Page 36 of A Promise so Bold and Broken (Compelling Fates Saga #2)

Chapter Thirty-Six

L essia rolled up the sleeves of the leather tunic Merrick must have sneaked back into the room to lay on her bed.

While it was much too large for her, she was grateful, especially with the cutoff sleeve of her own tunic displaying the traitor’s mark for all to see.

And when she pulled some air into her nose… she was also something else.

Warmth welled within her as Merrick’s wild scent wrapped around her—embraced her as if he were right there, his arms holding her close to his chest.

She couldn’t help but lift the front of the shirt to sniff it, pulling more of the intoxicating scent into her nose, fueling that feeling it invoked—a sense of freedom, of shaking off shackles, guilt, and masks.

As she caught her movement in the mirror outside the bathing chamber, Lessia blushed when her eyes met those of the reflection.

Her already heated cheeks turned bright crimson when wild amber eyes looked back at her as if she were a predator that had just been caught by surprise by its prey.

She brought her fingertips to her burning skin as she took a few steps closer to the mirror, brows snapping together as she observed herself for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

She looked… older?

No, that wasn’t possible.

Half-Fae who could wield magic, who took more to their Fae side than human, started aging unbelievably slowly once they turned eighteen—when they were fully grown—precisely like the full Fae.

After that they could become thousands and thousands of years old if the gods smiled at them.

Unlike her, who…

Lessia shook her head, pushing the thought away.

Looking deeper into the amber eyes, she realized it wasn’t so much age as it was… resolve.

Something seemed to have settled in the eyes that used to flick so nervously from side to side, either from guilt or from not being entirely comfortable in her own skin—from not knowing where in this world she belonged.

She drew a deep breath.

That, at least, she thought she knew now.

Where she belonged.

Where home was.

Lessia tried for a smile when sorrow jabbed at her chest, sticking her tongue at herself when it still looked more like a grimace before turning around to follow the mouthwatering aromas drifting up the stairs.

Her wet hair slammed against her back as she took the stairs two by two in her hurry to fill the stomach she’d mistreated so severely these past months—with too little food, disgusting food, or, whenever she got the chance, too much food.

She was glad she knew the way to the dining room, as she didn’t pass a single servant, only a lonely guard whose hidden eyes tracked her, his dark mask turning ominously as she made her way down the dimly lit corridor.

Lessia drew a breath before she walked over the threshold, preparing herself for a dinner filled with thick tension.

She was not wrong.

It was as if a weight hung across the room, the uncomfortable silence so palpable she wondered whether she should try a bite of it instead of the plates of vegetables and meat placed out on the wooden table.

Every pair of eyes drew her way as she made her way over, but it wasn’t Loche’s piercing gaze nor Raine’s raised brows that had her face nearly melting off.

It was Merrick’s dark eyes dragging over her body, the slight flare of his nostrils as he must be picking up her scent mixing with his, the fingers gripping the table so hard the others had to catch their glasses from falling over, and the heat that followed like a shooting star on a clear winter night.

She felt lightheaded again.

But for an entirely different reason.

And it didn’t help when a thrill raced down her back, a flame igniting within herself, and the heat in Merrick’s eyes turned to hunger.

Swallowing, Lessia set her sights on the empty chair beside Kerym, but as she neared, the Fae violently shook his head at her, eyes flicking toward Merrick. “Absolutely not. I don’t plan on getting killed today. You go over there.”

Her cheeks burned as she did everything she could to move smoothly to the other side, toward the chair beside Merrick, without lifting her gaze or losing control.

She failed miserably.

Bumping into the side of the table, she nearly brought the entire thing with her, and only because Merrick flew from his seat, correcting the table in his stride and then catching her, did she not drop down on her ass on the gray carpet.

Lessia exhaled sharply as his arms wrapped around her, and she couldn’t help but lift her eyes to his, knowing exactly what he could smell right now.

What Raine and Kerym could smell.

She groaned silently.

What was happening to her?

