Page 95 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

"However," Brahm continued, his gaze drilling into me, "do not grow complacent. The nymph should not return to Greenhollow just yet."

The very thought of her living away from me twisted in my chest like a blade.

"Your concern is noted.” I reached up to rub the tension coiling at the base of my skull. It would take more than a massage to alleviate what ailed me.

Father grunted.

"Do you plan to release the prisoners to Nox?" I asked.

He grunted again, his dirtied face twisting into a sneer that spelled doom for anyone on the receiving end. "After I've tortured what I need from them. And be warned, my need for retribution is great."

"Your thirst for pain is concerning," I deadpanned.

“Your concern is noted,” he returned, lips twitching.

Gunnar shifted in his chair, the leather creaking under his bulk. "And how is your nymph?"

"I haven't been back to the infirmary." My voice was flat, my words barely skimming the surface of my turmoil.

"Seems unlike you to leave her alone," Gunnar pressed.

"The attackers have been handled. I posted extra guards, two of whom can portal and are within arms reach. Plus Mirrelle is with her."

"Ah, so you've left her in capable hands.”

I let Gunnar’s joke fall, my fingers digging into the worn leather of the chair arms. The dim light from the stained-glass window scattered dozens of hues across the study. The purples were my favorite.

The silence stretched until the Drótinn decided he’d had enough of it. “Let’s hear it, son.”

My face lifted to his knowing stare. My father had changed over the past couple of years. He laughed more and killed less.

And he asked his sons questions. Personal ones, demanding truth, not for him, but for ourselves. It was half the reason I rarely spent much time here.

Nonetheless, as uncomfortable as it made me, I understood and appreciated what he was trying to do, ham-fisted as he was with others’ emotions.

"It seems I have been less than wise with Raina."

Father’s intense gaze didn't waver, nor did Gunnar's. He leaned back, arms folded over his chest.

"Before I left her in the infirmary," my throat tightened around the words. "Before I left, I demanded we marry at once. I told her I was going to get the Gothi right then. I might have said she didn’t have a choice. I don’t know what actually came out of my mouth.”

Gunnar pursed his lips. “That was a ballsy move, brother.”

“Or insane. She looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. I’m starting to think I have, and not for the first time."

"What else?" Gunnar prodded.

"Oh, I took it a step further.” A bitter laugh escaped, more a growl than anything resembling mirth.

“I asked her if she loved me.”

“Asked?” my brother smirked.

“Demanded. Asked. Same thing. Regardless, she didn’t answer. Just stared at me dumbfounded."

Father's expression softened just enough that one might miss it if they didn't know to look. But I saw it, the slightest crack in his militant façade.

"Liam," he rumbled after a moment heavy with unspoken words, "I think the first thing you need to ask yourself is, can you live without her?"

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