Page 8 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood

“Well, to be fair,” Agnar glances at the other two men before returning his gaze to me, “the part where you break the world is pretty scary too.”

I give a dismissive wave. “I don’t think the world’s so fragile I can break it. Right?”

“Let’s not forget, prophecies aren’t necessarily meant to be taken literally.” Sterling grasps my hand, threading my fingers through his. “It’s vague for a reason. It could mean any number of things.”

I’d thought the same thing the night of the drachen attack, wondering if I was about to fulfill the prophecy. Buried alive could mean several things. Ziva’s flames, every line of the prophecy could be taken in a myriad of ways.

Am I even truly the person this prophecy is about?

I am not “no one’s childe” since I actually had two mothers and one father. Parents who loved me so much, they were willing to do anything to protect me.

A strange thought to have, but still true.

“Don’t worry, Lark. We won’t let anything happen to you. And we won’t let people talk ill of you either.” Blair glances at Sterling, then suddenly straightens and salutes. “Or you, Sterling. Er, Crown Prince Knox, Sir, Your Royal Highness.”

Sterling snorts at the name. “Please don’t call me that ever again. I’ve had enough people bowing and scraping.”

“Speaking of the bowing and scraping,” Agnar jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the door, “the crowd in the throne room is getting riled up, wondering where you are and why you’re not there to honor your brother. We should probably head back before more rumors start sprouting.”

Sterling sighs and shoots me an abashed glance. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Get back to it.” I give his hand a squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll wait a bit longer, then make my way back to the throne room as well. We cantalkagain tonight.”

“All right.” Sterling runs a hand through his hair.

Then he turns and grasps my hand again, placing a kiss against my fingers. His eyes light up, and heat warms my cheeks. Those are the same fingers he sucked on before. The same fingers I?—

“Talking.” Blair flashes Sterling and me a devilish grin. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

At least we didn’t get caught in the act.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” I say primly while narrowing my eyes. “Say, have you visited the cold room where you store the butchered meat again lately? That place was so…revealing.”

I swallow a snicker when a red flush creeps up Blair’s neck.

Agnar’s brow furrows as his gaze travels between us. “Storage room? What am I missing?”

He’s missing the context of us investigating alarming noises only to find a bare-assed Blair plowing a woman against the wall.

Taking pity on Blair, I rescue my hand from Sterling and squeeze his forearm. “You’d better go.”

Sterling kisses my cheek and heads for the door, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Blair opens it for him and Agnar, shoots me a mock glare, and then accompanies them out.

After waiting for what feels like an appropriate amount of time, I pull the fire from the candles overhead, leaving the wicks smoking and warm but dark. That’s another thing I’ve been practicing.

Keeping my head up, I open the door.

Skulking along will only draw more attention to my movements. Figuring Sterling and his men would have taken the first doors into the throne room, I walk down the hall to enter at the back of the room instead. No one glances my way as I settle into a spot along the wall. Nothing seems to have changed, which is good, if a bit boring.

I’m smoothing down the sides of my dress in an attempt to erase the evidence of haste and stolen moments, when my mother descends upon me like a summer storm.

Sudden and all-encompassing.

Lady Lynnea Axton is a force to be reckoned with, and being her adopted daughter will not save me if she finds my appearance lacking.

Thin lips pressed tight with annoyance, her hands work through my hair, re-plaiting strands that must have escaped during the hot sex that would give my mother a heart attack if she knew. “Lark, why do you always look as if you’ve been wrestling with the wind? This is a court event. You must use your best manners. And remember to enunciate when you speak. We’re judged by the way we are perceived. First impressions may be the only ones we can make.”

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