Merrick made no sound as he guided her to the chair and placed a plate of steaming food before her.

She began shuffling the food into her mouth as fast as she could, trying to erase the past seconds from her mind when warmth trailed over her face.

And not the scorching heat that was Merrick’s eyes, but softer—still probing, but gentler.

With the fork in her hand, she sneaked a peek at Loche.

He sat leaning back in his chair with two soldiers hovering a few feet behind him—how she’d missed those two walking in, she didn’t know—swirling a cup of wine.

His gray eyes moved from her to Merrick and back again, the corners crinkling, before he took a long sip.

Setting down the cup, Loche leaned forward. “You will be happy to know your friends are safe and doing well.”

A small part of her fractured heart pieced itself together as she noted the sincerity in Loche’s eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You might not want to thank me yet.” Loche filled a glass and pushed it over to her. “I believe Zaddock has nearly driven Amalise crazy with his protectiveness. She has been… how do I say this nicely? Not the most joyful whenever I’ve checked in on them.”

Lessia pursed her lips, ignoring the wine before her.

She’d seen how Zaddock had looked at her friend.

And Amalise…

Well, Lessia would be surprised if he had managed to melt the walls of ice she’d built around her heart after her lover died.

“Can I… can we see them?” Lessia asked, the wish to hold Amalise—to have just one of those nights she, Ardow, and Amalise used to have, where they ate food Ardow cooked, drank wine, and just hung out—so strong it nearly took her voice.

One night without all this tension, confusing feelings, and males she didn’t understand.

Ardow and Venko must be at that cave now.

Lessia tried to console herself with the fact that they’d be together at least.

That Amalise would get to meet Venko—Venko, whom Lessia might have spent every minute getting to know just for the smile he put on Ardow’s face, but whom she’d met under the most unfortunate circumstances and would now probably never truly be friendly with.

Especially with everything she’d found out today…

“I guess they’ll have to come here should war descend upon us. The caves will be reserved for the children and elderly—those who cannot fight.”

“The caves?” Raine asked as he waved for the bottle.

Loche nodded as he offered it, gesturing for a guard to bring another one when only a few drops made it into Raine’s glass. “They tell me you’ve been there, Lessia. I didn’t realize it was one of our spots…” He uncorked another bottle when the guard set it down on the table. “It’s…” Loche hesitated. “It’s my sanctuary. My family and friends live there. It’s the most important place in the realm for me.”

A lump formed in her throat when Loche searched her eyes, and the Fae males around the table quieted as if they could smell the shift in the air—the sorrow and guilt no wine could ever drive away.

“Did… did I bring you there? Or did you follow me there as part of being a spy? If so, we might need to make other plans for those who will not fight.” He frowned, and the lump grew at the uncertainty muddling his gray eyes.

She’d never seen him like this.

She didn’t like it.

Whatever warmth had remained from her entering the room washed away, leaving Lessia’s veins cold and empty, and she could sense Merrick stiffening beside her.

“You brought me,” she said softly when Loche continued to stare at her. “It was a wonderful place filled with wonderful people. It’s why I risked sending them there. I-I thought they’d be accepted.”

“Geyia has taken them in as if they were her own children.” Loche tapped his glass absentmindedly. “She liked you… I think?”

Lessia was about to respond when another guard stalked into the room, immediately bending down to whisper something in Loche’s ear—not realizing Fae had much better hearing than humans and that everyone around the table could hear every word.

Loche, more accustomed to the Fae, rolled his eyes as he impatiently waved the guard back a few steps. “Just tell us all. Our guests will hear you anyway, and from what I’ve heard, that one”—he gestured toward Raine—“can read minds, so hiding anything is useless.”

The guard’s mask jerked, and while Lessia still couldn’t see his eyes, she could smell the wafts of fear drifting from him.

“He will not read your mind, Loche,” Lessia quickly threw in. “We are following the treaty while in Ellow.”

“She’s right. Besides, I’m not a mind reader. Like Lessia, I am a mind-bender.” Raine wiggled his brows at her. “I can just control more of you at the same time.”

