighed heavily, shame flitting across his features for but a moment before he reined it in. “If she was not engaged to His Majesty as the sole heir to the House of Magic, she would have been a political pawn and a weapon that could have been wielded carelessly against others. She would have been chewed up by the scheming of the courts and, most likely, wouldn’t have lived to reach maturity let alone mature in her magic enough to raise the House of Magic and rebalance it. So, His Majesty bound her to him when she was still in tail clouts with the express purpose to heal the land when she comes of age.”

“And how old is she now?”

“A little over two hundred.”

“And when exactly do Fae reach the age of maturity?”

“When they can wield their magic.”

“And when was she able to do that?”

“As far as we are aware, she hasn’t been able to yet. The drui believe that whomever killed her father might have cursed her. It is the sorrow of the entire realm.”

I snorted and turned back to the door. “Sounds fishy as fuck if you ask me.”

“No one asked you, Cricket.”

I slapped my palm on the door and pushed it open, striding in and turning to him. “Yeah, well, maybe someone should because sounds to me like you’ve all lost the fucking plot. Now, go away, Raven. I have cum stains to wash or some shit.”

He smirked, finally gracing me with his regard. The dark emerald of his gaze pierced me. It stripped me down to the bit of cloth braided around my waist and held the favor the Bandrui gave me. It caressed over my face and body like a lover’s touch, hot and heady, as if waiting with panting breaths for me to lean into it. “I’ll be down the corridor if you need me, Cricket.”

“I won’t,” I snapped back, taking in the catastrophe of debauchery before me.