Page 72
“Definitely.” I nod at the other guys as we reform the protection around her before we move. Once I walk forward, the crowd swallows us up quickly, but I keep a bead on the clambering Fae until we’re clear of the worst of it. I never drop my guard, not even for a second.
This detail is far too important to fail at my job for the first time ever.
Fiadh might only be an heir to their throne now, but I plan to be the shield between her and every knife the Midnight Court thinks they can hide in the dark.
Let them try—I’ve got more experience in protecting a royal Fae from their own scheming family than they could ever imagine.
Thirty-Six
FIADH
Iwalk out of the throne room with my head held high, despite the way my stomach is doing backflips. It’s a minor miracle I’m upright after the trial, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone in this castle of vipers see me falter. Every fiber of my being screams for sleep and the chance to process what the fuck just happened to me in the last twenty-four hours.
Mental health check? Not great, buddy, not great.
The courtiers in the halls part like we’re toxic. Their whispers follow in our wake, a hissing wave of speculation that I’m too tired to acknowledge. My guys are a protective force around me—Dezi in front, Tier and Rev flanking me on either side, and Khol bringing up the rear. There’s something fluid in the way they move, like they’re a single organism with me at the center.
“She’s got the mark.”
“—Morgenstern blood—”
“—can’t believe the King—”
“—saw the tree herself; they say it’s never spoken—”
Whispers crawl across my skin like insects, and I try to tune them out. The marks on my skin pulse in time with my heartbeats, and I realize the steady rhythm is probably tied to my power now. I run a thumb over the moon branded into my palm, watching how the skin dimples and brightens in response to my touch. I think it’s a physical map of my connection to the Worldroot, which I believe should tell me something about other royals I meet in the future.
Fucking crazy—I’m basically a GPS point for a cosmic landmark.
“It’s real, all right,” a tall, thin courtier with silver-streaked hair says, her voice just a touch too loud to be called a whisper. Her eyes lock with mine for a split second before she drops her gaze and dips into a deep, respectful bow.
I growl softly just to keep her down. The last thing I need in Midnight is to pick up more followers of my bitchy, mean-girl anti-fan club. Reminding the people who aren’t connected enough to require protocols is the best way to prevent that from happening, I think.
Next to me, Tiernan snorts as she cowers more. “About time one of them remembered their place.”
His voice is low enough that only I can hear, but the edge in it is unmistakable. He’s got the uninjured arm slung around my waist, not exactly holding me up but close enough. The one he hurt must be excruciating, but he’s keeping his face a complete mask. I’ve never seen the snow leopard shift so many times in one day, and the toll of our trial—and the fight that followed—is showing.
Khol’s not much better, to be fair. He’s walking at the back of our group with his jaw set, but I can see the scales flaking off his hands and neck again. That damn cycle isn’t over yet, and I would love to know how long it’s going to last and how often it happens. It doesn’t help that he was also injured in the fight, and he’s dealing with that, too. The only thing keeping him upright now is pure stubbornness, I’m sure.
Oddly, Revelin looks no worse for wear than usual, but he might be wearing a small glamour. His hair is sticking up in twelve different directions from where he’s run his fingers through it, and there’s a smudge of something that might be blood at his collar. The prince is keeping up the appearance of walking on his own, but the way his steps drag just a fraction of a second behind the rest of us betrays his exhaustion.
And Dezi—fuck, Dezi is completely silent again at the head of our little parade. He’s got that ‘ancient evil’ aura going full force, so he hasn’t said a word since we left the throne room. The fight in the garden, followed by the sexy times back in our suite, has left him oddly content. I’m not used to my sarcastic, bone-dry vampire being the brooding one, and it’s putting my nerves on edge.
I hope he’s not regretting letting me in that way, but Dezi Ruby does nothing he doesn’t want to—at least, not anymore.
“We’re almost there, Sassypants,” Rev murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath tickles my ear. “Just another thirty feet and then you can crash, I promise.”
I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak. My throat is raw from the screaming—first in the trials, and then later when I’d gotten feral with Dezi. The memory of the latter sends a shiver down my spine that makes one of my markings flare from a dull blue to an electric white. The intensity of it makes me gasp, and Tiernan’s grip on me tightens instinctively.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his icy eyes searching my face. “I felt that.”
“Peachy, babe,” I tell him with a pained smile. “Just remembering that I’m apparently a goddamn full-time lightning bug now. This shit’s gonna get old fast.”
Ahead of us, a pair of sentries snap to attention as we approach, the metal plates of their armor clanking loudly in the quiet corridor. They’re wearing full-face helms, but I can tell from the way they’re standing that they fear what I might do. Their pikes lower a fraction as we near—it’s a tiny sign of respect, but it feels like the first genuine one since we arrived in this forsaken Court.
“My lady,” one of them says, his voice slightly distorted by his helm. “The... accommodations are… We’ve been asked to inform you they’re being reset for the evening.”
I’m too tired to parse his jumbled explanation, but Tiernan nods sharply. “Tell them her family appreciates the consideration,” he says, his tone so close to actual royalty that I have to hide a smirk. “We aren’t to be disturbed for any reason until we are ready for food in the morning.”
