Page 40 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

It’s a question though. Just a feather-soft press of her lips to mine.

The pause that extends from this moment is infinite. Crushingly so. My heart goes from humming to all-out pounding, an aching thud taking up all sense of sound.

She still wants to kiss me. To touch me.

Ecstasy overtakes me, rapturous desire, and I let her lead, let her take however much she wants. Slow and sweet as honey, mouths opening once so we breathe each other in before her tongue dips into my mouth, and I swear I launch sky-high.

She leans away, looking utterly dazed for half a beat, and I can’t decide if that’s how she’s most beautiful or when she smiles or when she laughs or when she’s talking about her fae creatures.

Her eyes reorient on me, and a blush floods her cheeks.

A hundred arguments fight at the edge of my brain. I’ll hurt her. We can’t do this. I’m dangerous. I’m the enemy.

They’re all true.

I think about all the times I’ve blacked out or had to fight off blacking out. All the times rage seemed like it was the only thing keeping me standing. Oftentimes, it was—scrounging in Southwark, stealing to survive. I swear, anger was the only thing that kept me alive in those moments.

It’s not all bad, is it? I’m not all monster.

And maybe it can be like Moyra said. I can be Alyth’s Red Cap.

I touch her chin with my thumb and forefinger.

“I’ll choose you too,” I say into our little cocoon out here on these wildlands, and damn if it doesn’t feel possible.

Like maybe this is enough. “As long as I can. And if I black out, Alyth—you have to promise me you won’t let me hurt you.

Whatever you have to do to hold me back. Anything.”

Alyth’s eyes shut. “Haven’t I warned you to be careful about what you promise to a fae?”

“I don’t care. If I’m staying now, if I’m gonna be your monster, I’m yours entirely. Anything, Alyth. Do anything you have to in order to keep yourself safe from me.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “What if I don’t care about my safety?”

“I care,” I say so forcefully that she flinches. Then I add, “Besides, if I turn—if I fall to a murderous blackout, that means I’ve put everyone else in danger too. And you, Alyth? You’re the guardian.”

Her lower lip pulls between her teeth, and I stare, fixed on the way the skin there goes pink, then white.

She nods.

“Swear it,” I push. Because I need it to be real. To be binding, to know she’ll keep herself safe. “Use that magic you used on me to make sure the oath is kept.”

She frowns but complies, her eyelids fluttering. “All right, Samson. I swear it. If you become a danger, I will ensure you are taken care of.”

It drags a smile out of me, impossibly. “Good.”

One more little moment. Just holding here, breathing each other in.

She pulls back farther this time, a sad smile marring her face. “Now though,” she says, and she thrusts the letter at me.

I take it, wanting to kiss her again instead, wanting to do anything else but let reality crack this fragile dream we’ve created, but—

My brow furrows, and I clutch the letter closer.

The letter’s in English. Signed by Cecil.

It dives straight into talking about a plot to kill Mary.

She is surrounded at all times by supporters, even those unseen. Stay vigilant, and only activate the weapon when the time is right and she is at her most vulnerable. You have failed to kill her at every turn; she will not give you many further chances.

The royal bitch needs to be brought down.

It goes on in that way. Talking about when she’s most likely to be on her own or at least less covered, how the tool is powerful and not to be misplaced.

It’s an echo of what Darnley was babbling to me while drunk, but it’s confirmation.

Cecil is helping Darnley kill Mary to weaken Scotland.

There’s a plot stretching from England to Scotland, and we’re all tangled up in it.

“What weapon’s he talking about?” I frown at the letter. “Not that necklace I smuggled up, surely?”

Alyth chews the inside of her cheek, back to business. We’ve got a job to do. A plot to foil.

“Red Caps manipulate the threads of magic to make weapons of war,” she says.

“The ones we’ve seen so far are small compared to the ones I’ve heard of in legends.

Ten thousand people died at Mons Graupius when the Red Caps sided with the Romans before we built the wall.

Ten thousand. In one battle. Darnley could have others.

Something worse. The necklace that came with you was likely a test to see if it would work to get Red Caps through the barrier, so who knows what else they could have brought?

Or who else might even be here already?”

I frown. “We need to get back to the castle. Warn Mary. And I’ll search Darnley’s rooms again. Maybe I missed something. Or I could push him more, see if I can get him to spill more details—”

She’s smiling. At me. It’s soft and out of place in our planning, and I tip my head in question.

“Thank you,” she says simply.

I hold out my hand. She takes it, and I thread our fingers together.

At the end of this, I’ll still be a Red Cap. Even once we stop whatever Darnley and Cecil are plotting. And I still can’t control my blackouts; I’m still dangerous.

But that’s been my reality for years.

Now though?

I’ll try something new.

I’ll try being hers.