Page 104

His gaze darted to the archway where Merlin had stood…gone.

A quick scan of the crowd… no sign of the Dowager either.

Fuck.

But he was trapped in the throne room. He couldn’t even send his wind out to try to see if they were in some secluded alcove whispering again. There were too many other voices and conversations. Though they were quickly dimming, as all eyes shifted to the human spectacle.

Guinevere jerked her head to the side, her gold eyes staring directly into Brennar’s. She’d judged that if he gave in, the other elemental cronies holding the rest of the humans would follow. A sound assessment.

But even though she’d prepared her entire life to rule over this court, the rotten bits hadn’t been part of her training. If Arthur had been king long enough, he would have cut out all the pits of discontent until everyone bent to his will.

Veyka hadn’t had the time before her own disaster descended.

Which left Parys to smooth things over.

But Brennar opened his stupid mouth again. “You hold no higher regard for the human filth than we do.”

Guinevere’s chin lifted an inch. “My thoughts on the matter are not relevant—only the orders of the High Queen and King.”

Brennar rolled his eyes, the scoff scratching across his throat loud enough for the entire throne room to hear. “They aren’t here—”

She shifted, her terrible and beautiful dark lioness bounding across the distance and ripping his head from his body.

None of the humans fainted—though it looked like a very near thing. The other elementals who’d held them dropped arms and necks, staring in horror at the pile of blood and gore where their friend had stood moments before.

In a second, Guinevere stood in her fae form again. She took a moment to wipe the blood from her mouth on her sleeve. “And now he isn’t here, either.”

She turned to the crowd. “Anyone else?”

Hundreds of heads turned away immediately, back to the fighting ring.

Parys raked a hand through his hair. The death didn’t disturb him—not after all he’d seen. This was the elemental court. Death was entertainment.

At least the humans were all still standing.

He offered them a welcoming grin. “Welcome to Annwyn.”

48

VEYKA

Something was wrong with Arran.

If the constant twinge in my chest wasn’t enough to alert me, the hollows beneath his eyes certainly were.

He wasn’t sleeping.

While I wanted to take all the credit—there was hardly a night we didn’t find each other in the furs of our bedroll, crashing together with insatiable need—I slept relatively well. Multiple orgasms tended to have that effect.

But Arran was getting crankier by the day.

I was fairly certain that Percival was one ill-placed comment from having his head separated from his body—no matter how useful he claimed to be.

Even Maisri couldn’t draw a smile.

Though Ancestors be damned, she was dedicated to the task.

Her most recent attempt involved creating balls of long grass and lobbing them at Percival’s head, when they would promptly explode in a riot of tiny daisies.