Loche hummed, and Lessia could tell he wasn’t convinced by the familiar squint of his eyes—that too-seeing gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than she liked.

“While we’re sharing, my magic is slightly more special than what these two bores have.” Kerym grinned as he crossed his arms over the table. “My twin and I are the only ones I know of.”

“The Siphon Twins,” Loche muttered. “Your magic sounds like the worst.”

“Oh! You’ve heard of us. I wasn’t sure if humans…”

Kerym quieted when Lessia gave him a pointed look, her eyes moving to the soldier who nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot where he stood behind Loche.

“Shall I go on, regent?” Loche’s guard’s voice was slightly muffled behind the mask.

As Loche nodded, Lessia moved on her chair, and a shock rippled through her.

Looking down, she realized the movement had lined up her leg with Merrick’s, and while they both were dressed in similar leathers, the heat radiating from him seemed to pass right through the fabric—right into her core.

She released a slow breath as she lifted her eyes, trying to subdue the energy pulsating through her and refusing to let them seek out the ones they wanted, especially when she could sense their burning stare on her face.

Instead, she stared so hard at the guard that his shape blurred, and it was all she could do to try to listen to his muted voice—or any of the other muffled sounds, as the world appeared to have become dangerously hazy.

“Our spy confirmed that the rebels are attacking in two fortnights from today. They plan to begin in the middle of the night—taking everyone by surprise. The ships will come first, and as people gather together on each isle to fight back, those on land will bring them to their knees. They…” The guard hesitated for a moment.

“Go on,” Loche demanded.

“They will come to Asker last. They plan on filling their ranks with the people from the islands—those who bow to them—so they have the numbers when they storm the castle. Their leader w-wants the sea to be painted red from the blood of those that refused them so that you will know what’s coming your way.”

Lessia could feel the blood draining from her face, and even as Merrick’s hand landed on her thigh, it felt as if someone had opened a window in the room—as if they were dining on a cliff in the freezing wind.

“Do we have a better view of who the rebels on land are?” Nothing in Loche’s posture or face betrayed any interior turmoil, but when his eyes brushed hers… she recognized what flickered there—what he tried so hard to push down.

Helplessness.

Worry.

Guilt.

Dread.

A realization dawned on her.

The reason there were no soldiers in the castle wasn’t because she and the Fae males were there.

It wasn’t because he needed to keep her return concealed, hide that he’d let the traitor live.

It was because Loche didn’t think he’d win this.

And he would not take his men with him.

The crack within her rib cage should have echoed through the room, and she was surprised when the guard didn’t even pause as he responded to Loche’s question.

“We don’t. We know of a few, but even with those, we are not certain whether their whole family is in on it or not. We still have orders not to mention anything about rebels on land?”

Loche gave a sharp nod. “We will not say anything. We can’t have the people of Ellow turning on each other even before war has broken out. But we need to spread the word of the attack outside of the council. I’m certain they’ll use the people on their islands as protection if not. It’s time for the ships to pick up those too young, sick, or old for war. Tell them to bring them to Asker, and we’ll figure out how to transport them to the cave. After that, the ships must spread out and provide the isles with weapons and whatever else they can spare.”

“And here on Asker?” The soldier straightened as Loche’s eyes narrowed. “The same plan? But regent…”

“There will be no more discussion.” Loche slammed his hand on the table. “You are dismissed.”

His hand shook as he swiped a glass off the table and downed its contents, barely swallowing before he refilled it with the bottle the guard had brought up.

“Loche.” Lessia leaned forward and touched his wrist, her eyes widening when he flinched.

Actually flinched at her touch.

She started lifting her hand, apologizing, when his landed atop hers.

“Don’t,” he whispered, eyes filling with that confusion again as they met hers.

That heartbreaking confusion the lethal ruler of Ellow, the feared and respected and loved leader, shouldn’t have.

So she didn’t.

