Page 138 of The Chains You Defy

The treat tasted like vanilla and was delicious. Small wins mattered too, and this slice of perfection counted as one.

Galrach focused his scrutiny solely on me, his eyes narrowing to slits as if he were trying to solve a riddle. Or a problem.

I expected another threat when he unexpectedly changed the topic. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he sounded even sharper and more aggressive.

“Since when have you been marked by an Enamcoharta?”

Lines formed on my forehead. This term—I’d heard the word before, and only after a while did I remember that Dion had called the weird spot under my collarbone by that name. Absent-mindedly, I allowed my fingertips to ghost over the mark, which had been red and itchy in the beginning. But I hadn’t felt the urge to scratch the specks in a long time.

Only recently had I discovered that some blue and purple hues had joined the red, resembling more and more a design, albeit an unfinished one. Marked by magic had been the prince’s explanation, and he’d ensured that whatever this was would likely vanish again. “Since last Samhain.”

“Who has the counterpart?”

“What do I know? Do you have one? And why is my skin of any importance to you?”

“It is peculiar for an Eachtrannach to wear this particular divine symbol, that is why. They are not for your kind.” He regarded me as if I were a nasty disease.

Divine symbol? Counterpart? What in the gods’ good names?

Confusion held me firmly in its grip, one I didn’t want Galrach to witness. Bad enough that Dion was constantly keeping things from me, but before I pressed his grandfather for answers, I’d rather find out first-hand why he considered the Breocharn an unpleasant landmark. So, a distraction was in order.

Gathering all my composure so I wouldn’t snap at the dangerous fae in front of me, I kept my gaze glued to his. “What makes you so afraid that you cling to every shred of control like a drowning person to a piece of driftwood?”

Definitely the wrong thing to say if Galrach’s facial color was any indication. “Be very cautious. I told you before, I do not care about you, only about the potential power you bring by proxy to my supremacy, my rule, and my kingdom, and for that, you do not need to be of sound mind. Or able-bodied.” His lips curved into a wicked smirk. “You seem to forget that you are surrounded by a vastly superior species possessing enough magic to wipe out each and every one of your kind if I gave the order.”

My teeth sank into my lower lip before I even noticed. “So, that’s your plan?”

“A weak, miserable Eachtrannach does not have the intelligence to understand even a fraction of my intentions.” Galrach lifted his hand to stop me from speaking. “However, I will repeat myself one last time as a courtesy to your limited intellect. When the Rite of Courting comes to an end, not earlier, not later, you will reject Scriosta or face the consequences of your actions. And it goes without saying that this agreement between us will stay within this room. Whine to my weapon, and you will spend the rest of your pathetic life as a withered husk.” He rose to his feet and stared at me. “You are dismissed.”

Hot, fiery anger was burning in my chest, destroying any fear Galrach’s words would have induced in me under normal circumstances.

With rare clarity, I admitted to myself how much I hated him—more than it was healthy, and even the knowledge that this loathing was mutual didn’t help. He despised me because I was human and threatened his control over Dion and thus, his sovereignty; I detested him because he was an even bigger asshole than Perran and Jelric Feroy combined.

Rising to my feet, I nodded at him instead of curtsying, blatantly disregarding court protocol, and snatched a few more pieces of confectionery before I made my exit.

On the way back to Dion’s quarters—the chamberlain who’d accompanied me had ditched me after half the way—my blood was lava, and every step I took reflected my mood.

Of course, I’d gotten lost in the corridor maze, and a set of guards I encountered in front of a heavy door readied their weapons so fast, I was afraid they’d decapitate me. When I asked them for directions, my heart attempted to jump out of my chest, but the only reaction I got was an arrogant smirk from one of the males, while a female waved her hand in a gesture usually reserved for annoying insects.

Messagereceived—again.

“There you are, Nayana.”

“Oh, Antas. You’re godssend. I’m so utterly lost, it’s not even funny.”

“Where have you been?” Antas’ unmasked eye pierced mine, relief sliding over worry. “Dion is seconds away from disassembling the entire palace because you were nowhere to be found.”

Guilt barreled into my chest. How could I have forgotten to write a note?

Godsdammit, because I’d meandered through the palace like a lost lamb, I’d missed the opportunity to decide how much I could safely tell the males—especially the territorial bastard of a fae prince—without one or more of them storming off to Galrach before I would even be able to finish my story. Well, time to improvise. “Your brother is an asshole.”

Antas matched his step with mine, and I followed him as he led the way. “You met with my brother?”

“Yes, he summoned me for morning tea and an ample side of death threats.”

“Cannot claim that I am surprised. You will have to explain once everyone has assembled and calmed down.”

“How was your meeting?”