Page 39 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

“Don’t call me that.” Merrick followed her so close that his breath fanned over her neck.

“Don’t call me Elessia, then. I don’t go by that name anymore.”

“Why?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” she parroted.

Merrick remained quiet behind her, and she braced herself for his magic. But when the dark magic didn’t layerover her shoulders or take her breath, Lessia hesitated, her steps slowing.

“Because Elessia died in Vastala. I’m not the same person anymore.” She surprised herself when words left her mouth, and halted outside her bedroom door.

She could feel Merrick behind her, hear the rustle of skin against fabric as he shifted.

With her hand on the doorknob, she quietly said, “My family called me Elessia. I can’t stand to hear it from anyone else.”

When he still didn’t respond, she turned around.

Merrick stood so close that his leathery scent engulfed her. It had a wild edge—as if his entire being was poised to charge—but she didn’t back down; she only angled her face up toward him.

If she were full Fae, this might have been the perfect moment to force his eyes to hers, but he was undoubtedly stronger, so there was no point in risking it.

Instead, she pulled on the last bit of patience she harbored, exhaustion sweeping through her like the wintry wind on the balcony. “We’re going to be stuck together for a few more weeks, Merrick. How about you keep that scary magic of yours to yourself, and I’ll follow your stupid orders?”

She eyed his sharp features until he dipped his chin the tiniest bit.

Lessia let out a breath.

It wasn’t much, but she’d take it.

“Great! Well, I’m—”

A scream echoed between the stone walls, and they both tensed before Merrick flipped around and sprinted toward the sound with Lessia on his heels.

When they turned a corner, Merrick halted so fast she nearly slammed into his back.

Before them, two navy guards had Craven pushed up against a wall, one of them holding a knife to his throat.

“Shit,” she breathed. “We need to help him.”

But Merrick remained frozen, and when Craven screamed again, his eyes flying to hers, she reacted before she had time to think.

Overtaking Merrick, she leaped forward and smacked the two men’s heads together so hard they both crumpled to the ground.

Lessia stared at the motionless men with wide eyes, but when she noticed their chests move, she let out a huff of relief.

Craven pushed himself off the wall and stumbled to stand beside Merrick, who’d followed close behind her. The noble clasped at his throat, where a few drops of blood trickled down, and his eyes flared as he flicked them between her and Merrick.

Steps approached them, and soon Loche and Zaddock appeared, followed by Stellia, Frayson, and several guards.

“What happened?” Frayson glared at them. “Why are you bleeding, Bernedir?”

Craven dropped his hand from his neck and pointed to Stellia. “She sent her fucking guards after me. They cornered me as I was going to bed and told me they were going to kill me.”

“What? No, I didn’t! Frayson, I would never.” Stellia stepped around Loche and Zaddock, who urgently whispered to each other, too quietly for Lessia to make out the words.

Frayson’s brows drew together. “Are these not some of your closest guards, Stellia? Why would they attack Bernedir?”

Lessia tensed. She also recognized the guards’ uniforms and Stellia’s company symbol on their chests.

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