Page 142 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

A nd where was she in that long line of acknowledgments? Of demands? Her kingdom would be secure. But what of her?

Lilac turned her head toward Garin, just slightly, but it was enough to feel the way the air had shifted between them, charged and thick. Hesitation had turned to urgency, and she wasn’t just backed into a corner—she’d been shoved into it.

Garin stood there, watching; he analyzed and listened in the silence, the way he always had despite his transformation.

Hers . He was hers.

And she was undeniably his. But what other choice was there, when the only path in front of her that ensured the safety of millions, ended with another man’s ring on her finger and hundreds of eyes witnessing her union?

Regardless of their loyalties, mortals and Daemons alike deserved a queen who not only fought, but who understood the weight of sacrifice.

But Lilac deserved…

Swallowing, Lilac wished the thought away, a tear rolling down her cheek for the echo of hope that had taken shape as something sharp, its edges piercing her heart.

Her hand stilled over the parchment. Straining. Waiting .

You are deserving of a burning and steadfast love . Garin’s voice was a soft, echoing thunder. Especially from yourself.

I deserve you , she thought timidly. But it was the truth.

I will follow you wherever you go, as flame to shadow . As shadow to night.

The ink had pooled at the tip of the quill, leaking heavily like blood. Her signature would secure peace for Brittany, strength against France… perhaps her own legitimacy in the eyes of man and creature.

I love you, Lilac thought, a trembling prayer from the depths of her blood-bound soul.

When her hand began to move, a sudden and viscous wind whipped her hair into her face, slipping the heavy parchment out from beneath her quill. She grabbed for it, but the scroll flew over her head, tumbling and twisting through the air—straight into the hearth.

“What are you doing?” Adelaide shrieked, looking towards Myrddin.

His hands were open, framing the swirling ball of fragment and mist again. His eyes were aglow with white light.

“ Tempus Glaciem ,” he boomed, and shoved his palms toward the sky, floating the ball high above his head. The sphere turned as bright as his eyes?—

Then, it exploded.

An invisible force shocked the room. She shielded her face, losing her balance against the magic that emanated from the blast. Lilac swayed; the wind had died down as suddenly as it had started.

The hearth was a blurred rectangle of light across the room when she blinked, willing her vision to readjust.

A racketing sob escaped her chest. It was all she could manage.

Garin kept a wary eye on the stake still clutched in Bastion’s hand as he staggered to his feet.

Bastion was still as a statue, unmoving, his face twisted in dumbfounded confusion toward Myrddin.

Adelaide was mid-stride in the warlock’s direction, her cascade of black hair billowing behind her, hand shoved wrist-deep in the pocket of her black dress.

Even the flames in the hearth were motionless.

Piper slid off the edge of the bed, waving a hand in front of Adelaide’s face in wonder.

“Now that I have your undivided attention,” said Myrddin, the light in his eyes fading. “I thought I’d introduce you to someone who I believe has been attempting to reach out to you from beyond the gloam, Your Majesty.”

Garin groaned. “Marvelous. And at no less dire a moment.”

“What is a gloam ?”

“An unofficial term for the realm of the fae Your Majesty. Your presence is requested as well, Sir Trevelyan,” he added, inclining his head at Garin. Then, with a weary sigh at Piper—“And you, my mystery of daylight-made-flesh, shall remain at my side.”

Lilac’s eyes narrowed while Garin cast a distant glance through the balcony doors toward the still forest below. “Does the entire world halt each time you do this?” she asked.

“No. Especially not for as long as I’ll need you this time,” he scoffed.

“Do you know the cost of such a spell?” But Myrddin considered it, tapping his chin.

“The whole world. It might be enough arcana to unmake me. A tempting idea… No, what I’ve done here is far less dramatic.

” He turned, voice suddenly grave. “Currently, we dwell within a pocket of time, carved from the flow. To our own senses, the world has frozen, but in truth, we are simply removed from it—ghosts walking unseen, unfelt. Time presses on without us, until we rejoin her raging current.”

“You mean the four of us?” Piper asked, glancing sideways at Lilac.

Myrddin’s smile was thin. “If it pleases you.”

“Return us,” Lilac commanded, her will ironclad as unease settled into her marrow. “Rennes is burning. Others will follow.”

“Oh? So eager to sign that contract, are you?”

“The one you destroyed?” Garin said quietly. He wrenched the stake from Bastion’s hand. “I saw it fly straight into that fire. Someone is going to have to explain to the emperor just what happened to his long list of demands.”

