Page 112 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Swallowing, I nod. In a way, I’m glad Kitarni talked him into this crazy campaign. Cressida’s help has been useful, and I’m not sure any other monarch would’ve dealt as capably with the Fomorian invasion.
As things stand, the minor courts are stacked more in my favour than against. Ashton is trying to repair his relationship with Drystan. Ciara is working on earning Danu’s blessing forher court—although I’m still not certain if that’s to foster a genuine friendship between us, or just another way for her to solidify her claim on her new crown. And Cressida is driven by loyalty to the memory of Maeve.
The only minor royal who would betray me if they could is probably Aiyana. Her confidence might have been rocked by what I did at the end of my visit to Pavellen, but if given the opportunity to stab me in the back, I’m certain she would.
When this business with Elatha is done, and I no longer need her, nor care about instability in the Spring Court, I grimly admit to myself that I’ll probably ask Lore to visit her in her sleep.
Because Jaro isn’t thousands of years old. His wolf was irrevocably changed from the soft, puppyish beast who once snuggled me. Watching him nobly face down torture for me was one of the worst moments of my life.
“Your brows furrow when you’re plotting murder, pet. It gives you away.”
Predictably, for Lore, there’s a hard line growing beneath my thigh in response. I snort and let him tilt my head back to kiss me.
“Not Cressida’s,” I tell him as we draw apart. “If you want her to live, I’ll respect that.”
“And if I get bored later and change my mind…?”
“I won’t say a word.”
He whoops and dips his head to kiss me again.
Thirty-Five
Drystan
It has been five interminable days since Ciara dashed my hopes of being able to trust Caed before Beltaine. I know my time is coming to an end. It’s made doubly clear when I drop my sword on my bed and find Jaro and Bree waiting in my room already.
The palace decided to make my space utilitarian, and most of the time I find the minimalism relaxing. Now, it leaves nowhere to hide from their knowing looks as I strip out of my rain-soaked clothes.
“You can save your breath,” I grumble, though I know they’ll do me no such service. “I’maware.”
Four days. Beltaine is racing towards me at speed. Yet, despite forcing myself to work beside him, fixing up the city when I should be planning an invasion, the tattoo on Caed’s arm remains the same pale shade it’s been ever since that night in his cell.
Forced proximity was sufficient last time. Why is it no longer effective?
I know why, of course.
I might’ve forgiven Caed for Rose’s sake, but trusting him? That’s a wholly different beast.
Caed doesn’t have his name. Elatha does. Ergo, trusting Caed means trusting Elatha.
No one else seems to get that. And now they’re all up my arse about it.
The ships left Siabetha days ago, and yet they’re still a week from the northern shore, where our troops are gathering. I had to get Florian to go and oversee them personally, so he would take his new mate with him, and I could breathe. Praedra has been hounding my steps non-stop. Her ability to sniff me out even when I’m deliberately avoiding her is almost worthy of a place in the Hunt. If she weren’t so annoying, I might even consider offering her one.
“Rose’s heart will break if that curse isn’t dealt with by Beltaine,” Jaro tells me unnecessarily. “You’ve seen how she looks at him.”
Oh great. We’re stating the obvious now?
Of course I’ve noticed. I’d have to be blind to miss the secret little glances, the lingering touches, even her blush when he held a door open for her yesterday.
“She would’ve fucked him by now if she wasn’t so afraid of losing him,” Bree adds as I peel away my sodden shirt and toss it to the floor. “And he would’ve taken his chance if he weren’t tiptoeing around your sensitive feelings.”
“If you’re here to tell me to stop getting in their way, believe me, it’s not intentional. Do you think I would’ve just endured three days of him if it was?”
Just thinking about all the ways Caed has been going out of his way to be considerate pisses me off. We both know he’s a cocky, insufferable bastard. The fact that he keeps pretending otherwise isn’t helping.
“We’re both trying. I let him into the war room yesterday. He had access to all of our plans for the invasion.”
