He doubted she’d blab. Rhia was smart enough to care about her own self-preservation. No one would believe her, anyways. A woman. Varanese. Rayghast could say she’d gone mad.

But if she did speak . . . even if no one truly believed her, there would always be a seed of doubt. The noose of tight-fisted control he’d gained over the years was already loosening. He couldn’t afford to have any of his citizens get wind of his magic or soldiers would rebel.

After that . . . he’d take care of Rhia, and it wouldn’t matter how.

Chapter 16

Ruenen

“She wants me to come there in person?” Ruenen read and re-read the letter. There wasn’t time to travel all the way to Grelta and back, especially not for the newly discovered Prince of Nevandia. The trip alone would take at least three weeks, not to mention the days in meetings and negotiations. Ruenen was expected here, in his kingdom, preparing for battle against Tacorn. “Does she truly expect me to drop everything and go there?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Nosficio said, crossing his arms. He frowned at the response from Nieve. “She doesn’t play games the way other rulers on the continent do. She writes what she wants; however, Nieve doesn’t think you will come.”

“Nieve is essentially saying, ‘if you want my forces, come take them,’” Marai said with a huff.

“She didn’t say no, though,” said Ruenen. “Perhaps we could go there . . .”

He looked at Marai. She stared back. Then she raised an eyebrow. She understood his meaning; they could travel to Grelta and back quickly if they used a portal.

“Your council is already skeptical of me and magic as it is. I’m not comfortable revealing all my secrets so early in this alliance.”

Marai picked at her fingernails. It was risky to trust Holfast and the Witan so early on. They could turn on Marai and the fae at any moment. Ruenen didn’t want Marai to show how powerful she truly was . . . at least not until the battle with Tacorn.

Fear, sharp and cold, came upon him, when he imagined Marai facing Rayghast on the highlands. Those black, empty eyes still followed him in his nightmares. Blackened hands held a dagger to his face. Leather straps struck his back as warm, sticky blood dripped down his legs, but more often now, Marai knelt next to him, gasping every time the whip bit into her skin.

The real Marai next to him gave Ruenen a quizzical glance. He’d no doubt twisted his face while his brain had wandered.

“I’ll show this letter to the Witan in the morning,” he said, giving her a swift smile. Ruenen stood, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. It had been another long, tedious day, full of meetings and talking and names and faces.

“I would like to be there,” said Nosficio.

Ruenen halted mid-yawn. “Be where?”

“At the Witenagemot meeting tomorrow.”

“But . . . it’ll be daylight,” Ruenen said, staring at the vampire, who wasn’t putting on his usual slick charm. His face was as smooth and serious as glass.

“You’ve seen me many times during the day, Princeling. But that’s not your real concern, is it?”

“Can we trust you at this meeting?” Marai asked, tone sharp.

Nosficio’s eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on her. “Are you asking if I can control my urge to feed? To kill? In a room full of warm-blooded victims?”

Ruenen stiffened. Yes, that was exactly what he was wondering.

“I’m standing here with you now. I’ve never once attacked either of you in bloodlust, no matter how much I may have wanted to take a bite.” Nosficio smirked at Marai. “I’m a thousand years old, not some rampant newborn.”

“Then why are there so many rumors of your draining habits?” pressed Marai. “Rumors come from truth.”

Ruenen’s lips twitched. Marai would know; the rumors about the Lady Butcher were similarly sinister to those of Nosficio the vampire.

“I’m old. I’ve lived a hundred lifetimes.” Nosficio’s face softened then. For the first time, Ruenen noticed regret in his countenance. “You cannot live for as long as I have and not have shades of gray. I don’t have a pristine past, Butcher, but neither do you.”

“What about Nieve?” Marai asked, and immediately, the vampire’s cold, calculating face snapped back into place. “Why her?”

“Because she isn’t afraid of anyone,” he replied. “You’ll see for yourselves, if you manage to meet her.” Nosficio faced Ruenen now. “Will you let me attend the meeting tomorrow or not?”

Ruenen pulled at his neck and sighed. “Fine, but if you think about harming anyone, Marai can do whatever she wants with you.”

Nosficio’s fangs were on full display as he smiled. “She can try.” Marai rolled her eyes, and Nosficio sauntered to the open window. “Until tomorrow then.”

He disappeared in a flash. Ruenen didn’t even see him step onto the windowsill.

“Should I have said no?” Ruenen asked in the silence.

Marai made for the door. “I’ll keep a close eye on him.”

“Are you leaving?” Ruenen blurted before he could stop himself. He had hoped . . . he didn’t want to show how much he’d hoped . . .

“I’m returning to the cottage tonight. I don’t belong here,” Marai said, gesturing to the grand room.

Ruenen’s body deflated. He hadn’t slept so well in years as he had last night, lying next to Marai in that bed. It had nothing to do with the comfortable blankets and pillows. It had been the sound of her breathing. The peacefulness upon her face while she slept. The warmth of her. There was a moment when he’d opened an eye, saw her curled up next to him, and his heart had nearly burst. He’d wanted to wrap arms around her and pull her closer, to breathe in the scent of her. To press his lips to her temple.

“I should walk with you—”

“I’ll be fine on my own.”

Ruenen inwardly cursed himself. Of course Marai would be fine walking alone at night. She’d survived years without him. No one else was more capable.

“Goodnight, then,” he said, words coming out clipped. Whatever closeness they’d achieved last night was gone again.

Marai’s face betrayed nothing as she turned and placed her pale hand on the door latch. “Goodnight, Ruen.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. Her violet eyes scanned him up and down once. Marai smiled, slow and coy, and exited the room.

A fire blazed through his veins. That look. Those eyes. He’d nearly leapt across the room as fast as Nosficio.

His legs wobbled as he tried to walk back to his own room. The smell of her, woodsy, effervescent, lingered in the hallway. It was a high, enveloping his senses, making his need for her almost unbearable. When he burst into his own chamber, he quickly grabbed his lute from the armchair. Ruenen sat down on the bed, knee bouncing, and let out one long breath. He collapsed backwards onto his pillow, and played the first song that came to his mind, trying not to imagine what it might be like to actually touch her again. 

Witan meetings were by far Ruenen’s least favorite aspect of being a ruler. His body hated sitting still for so long. He had to force his legs not to twitch, his hands to remain calmly on the table and not tap out a rhythm while his brain created a melody. His fingers itched for his lute, so he could strum its strings and take the intensity away from the room.

Especially since Marai and Keshel had walked in the door.

This was the first time all of the privy council sat around the table with fae in the room. Two additional chairs were added, squeezing Marai and Keshel in between two fearful councilmen whose names Ruenen couldn’t remember.

But he wasn’t worried about Marai and Keshel. His attention flickered from door to window, wondering how the vampire would make his grand entrance.

“Thank you both for joining us today,” said Holfast.