Page 28 of Lana Pecherczyk

“You go too easy on your kid,” he countered. “It’ll get him killed.”

They knew exactly what River meant, which was why neither Jasper nor Aeron lost their shit at him. Nero might have been silent, but he hadn’t given up. The battle wasn’t over.

Curiosity etched on the young prince’s face. “How did you know exactly where to throw the blade?”

River simply shrugged. A crow never divulged his secrets.

Before Aspen could press further, his father ordered him to collect the red coin from his personal coffers. When he left, Aeron signed angrily.

Jasper watched his hands as he pressed his shirt to his wound, staunching the bleeding, and he grumbled, “I know!”

“Again, with the secret talking.” River collected his dagger, hating the glimpse of blue sparkling on the back of his hand. Full of anger and exasperation, he pointed at Aeron and asked Jasper, “What is he even doing here, anyway? Don’t they have midwives in the Spring Court?”

The elf king’s eyes narrowed as he read River’s lips, then he collected his shirt and stormed inside.

“Mating has weakened you all.”

“You’re out of line,” Jasper returned. “Aeron is here because he hopes Ada can heal his hearing before his newborn cries for the first time.”

Great.

Now River felt like shit. Fledglings were sacred and precious in crow communities, valued above all treasure. If it were him in that situation, he’d tear apart the world for a solution.

He wiped his dagger across his thigh, cleaning the blood, then sheathed it at his hip. Still unwilling to admit his mistake, he said quietly, “It’s not going to work. She can’t heal what’s not there. I would know.”

“Yet you still visit my mate for regular checkups.” Jasper sat back, glaring at River. “It’s either you have hope, or you’re flashing your naked ass at her for other reasons. Which is it?”

The truth deflated River’s lungs. No matter how many times he told hope to fuck off, it wouldn’t leave. He poured himself another cup of stupid lime water.

“This is the last time,” he admitted. “I’m a lost cause.”

Jasper lifted his compress, checked his healing wound, and gave River a knowing smirk. “You’re the patron saint of lost causes.”

“What the fuck is a saint?”

“Old world thing. Ask your new mate.”

“I’m leaving in the morning. Without her.”

“Whatever you say.” Jasper tossed the blood-stained cloth. “Now that you’ve blown off sufficient steam, I’ll allow you to see Ada.”

Allow?

River was about to remind Jasper that no one told crows what to do when he noticed the tension in his posture. Worrylines etched between his brows as he leaned forward and stared at his hands. His wolfish ears flattened in defeat.

An uncomfortable feeling squeezed River’s chest. “Listen. About your son and … stabbing you.”

“It’s fine.” Jasper waved him off. “You were right.”

“I was?”

“I’ve been taking it easy on him. It’s just…”

Crap. This was about feelings. River searched for a quick exit. Flying was out of the question. Through the palace was worse.

The only fae he talked to about anything resembling feelings were those in his triad, which was recently reduced to a duo.

River didn’t leave. He did something stupid instead and prompted, “It’s just what?”