Page 135 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

He was so powerful.

Not weak, like she’d been.

Lessia sighed.

He wouldn’t be able to tell her.

Averting her eyes from the mirror, she walked out into the softly lit chamber again.

Merrick had lain down on his side on the bed, blood dripping onto the pale blanket. Streams of moonlight danced over his bare torso, the silver in them mockingly mirroring the silver tattoo wrapped around his strong arm and the pearly hair splayed out across the covers.

She eyed him as she approached, and the tension lining his shoulders eased slightly as she sat down.

After dipping the cloth into the bucket, Lessia carefully cleaned his wound.

It was deep but had started clotting, his Fae blood already working hard to heal him.

Merrick barely seemed to notice, and once she finished, his breathing had slowed, his eyes closed, and his features softened.

She tiptoed to the closet, pulled out a thick blanket, and covered him with it.

Lingering by the side of the bed, she gently stroked his face, letting her finger travel from his high cheekbones to his strong jaw, pushing a strand of hair behind his pointed ear.

“What happened to you?” she whispered as he shifted in his sleep.

Merrick continued sleeping, his face seeming so young without the tension and contempt that usually lined it, and something tugged at her heart as she wondered whether this was what he’d looked like before he’d fallen into the king’s grasp.

How had King Rioner snared the Death Whisperer?

Merrick was one of the strongest Fae in Vastala—in all Havlands.

His face twitched, and as she smoothed out the wrinkle between his brows, she realized there was somewhere she could potentially learn more about him.

With a final caress, she sneaked out of the room.

Several guards stood posted outside, and as she started to walk down the hallway, two of them quietly followed her as she made her way up the spiral staircase to the library.

Outside the library doors, she managed to convince them she needed some time alone after allowing one of the guards to search the tower first. When he came back, assuring her no one was lying in wait, she thanked him and walked inside.

She hadn’t bothered with the books about the Fae when she was here before.

She’d seen them but hadn’t thought they would be very helpful in learning as much about Ellow as she could.

She made her way up toward the top floor, pausing on the final staircase to eye the beautiful carvings of Fae decorating the broad wooden railings.

The carved stories were of battle and fighting but also of love and friendship, one depicting Queen Trista, the original queen of Vastala, and her consort, Melekh.

Their love had been epic.

Lessia’s father had told her stories of how Trista had been promised to another Fae of royal blood but had fallen in love with a foot soldier and had refused to leave him, even as the noble Fae threatened her crown.

Lessia smiled at the defiance in the queen’s eyes, clear as day even in the wooden carving.

She’d hoped for that kind of love when she was younger.

Tearing her eyes away, she mounted the final stepsonto the crescent-shaped floor, where she browsed the shelves until she reached one about the Fae battles.

Lessia sat down on the wooden table, as there were no chairs on this floor, placed the book in her lap, and flipped it open.

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