Myrddin simply dusted his shoulder. “That was not my doing.”

“Whoever wishes to speak with us can wait,” insisted Lilac.

“No.” Putting a finger up, Myrddin’s pleasant demeanor turned instantly threatening. “No, it cannot.”

He would not budge; that much was clear, cryptic as he’d insisted on remaining.

“What matters right now is our ceremony,” Lilac said. “The public oath itself. That Francois’s men see I’ve become Maximilian’s wife. ”

She hadn’t heard him approach; she blushed as Garin swiped the handle of her dagger on the towel at his waist before slipping it into a high sheath at her right hip that looked like it was made just for stakes.

Jaw clenched, Garin looked like he was going to be sick. “Keep that at your side.”

Myrddin motioned at her. “Your Dawnshard, too.”

Garin looked up. Lilac’s hand went defensively to the outline of her dagger, pulling up her skirts and extracting it carefully. “What did you call it?”

“The Dawnshard,” Myrddin said, eyes flicking to the blade with a mix of irritation and something like fondness.

“The name of your weapon. Keep that thing in its sheath. Magic folk and arcana wielders might recognize it if they’re well-traveled, but they’ll likely feel the weight of what you carry, regardless. ”

Realization hit her through a surge of panic. “ This is what my family had stolen from the Fair Folk, isn’t it?” Myrddin remained silent. “But Kestrel’s seen me with it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Garin said roughly. “You won’t be giving anything more of yourself to that fucking faerie. We owe them nothing.”

Lilac hesitated; there was only one other loop on the belt—much too wide, as if it were made for a broadsword.

But Garin just nodded at her, and she slid the dagger and its sheath in.

The leather snapped right to it, molding snugly.

“It’s useless, anyway,” she said dubiously, just in case they were mistaken.

“It’s not very good at killing anyone and keeping them dead.

I should probably replace it with something else from our armory, if you haven’t blown the interior to bits. ”

“Some weapons were never forged for battle in the first place, Your Majesty.”

“So,” Garin interjected, “Bast and Adelaide are dashing out of the room to report to the crowd downstairs that the queen and her Strigoi have vanished into thin air, along with Albrecht’s warlock?”

“If they haven’t already, then yes.” Myrddin twirled his finger, and a black bundle appeared in a puff of smoke.

It flew across the room, hitting Garin square in the chest. “Here’s one of the ensembles Herlinde sent you along with.

Put it on. I don’t think the queen’s summoner in particular would appreciate her bringing a nude Strigoi along. Especially you. ”

“What—”

“Just do it, Garin,” Myrddin snapped.

Piper joined Lilac as Garin brought the bundle to the far corner of Lilac’s bed to change. The thought of him undressing again drove a distant ache in her chest.

They slipped into an awkward silence, broken only by the soft rustle and click of Garin’s gear. Dawnshard. Knowing her dagger’s name gave it a strange, unexpected weight. Lilac fingered its jewel-encrusted hilt, marveling at the intricate patterns crafted over its fine silver alloy.

“There was no answer from the Fair Folk,” Piper commented.

Lilac turned her head slightly, distracted by Garin’s outline in the corner of her eye. She dared sneak a peek at him as Piper spoke; despite the turmoil of the evening, he fixed her with a molten grin displaying all of his fangs, disappearing into the shirt he pulled down over his head.

Her insides melted, and her mouth began to water.

“The Fair Folk,” Piper said again, prodding Lilac in the side, “did not answer.”

“Right, sorry. But Kestrel received the chest?”

“Yes.” Piper’s mouth tilted. “I assume so. The faerie fire consumed it, and then the tree—the actual willow tree—burst into flames. Do you not think it unusual?”

She did, but perhaps Kestrel had decided he was simply done

Myrddin’s giddy laughter echoed near the doorway as he staggered back.

Both of them looked up and gasped to see a vivid blue light puncturing the space beneath her door. A thick seafoam mist began to swell through.

“Good heavens,” the warlock whispered.

“I know ,” said Garin; Lilac glanced back to see him angled away, adjusting himself down the leg of his dark trousers below a fitted black shirt and silk vest. “That’s what Lilac—” He broke off, looking up to see the mist consuming the room.

He leapt over the bed in one swift move, fumbling to button his pants. Garin positioned himself between Lilac, Piper, and the mist, but Myrddin simply opened the door.

The entire stairwell was illuminated in mist, the light seeming to emanate from downstairs. Lilac was about to ask whom—or what —dared summon her and Garin on her apparent wedding day, but a low sound cut through the thick, damp air.