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I wasn’t trembling. I wasn’t afraid.

I wasn’t.

“Things that no one else sees. Things that are not really there.”

Arran said nothing.

It was painfully difficult to read his face when we were pressed this close.

“Am I mad?” I was trembling.

One hand came up. Massive, as big as my face. Broad. Strong. Yet so gentle as it swept aside the loose strands of white hair from my face.

“You’re not mad, Veyka. But you should have told me sooner.”

Just as he should have told me about his nightmares. Months, spent too afraid to share the parts of ourselves we thought would scare the other away. Months spent alone—not in body, but in spirit.

“Maisri and I stumbled across a strange faerie. She knew about the wings—the visions. Wings—I always see wings. I think she is a priestess of some kind. She said she could help me.”

Arran’s fingers paused for a moment, then resumed rhythmically stroking my face. “Help you how?”

I let my eyes drift closed. Let myself melt into his touch. It wasn’t even dinner time yet, but I felt like I could sleep for days.

A familiar feeling—an escape.

“I don’t know.”

Arran’s lips replaced his hand. A gentle but firm scrap along my jaw.

“We will figure it out. Together.”

71

ARRAN

Veyka would not actually be content to go to sleep for the night without dinner. If I didn’t get her food now, she’d wake me in the middle of the night. First to fuck, then to find food.

The first I’d be more than happy to oblige.

The second I’d find, begrudgingly. And only because if she didn’t eat, that lovely round ass of hers would shrink and there would be less of her to worship.

I couldn’t have that.

Lyrena’s voice greeted me. “I thought she might hold you hostage in there all night.”

“He cannot be a hostage if he is willing,” Cyara said, not bothering to glance up from the tea she was grinding.

I ignored them, pulling myself up to stand, ever conscious of how close the top of my head was to the ceiling. “Where are the others?”

“Maisri was invited to dine with one of her new friends. Osheen went with her.” Cyara lit the hearth with a flick of her fingers and set the tea to steep.

Lyrena glanced in the direction of Percival’s connecting room. No one had wanted to share with him. “He’s closeted himself in there most of the day.”

I hadn’t needed to tell Lyrena to watch him. Ever since he’d gotten away from her at the festival, she’d become his shadow. A point of honor.

Even though he now had one of Veyka’s daggers tucked into his belt.

“More food for us,” Lyrena said, shaking off the heaviness that had perched briefly on her shoulders.