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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Alright, Misty Fields, you’re back on.

Instead of lounging against the settee, I kept my posture straight but relaxed, my expression attentive yet unbothered. It was the same collection of mannerisms I used on my younger nieces and nephews whenever they were throwing a tantrum over something trivial.

“I went back to the horses but you weren’t there.” He prowled into the atrium with the slow, deliberate steps of a stalking wolf. The moonlight glided over his wide shoulders and turned strands of his copper hair butter yellow. “After I reattached the tooth you knocked out, I checked the kitchen. The porcupine’s hut. Even that infernal honey badger’s greenhouse in town.”

With each stomp of his bare feet, more of the forest debris clinging to his stained buckskin trousers sloughed off like shedding skin. Bits of leaves and little thorns and twigs trailed after him like the flotsam after a storm upon the sea.

“I checked your room—”

My pulse threatened to leap, but he was so close he surely would’ ve heard it.

Calm down. There was nothing there for him to find. Sawyer was with you. And now he’s safe in a wall.

“—the great hall, the mare’s barn, the courtyard with the roses.” He lifted his hand and dropped something at my feet.

It was a branch, long and supple, with drooping limbs like whips studded with thin yellow-green leaves. At its base where it had been torn, whitish sap oozed from the ragged wound.

The weeping willow tree.

The fox-fur coat bunched up around my neck as I craned my head back to look up at him. His linen shirt, soaked in the sweat of his hunt, clung to every ridge and swell of muscle like a second skin. His jewel-green eyes glittered. “I may have lost my temper.”

“I haven’t been hiding,” I said mildly. Shrouding powder for the win.

His fingers jumped against his palms, fisting; the muscle in his jaw twitched. Ossian’s attention drifted to the foraging bag on the settee beside me, smooshed up against my thigh like a miniature lap dog. “I see your obedience has come to an end.”

This time I cocked an eyebrow. “Why should I be obedient to a liar?”

His right hand drifted to the pouch at his hip, his thumb teasing the toggle latch.

Pretending not to notice, I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’ve only yourself to blame, Ossian. I know the true nature of fire now, and it’s not destruction like you said. Its purpose is to strip away, to refine. To give clarity of purpose or intent. And you lied about yours.”

“If I lied, it was only so we could be victorious in Elfame. I need that tree, Meadow.”

“And I need it more. Who cares about the campaign if we can’t even get into Elfame?”

“Why do you need it? You made the mistake of drawing from your own power when you tamed the earth element, but you used the fire’s own fury to charge the key this time. Why would water and air be any different?”

“Because I am the queen of Plans B, C, and D. I live by contingencies, and I’m not going to have anyone sabotage my success, that’s why.”

“How very selfishly fae of you.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a teasing jab or shrewd assessment, but I didn’t comment. Slowly, Ossian’s hand moved away from the pouch and some of the tension he’d been carrying eased as his shoulders lowered. “How do we come back from this, love? How do we move forward?”

After a moment’s consideration, I said, “I’ll lower the barrier when I’m done charging the key.” At least that way, the tree would be protected until the very moment we left for Elfame.

“Not good enough.” He shook his head, antlers raking the air. “You want every advantage, and so do I. You can exclude the Brotherhood all you want, even Shane, but make an exception for me with that barrier.”

“Magic doesn’t work that way. It’s very precise—”

“Then cast a new spell!” he roared.

The jessamine pillars holding up the glass dome rattled against their foundations, and the wight in the crystal darkened to black smoke in the wake of his anger.

Instead of shying away, I rose from the settee. The Stag Man hadn’t backed up, so I stood in his space, chest to chest. “I’ll make you a deal, Ossian. Bring Wystan to justice, make the kidnappings stop, and I’ll drop that barrier just for you. Otherwise it stays in place until I charge that key.”

The oak tree flared warningly as Ossian’s hand curled around my throat. The implied threat lasted only a heartbeat before he maintained his own charade and slid his palm up to cup my cheek. “You get everything you want while making me work for what is mine by right. Gods above, you’d make an excellent fae courtier.”

“Thank you,” I said crisply. Compliments from a fae male intending to force my hand in marriage and then murder me after crossing in Elfame held as much weight as a bottomless bucket.

“You know, if I’m hunting down a hobgoblin, I’m not helping you master water or air, and those two are your weakest elements.” His thumb idly stroked my cheek, as if the gentle touch would persuade me when his argument couldn’t. The fierce light in his eyes had dimmed to a smolder as he gazed at me like I was something to be possessed and tamed.

“You can hunt that hobgoblin down tomorrow while I go to my dress fitting,” I replied lightly. “Besides, I’ve yet to recover from my encounter with that Unseelie half-heart, and I’m not tackling another element until I’m healed. Now kiss me good-night and go away. Take your mastiff with you, if he’s lurking. I have much to mull about and watching the wight calms me.”

His thumb swept over my bottom lip, down my chin, and pressed against my throat. That old threat returned. “Tell me you love me, Meadow Ní Violet.”

Another test.

At my neck, ears, and finger, the lust of the rubies flared. The stolen bond pulled at my heart like a leash does a dog, demanding obedience. “You’ve stolen my heart, Ossian.”

His lips quirked, then he used his grip on my throat to pull me closer for his kiss. His lips were so soft—

I jerked away. “No. You are the rightful King of Beasts, Ossian. And kings are strong. Do not be gentle with me.” Don’t be like Arthur and make me forget him.

A light kindled in his eyes like embers being stoked to life, and the smile that slashed his mouth was greedy and savage. He crushed his mouth against mine, his tongue forcing past my lips to scald me. His kiss was as violent as it was brief, both of us gasping after the assault.

The pressure eased from my throat as he released me and stalked away, back straight and proud. No farewell, just a superior look he flung over his shoulder, as if he’d just won something.

The moment he was out of sight, I rubbed my mouth off on my sleeve. Spat, too, just for good measure. Then I crossed the moonlit atrium and gripped the cloch na wight with both hands.

The white Irish setter greeted me solemnly. Of course it had seen the whole thing.

“Please,” I whispered. “Take me to him.”