He only grins wider.
Despite myself—despite the hell this man has just put me through—I almost appreciate his humor. Because the one goddamn thing I could use right now is someone else to laugh at the futility of my situation.
“I’ll take that cloak now,” I say stiffly, turning to the servant, who comes forward at Rian’s beckoning.
I first take a moment to gently touch each of the dozens of birds and insects who left the forest to help me on my journey.
Fly away, my friends. You have my gratitude. Thank you. Thank you.
Almost as one, the animals take wing. The cloud of flapping wings rises into the sky like a puff of chimney smoke over the spires of Sorsha Hall. Rian takes a subtle step to the right, which blocks my brief flash of nudity from the crowd’s view.
How fucking thoughtful.
The servant drapes the cloak over my shoulders, and even before I’ve fully secured it, Rian presses one hand to my back and motions to the stairs.
“Now, my lady, you have the dubious honor of meeting my family. My father couldn’t be here to receive you, but you’ll meet him later.”
He introduces me to a woman about my age, with intricately painted fey lines on her exposed skin, and her raven black hair coiled in a thick immortal crown. “This is Lady Runa Valvere, my cousin.” The painted woman gives me a smile that looks warm but feels cruel. Next, we move to a middle-aged couple drenched in exotic perfume. “This is Lord Gideon, my uncle, and his wife, Lady Solvig. And this sublime woman is my grandmother, Lady Eleonora Valvere.”
The elderly woman is dressed in a gossamer-thin toile gown with an exaggerated asymmetrical hem. His grandmother snakes out a hand and seizes mine. Is this death grip supposed to be a handshake? Her eyes are foggy with cataracts. Her ears, I’m shocked to see, have been mutilated through years of binding to come to a fae point, though the effort left them scarred, and I feel sick to my stomach that a person would suffer like that in the name of fashion.
“She can control animals? All types?” Lady Eleonora snaps. “Eh, girl, is that true?”
Something unpleasant ripples over Rian’s face as he explains in tight patience, “Yes, grandmother, I believe you missed the impressive display of her power just now, when she humiliated me by arriving with an animal entourage.”
The elderly woman grunts, nodding to herself. I wait, but there’s nothing more. I suppose that’s all I’ll get by way of welcome.
Rian then introduces me to Sorsha Hall’s head servants, their names coming at me so fast it’s a whirl. My thighs feel slack. My throat is parched. It’s all I can do to stay upright instead of slumping into an exhausted, overwhelmed puddle.
“We’d intended to hold an engagement ball tonight, to continue the welcome festivities,” Rian says, sweeping a hand toward the town’s decorations. “But when I received word of your attack, I thought it best to postpone. Wolf indicated you’d need some days to recover.”
He motions to Basten, who’s halfway up the stairs, speaking with a Golden Sentinel on duty. Basten stops at the mention of his nickname and glances at us. For a brief second, our eyes meet. My heart tightens against my will. Even breathing hurts.
Basten eventually drags his eyes off me, returning to his conversation, though his hands are now tightly fisted at his sides.
“Serenith will show you to your room,” Lord Rian says, motioning to the head maid, a woman of fifty with a thick and precise immortal braid woven with gray ribbons. “You’ll forgive me for not taking you myself, but urgent business requires my attention. If you need anything, or if you want anything changed to your liking, tell Serenith.”
I blink. Annoyance snaps in my chest. Rian arranged all this extravagant fanfare only to speak to me for five minutes?
Well, what do you want, you dolt? The less time the better.
“Of course,” I say tightly. My thighs are trembling with exhaustion. All I can think of is getting to a chair to sit. I just have to maintain my composure for another few minutes . . .
But as soon as I climb a step toward the main set of doors, my muscles give out. My toe catches on the stair’s edge, and I stumble. The marble stairs rush up to meet me before I can catch myself—
Until two strong hands close over me.
It’s Basten. Of course it is. He’s there for me, keeping watch, even now when the distance between us couldn’t be greater. My throat bobs with a painful swallow.
He lifts me to my feet like I weigh nothing and doesn’t let go, like his heightened senses perceive that my muscles are shaking, and I need support. One of my hands clamps onto his shoulder from instinct.
Our eyes meet.
Something stirs back to life in my broken heart. For weeks, I’ve entrusted this man with my safety. I’ve gone from loathing the sight of him to realizing that I actually very, very much adore the sight of him. The last thing I wanted was to fall for my jailor, so naturally, in a twist of fate, that’s exactly what happened. Yesterday morning, I was dreaming of a future with him. And even though my brain now screams at me that he’s a lying bastard, the furthest corner of my heart hasn’t yet gotten the message.
Part of me still wants him—wants to move back in time to the waterfall cave.
I may not be able to speak telepathically to Basten as I do with animals, but on that same deep level, I’m certain he feels it too. We’re bonded through the scars of the road. The wildcat. The Red Church’s confrontation in Charmont. Adan and the Volkish raiders—the bloodbath. How can I separate myself from him after all of that? Our fates have woven together time and time again until I’m not sure where mine ends and his begins.
A breeze kicks up. Fragrant petals flutter down from the woven flower canopy to dance around us like a rainfall of sunflower yellows and rose reds. Basten briefly closes his eyes. His fingertips dig in around my waist.
Low enough for only my ears, he murmurs, “Little violet . . . ”
And that’s all it takes to wake me up: his nickname for me on his lips. At once, I remember how he moaned those words while thrusting his cock into me, his hands worshipping my curves, his lips marking me as his.
Anger curdles the blood in my veins.
No. He doesn’t get to pretend like there’s anything left between us but hatred.
I tear away from him, hugging Rian’s cloak like a suit of armor. I forge my words into iron as I lock my gaze to Basten’s, and say in disdain, “I’ll be grateful never to see you again, Wolf Bowborn.”
Chapter 26
Wolf
The moment Sabine disappears into Sorsha Hall under the guidance of Serenith, with a pair of sentinels marching behind her, Rian turns on me sharply. His well-rehearsed smile vanishes. I like him better like this—when he’s just himself, not pretending. It’s getting rarer to see these days.