Even when Merrick’s hand left her leg and an emptiness like a vast abyss opened within her, she tried to let some of the conviction she had left within her flow into Loche.

When she dared to glance at Merrick, his eyes appeared unseeing as they lay on the hand resting over her own, and the urge to pull away, to crawl into his lap to get that starry darkness back—perhaps even draw another smile from him—nearly overwhelmed her.

But she couldn’t bear it when Loche opened his mouth to speak again.

“I am not scared of death. I knew I wasn’t destined to grow old, not in the business I’m in and the way I got here.” Loche’s eyes bore into hers, and it was as if they were the only two in the room when he continued.

“But I don’t want to see my people bleed. We’ve barely healed from the last war, and I’m afraid this one might be the end. We do not have enough ships to protect Asker, the castle, and the isles, so there will be no fleet—no soldiers here when they come. I refuse to be like the leaders before me—like the council—and take the fleet to protect myself. I will fight. And when I die… it will be for the people who elected me—for the world I promised them. If the decisions I made caused me to fail… then death seems like a fitting punishment.”

The decisions he made…

The decision to save Lessia over the land he loved.

She squeezed the hand not holding on to Loche’s arm so hard it began shaking.

It was her fault this was happening.

If Loche died…

No.

She had promised herself never to be responsible for another soul’s death again.

And his was tied to too many.

Hers was not.

“We need to speak to Rioner.” Lessia’s voice didn’t waver as she met the eyes of each male around the room. “I will not be responsible for a whole people perishing.”

Merrick let out a hissed breath, and she turned to him, her eyes burning at the emotions crossing his face. “I can’t. I can’t put my life over thousands. You must understand that?”

Merrick only shook his head, his jaw twitching as he broke their stare to share a look with Raine and Kerym, who avoided her gaze when she tried to find understanding in their eyes.

Loche’s hand tightened over her own, and her head whipped back to his. “He will kill you, Lessia. But that doesn’t mean this will end. The rebels are not under his command. And the Oakgards’ Fae coming here still need a place to live. The curse is merely an excuse for Rioner to keep Vastala as he prefers it.”

“He is right,” Merrick gritted, although Lessia could tell it was somewhat grudgingly. “Rioner will not change course now. He will see this through regardless of whether he needs to kill you or the regent.”

“That fucking king.” Kerym shook his head. “We should just kill him and then change the course for him. Lessia’s father is next in line for the throne, since Rioner never had children. Alarin would put a stop to all this.”

It was quiet for a moment, and an idea, a tiny seed of a thought, began to grow in Lessia’s mind.

Killing Rioner was necessary.

And they’d need to be close to him to accomplish that…

Close to many things she needed to accomplish before it was too late.

“Yes.” She stared right into Loche’s imploring eyes. “We should kill him. As soon as possible.”

Something deep rumbled in Merrick’s chest, and when she turned his way, she could tell he was furious.

But not with her…

No, once she quieted, one of his hands landed on her leg again, and she immediately felt more grounded and confident that this was the right decision.

Something else was driving that primal Fae rage to the surface.

Something that perhaps had to do with the dark-haired ruler who still had her hand in a firm grip, whose eyes seemed never to leave her face, that sense that he wanted—needed—to figure her out tracing over her skin like curious fingers.

Lessia quickly pulled her hand free, and while Merrick’s growl quieted, she didn’t miss how Loche’s eyes dipped before he shot to his feet, declaring that they’d have to make the plan for how to kill the Fae king tomorrow, as he was tired from the long ride.

And she didn’t miss the glossed sheen overtaking the gray when he had to turn back around for the sword he’d forgotten, resting against the leg of the table, and noted the hand Merrick still kept on her leg.

Pressure slammed into Lessia’s chest so hard she sounded breathless when she declared she needed to go as well, and she stumbled as she tried to keep her legs from sprinting after the regent.

She thought the weight might splinter her ribs when Merrick called out after her, not in the cold, demanding voice he used in training but in one tinged by worry.

But she didn’t turn around.

She needed to fix this.

Now.