Page 25 of Lady of the Lake

“Good morning,” I say with a bright smile.

His gaze skims over me like he’s assessing a threat—or perhaps some other kind of interest. “Braving the cold to find me. Are you that desperate for my company already?”

I step closer, lowering my voice. “Maybe I’ve reconsidered what I said a little. There’s no reason we can’t be friends, is there?”

“Friends. How thrilling. Do you imagine us playing cards later?”

“Maybe wedohave a few things in common. Even if you’re unrelentingly arrogant and have a bad habit of compelling me to do whatever the fuck you want to suit your needs.”

He runs his tongue over his lip, studying me. “Most women don’t complain when I take control.” A dark smile. “Are you coming with me?” He pivots, and I follow along by his side. “It’s probably better if you’re seen with me occasionally. The more seriously people take this marriage, the safer you’ll be. But where we’re going right now, you must do exactly as I say so you don’t get hurt.”

My eyebrows rise. “Why would I get hurt?”

“I’m heading to the Lost Palace.”

“I’m afraid news of whatever that is didn’t make it out to Lauron. What is it?”

“The old castle, from the early years of Brocéliande. From the time this realm was first created.”

“And what, exactly, is dangerous about it?” I ask.

“Are you telling me you haven’t been creeping around Perillos, eavesdropping for gossip about me like everyone else? I’m almost offended by your lack of interest.” The wind toys with his dark hair. “But I think I will leave this one as a surprise. Just remember to do exactly as I tell you.”

“Yes, I understand. That’s generally your attitude.”

Talan flicks his fingers at the guards behind us without bothering to look back. “You’re dismissed.”

He leads me onto a winding forest path. Despite the blood-streaked sword, it’s wonderfully peaceful out here. With each snowy step, I feel like I’m walking into an ancient Fey past.I breathe in the scent of pine and silver birches. Mist billows through the mossy trunks, and ruby berries dapple the snow-dusted bushes. The frosty air kisses my skin as snowflakes drift down to melt on my cheeks.

I glance at Talan cautiously. “Whose blood is on your sword?”

“Someone made the mistake of testing my patience. You’d think people would have learned by now.”

Vague. Annoyingly so. “Another traitor?”

He cuts me a sharp look. “I won’t let anyone get in my way.”

A chill ripples up my spine as he stalks over the snow.

The air seems to grow heavier and otherworldly until the forest opens into a clearing, a path lined with ancient statues and pale purple hedges. On the far end of the path, the Lost Palace emerges from the wintry forest, a haunting edifice of twists and curves. Ice and snow glaze the stones, sparkling in the pale light. Fog billows around a frozen garden of heather and bare yews. Moths flutter around us—not metallic, but real ones that are bright blue. Corbinelle moths. Beautiful to look at, but they’re venomous. Like Talan, really.

Stone arches frame a door of carved oak, peaked in the center. As we walk closer, my gaze flicks up at the statues. I stop to stare at one of them, a towering, crowned queen with long hair that drapes over her robes. My gaze slides to the symbols on her wrists, and an ember of recognition sparks in my mind. The encircled triple spirals remind me of the ones I saw in Nimuë’s tower—and look exactly like the ones I’d seen on my wrists for a moment in the bathtub. As I stare at them, cold magic slides over my wrists.

Talan follows my stare. “That’s Nimuë. She built this palace long ago. She’s buried here, in fact. Did you know that before she was the Lady of the Lake, my grandmother had that role? Before she was queen.”

I stare at the triple spirals again.ThreeLadies of the Lake. “Queen Morgan.”

Thank the ancient gods we don’t have the same grandmother in reality, given some of the filthy thoughts I’ve had about him.

I draw a shaky breath. “How did Nimuë die?”

He stalks toward the door. “I don’t know, but she died soon after the Pendragon war.” He glances back at me. “If I had to guess, my father killed her. They say Merlin and my father created Brocéliande, but I think Nimuë did it. My father tends to want powerful people out of the way.”

Ofcoursehe wanted her out of the way. She knew the truth. She knew that Auberon didn’t belong on the throne in the first place.

Mordred’s words ring in my mind:They tricked the Fey into believing Auberon was their true king, and now Auberon rules as a usurper in his own false kingdom.Nimuë, I imagine, wasn’t so easy to trick. Auberon had to get her out of the way.

Talan’s family drama is nearly impossible to untangle. “You told me Mordred was your mother’s lover, but they never had children. And Mordred is also…?”

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