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I laughed. Let the dark, mirthless sound fill the cavernous chamber, echo off the walls as the vine tightened around her throat. Fear flashed in her eyes—a pale, watery blue that had nothing of Veyka in them.

“That honor belongs to the queen,” I growled, letting my beast a little looser from his tether. “I will enjoy watching her exact her revenge. By then, I will have schooled her in all the ways a brutal prince can inflict pain.”

Her chin dropped a fraction of an inch.

I wouldn’t break her now, though the temptation was real. This creature, who had punished Veyka for her very existence, did not deserve to live. It would be easy to bend her, break her, until she was begging for mercy. I could see it all there in those shallow blue eyes, a shadow of the bright, powerful ones I’d come to regard so highly. Power the Dowager might have; but power was not the same as strength.

From somewhere deep inside of me, perhaps where my beast’s instincts held sway, a warning sounded.

I tightened the vines, one last look of warning, a snarl from my beast. Then I eased them away.

The Dowager’s eyes flared, as if she didn’t quite believe it. Then hardened, considering. Part of me wanted her to try it. Let her lash out with her power, try to drown me where I stood. I’d enjoy punishing her.

“Go,” I said. Command, warning, promise—all wrapped into one.

Her eyes flashed. But in a swish of silvery skirts, she was gone. Nothing more than receding footsteps caught in a dying echo to mark that she’d ever been there at all.

They faded away to almost nothing when the massive library doors opened.

“Are you speaking with someone?” Veyka’s brow furrowed, eyes darting around the chamber and finding nothing, no one.

“No.” I stared straight ahead, not letting myself get caught in the bright blue eyes, the curious tilt of her mouth.

I didn’t see it, but I could picture the way her eyes shuttered, her lips thinning to a line. Ancestors help me, I could imagine the wobble of her breasts as she crossed her arms beneath them, or squared her shoulders in challenge. My cock and my beast grumbled their opinions; I shoved them down mercilessly.

“Fine. I am done here.”

She strode past me without a backward glance. Knowing, as well as I did, that despite what had happened between us, I’d follow her anywhere.

69

VEYKA

Time was going too fast, progress too slow.

Parys combed through the library, researching the rifts and how to access them. I spent hours dawdling at his side, wandering the aisles of books, while Arran stood silent guard outside the massive wooden doors. I chatted up the grouchy librarians, attempting to glean who might frequent the library, if anyone else had been interested in the same books as Parys. To no avail. Grumpier bastards, I’d never met. My own betrothed included.

I sparred with Lyrena and Gwen. I visited Cyara as she healed, meeting her parents and instantly understanding how three such sweet, loyal handmaidens had come into existence. Arran and I attended royal council meetings, dissecting each word spoken in terse exchanges afterward.

We were stuck.

My current, most appealing idea for how to break the tension was to cut down the entire Royal Council and start fresh. Let Arran start fresh.

Of course, I also had a plethora of less reliable, wilder, and arguably reckless ideas swirling around in my mind.

His dark gaze hadn’t softened. The tightness in my chest hadn’t eased.

My entire world was at an impasse, yet still the festival of Mabon crept closer, and with it, Arran and I’s joining.

I was sifting through my list of reckless possibilities as I strode from another royal council meeting into my bedroom. To find it occupied.

“Why does there always seem to be someone lurking in my bedroom, uninvited?” I drawled, crossing my arms.

Lyrena stilled, her golden braid swaying as her body froze in place, halfway to the fire burning in the hearth, hands extended. The flame that seconds before had flowed from her fingers sputtered out.

“Your Majesty,” she said, broad smile in place quick as a whip.

She straightened, her eyes flicking to the hearth—burning brightly—before turning to me with her hands casually on her hips and that gregarious smile growing with each second.