Page 55 of Cursed Shadows 2

Taroh’s rage is something I’ve come to know. Whenever he corners me, attacks me, his eyes are cold like the spilled blood of the dead in snowy battlefields. But now, as he stares down Eamon who doesn’t even flinch, his eyes are blazes. The same savage rage I saw in him when Daxeel decked him.

It’s Rune who bites out the words, “Anything else you want to say to the halfling, or would you rather pick up the scraps of dignity you have left and leave?”

Dark chuckles ripple through the watching fae. But the only ones who smile or grin with a bloodthirst that shudders my spine are the dokkalves.

The litalves are unnerved. Some throw their glances between me, Eamon and Taroh. Because they know, they know Eamon should have never done that, never hit Taroh. Others are tense, hands hovering near their weapons, ready to draw and join a brawl—if that’s what this becomes.

I hope it doesn’t.

I pray it doesn’t.

Taroh stares down Rune, but his courage lasts a mere second before his throat bobs and he takes a step back. Another moment passes, no one speaks. Whatever Taroh decides is what will be. A brawl, ending in bloodshed—indeath. Or peace for another phase.

Then Taroh turns and storms down the stairs. His two lordson companions follow him—Boil throws me a sneer dripping with disgust—and for a while we just watch them go.

It’s only when Rune relaxes and jumps the three steps to return to Aleana’s side that I let the breath loosen from me. My chest deflates with it, and I slump against the banister.

Eamon doesn’t jump the steps.

He turns, his face stone, and he looks up at me.

The look I give him isn’t exactly disapproving, but it is sad. The frown tucks into the space between my brows, it twists my mouth into something grim.

Eamon could be sent to the Grott for punching Taroh,a lordson.

The Grott…

I shudder to think of it. I only know of two fae who have survived their banishments there, but if they talk about it, it’s not to me since they are only court acquaintances.

Rumours are what I have to go on.

They are enough that cold dread trickles through me.

“Don’t be sad,” Eamon’s voice is as soft as it can be, but I see the severity of his own apprehensions in his tight eyes. “I will be fine. Taroh won’t want it confirmed he got knocked on his ass by one like me.”

‘One like me.’

One who likes other males, or one with halfblood?

Both, maybe.

Even if he will be fine, and nothing comes of this, it’s too loud a truth to ignore. My own troubles are becoming the troubles of those I love. The one I hold dearest to me committedacrimeto defend me.

All my mess is a spiderweb, and Eamon just got caught in it.

He was bound to get stuck in it at some point. A fly hanging around a pot of honey doesn’t have the best of chances. I can’t watch him pay the price for my mistakes and my slights.

“I wish I could just get my father to see,” I whisper.

That’s the fastest, simplest solution to all of this. If father just severed our engagement, then it all goes away. Taroh won’t feel entitled to stalk me, hurt me, attack me. And so, Eamon won’t be in a position where he might need to defend me—and get himself into a whole lot of trouble for it.

Most of my troubles would vanish.

Eamon takes a step closer. “The chances of your father ending your engagement are slim, Nari. You don’t have other suitable offers to fall back on.”

His hand rests on the banister near mine and, behind me,Rune and Aleana are statues—no doubt listening to every word we share. I don’t even notice the few fae around who do the same, but most have drifted off, bored now that the threat of spilled blood has dispersed.

Still, that sorrow has my face tight as I look down at him, just three steps away. The stakes are higher now.

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