Page 29

Chapter 29

Tully

I remove my hat and smooth my hair, trying not to picture this grief-stricken female alone in this all-too-quiet manor house. The ghost of her past has to be stealing her appetite.

“It was the whole town,” I explain. “I kept your privacy and didn’t explain the situation, but they gave anyway. I live in a special place.”

“You must. I can’t even…” She touches the tiny treasure trove and then meets Argos’s gaze. “The king’s collector is set to come today at sundown.”

“That’s perfect,” I say, glad that this family is finally having some good luck.

There’s a brisk knock at the door. Argos and Mathilde rise as an orc in the king’s livery walks in—all confident stride and no polite requests to enter like he owns the place. Not too far off, I guess, but he doesn’t need to act like such a dick about it.

Crossing my arms, I discreetly bespell his belt to come loose. He stops and grabs at the buckle with a grunt. Redoing the belt, he straightens and glares.

“I am Sir Cessair and I represent King Raulfian. If you don’t have the funds today, I will move in tomorrow to run the estate for His Majesty.”

Argos’s eyes widen and he looks to Mathilde. “Today?”

Mathilde pulls her shawl tight around her bony shoulders. “He has been saying that for a month.”

“Well, this is it,” Cessair says, his tone haughty. Blessed Stones, this male’s mere voice could incite violence. “Your head tenant farmer and estate manager are out of arguments.”

Mathilde touches Argos’s arm briefly. “Hamish has been doing his best.”

Argos nods and points to the money sack. “Will this pay our debt?”

He details the type of coins included and the amounts while Cessair sets every piece on the table. The orc is nothing if not well organized. He inks the amounts on a small roll of parchment, which he stuffs into his vest when he is finished.

I’m holding my breath as Cessair stands and eyes each of us in turn.

“It’s not half of what you owe and you know it, Argos.”

Mathilde bows her head and steadies herself by placing her palms on the table. Argos lets out a frustrated breath.

“But this must buy us time to find more funds,” he says.

Cessair’s eyes are as frosty as the day after Yuletide. “No. As I said, this is your last day. At sundown, it’s over. I’m sorry for your loss.”

I snort. “Sure you are.”

He glares my way and I scowl right back.

“Please vacate the premises and I’ll take those keys,” the orc says, his tone promising action if we don’t comply.

With a labored movement, Mathilde removes a set of large skeleton keys from her dress pocket and holds them out. Argos looks gutted. I have to do something…

“Not so fast, Lady Mathilde of Mytilene.”

We spin to see Rustion striding in with his wife, Nisa, at his side. The tall lion shifter and sunset-hued sprite make quite a pair as they approach Cessair.

Cessair dips his head a fraction to show respect for Lord Rustion’s rank. “My lord.”

Rustion is well known throughout the Veiled Kingdoms because he was the first one to welcome a human into his town.

Nisa hands over a wax-sealed scroll and her wings begin to glow—a sure sign she’s happy. What is going on?

Cessair cracks the seal and reads the contents, his face darkening.

“Share the news with all of us, if you don’t mind,” I say, dropping a nice dollop of snark into my tone.

The orc’s lip lifts around his tusks and Argos starts forward, his great horns lowered as if ready to attack.

I slide between them. “Just tell us already, Orc. Enough with the theatrics.”

Rustion grins, eyes twinkling. “It’s my job to know the troubles of those who live in Leafshire Cove. I have contacts even here in Mytilene. They told me what was afoot.”

Nisa leans in. “And I heard you, Tully, were gathering funds. We put two and two together.”

Cessair’s hand flexes as if it would love to be around my throat in a decidedly non-sexy way, but he seems to gather himself. “The lord and lady have paid your debt. The estate is yours, Lady Mathilde and Lord Argos.”

Cessair tosses the sack of my gathered money on the table. He turns on his heel and leaves us to our cheering.

Argos sweeps his mother into a hug and she laughs and cries, thanking Nisa and Rustion over Argos’s head. Then he grabs me and kisses me soundly while Mathilde takes Nisa’s hands in hers.

Argos’s tongue slips over mine and my core heats immediately. I melt into his huge body and kiss him back. His hands brace the small of my back and he nips at my ear.

“I love you, Witch.”

“I love you, Minotaur.”

The evening progresses into ale around a fire built from two broken chairs, and songs about the coming spring. Eventually, Argos and I locate a delightfully private room in the south wing and try all sorts of new ways to explore knotting.

I can’t believe I’m getting married. But then again, I can. The mate’s mark on my chest promises this is the real thing.

It took true love to melt this witch’s cold heart and I couldn’t be happier that Argos was the one to do it.