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I fought the urge to let my jaw hang open. Violet had not been wrong, it seemed.

He recovered quickly, stuffing the dangerous look away behind the chivalrous mien he always wore. “I’d settle for a bit of your unguarded time, though.”

“I didn’t realize we were bargaining.” I smirked when the flash of that dangerous edge flickered in his eyes. “It’s too dangerous.”

“For a human to be seen with a guard at night, in the gardens of a palace that is spelled to confuse and disorient humans so they end up lost?” He tilted his head, judgmental doubt playing in his playful grin.

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“Thought of, dreamed of, wished for, longed for,” he whispered almost to himself before raising his tone. “If anyone finds you, I will say that you were requested in the Ard Rí’s chamber, were overly confident in your knowledge of the palace, and got lost. It is as plausible as anything else.”

“Right, because I’m meant to be his whore, not his chambermaid.”

He winced but nodded.

I let my shoulders sag with the burden of my place in this castle. Whether or not others lied to me about it, The Raven never would. It was one thing I liked about him most. Even when he probably should have, he never lied to me. I wish I could say I gave him the same consideration.

“Fine. When?”

“Tenth bell. After the feasting will be cleared away. When the scullery maids return to the warrens from their duties, go to the gardens. Meet me near the flowering fountain. Do you know where that is?”

I nodded. I had spent far too long at that particular fountain the last time I went to the gardens. It was a marvel of unpatinaed copper flowers growing from a stream of crystal-clear water. Below it a small pond with jewel-like fish with the bodies of koi and the face of lions. I had wanted to sit and watch them swim peacefully for the rest of my days.

The Raven knelt and looked Goose in the eye. “Your lady comes to meet me in the gardens this evening. Will you escort her and chaperone our time together so that no harm comes of her? I will pay you for your services.”

Goose regarded him silently, tilting his head from left to right as he considered The Raven. The pair stared at each other for what seemed like ages, and I was about to break the two up from their ridiculous standoff before Goose reached out an inky paw and set it on The Raven’s wrist. The Raven sighed with relief.

“Thank you, Goose. I’ll breathe easier knowing she is protected by you as she ventures into the palace grounds at night.”

He pushed to a standing and met my bewildered gaze. “I will see you this evening, my lady.”

And with that, he was gone, retreating without additional word to the gaggle of guards at the end of the hallway. Time was not spared to explain why he had stopped to talk to “the Golden Pearl of the Warrens,” as the guards had started to call me. They just assumed whatever story they wished to fill in the blanks that The Raven seemed none too eager to explain.

Chapter 23

Iwent about my duties in the King’s chambers without interruption save for the single serving maid who brought me my lunch. I was not allowed to leave his rooms until the end of the day, even if it was to relieve myself or eat lunch. It had been one of his stipulations when I had returned. He wanted me all but shackled to his bed so that, when he wished to torment me, he could. And torment me, he had. Every day, I was to bear witness to him raping or seeming to rape a human or a courtier. After Lady White Dove, I never bothered to help them again. I didn’t go to them to hold their hands. All of them rose afterwards and walked out of their own power. All of them ignored me, and I ignored them right back.

Today would be no different. The only difference from yesterday and today was that I couldn’t control my heartbeat. It would run like a herd of wild horses any time I smelled the soft cedar of the wardrobe, reminding me of the way his eyes had captured mine and watched me. The scent of the freshly carved walnut of the new mantel piece roasting over the fire reminded me of the way his hand would brush against mine, never enough to be mistaken for him taking my hand but just enough for me to feel safe, cherished, held. The sight of the King’s new expertly crafted bed reminded me of the way his hands had fallen to my hips and held me as I straddled him in my madness, not stopping me, absorbing everything I had with acceptance that it was what I needed.

That image stuck in my head like a bur. I had never been accepted for what I needed, had never had someone so handily provide me with the ease and comfort of my needs. And I had needed to cut. I had needed to scream. I had needed to destroy. And he withstood it all. He held me through the storm and ensured I was safe before he collapsed under the weight of his wounds.

The scent of roses mixed with sun-warmed wood filled my nose as I stared at the spot we had ended up, where I had to scrub his blood out of the mortar of the stonework. The King was coming with his newest conquest.

It was a delicate dance. If I was too far away from the bed where he could not see me, he’d make me come to stand right next to him. If I was too close, I could smell his arousal, and that made my skin crawl. I had found a perfect spot in the corner near the window, between the armoire and his arming stand that held dusty, moldering leather armor.

Scurrying to my spot, I began wringing the shirt I was picking up in my hands. He liked it when I looked worried and distressed. It was best to put on the act immediately so that he didn’t have to press the issue . . . because he would press the issue. He would press the issue right up to the edge of it until he was all but millimeters from making physical contact.

Whatever had happened while I was at the temple, it had impressed upon him that he was never to touch me again. And he didn’t . . . but the mind can be battered as easily as the flesh, and he had turned into a master at mental warfare.

Silk the color of unbroken midnight breached the doorway first, then a head of chestnut and oak-brown hair with bloodred roses dripping between the fall of locks as if they grew from her scalp. Delicate pale creamy skin was on display as the shoulder of her gown was pushed down, and the King’s mouth found the crook of her shoulder and neck. Her frenzied hands were everywhere, touching him, gripping him, stroking him, enjoying him. Flashing cornflower-blue eyes leveled on me in my corner as easily as if she had known I would be there, even if she had never seen me here before.

Oaken Rose.

Memories, tattered small and thin as a whisper in a hurricane, came flooding back of the day I was in the throne room. I had been so focused on The Raven and how bitterness poisoned my heart that I had completely forgotten she had been there. She was the one that had been talking to him. She had seemed so familiar with him. Her hair was darker, though, almost black.

My ears began to ring with the deafening sound of shock, of betrayal, as my heart plummeted from my chest to my slippers and scampered out of the window to fling itself into the mercy of whatever lay below.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I had been such a fucking fool. Of course she was so sweet and placating in the garden. She knew exactly what I had been through because she had been there the entire time. She had heard everything and seen everything that had happened to me . . . because it was her fucking brother who did it.