“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.
Keshel dipped his head in polite greeting, but his face remained shuttered and distant. Marai was the sole woman in the room, and, as usual, she assessed each individual, and every escape route. Both Marai and Keshel’s postures were so rigid, Ruenen almost laughed. They were identical in their standoffishness.
“Lord Keshel is the Ambassador for the Fae and Magical Folk,” Holfast explained to the wide-eyed Witan, “and Lady Marai is . . . the prince’s personal guard.”
“Is that not what the King’s Guard is for?” Vorae mumbled next to Ruenen.
“There’s no one I trust more than Marai,” said Ruenen, raising his voice and whetting it sharp as a dagger. Those vibrant eyes flashed to him and pinned him in place. Ruenen swallowed and had to look away.
Stay focused.
He held up the letter from Nieve. “I received a response from the Queen of Grelta.”
“So soon?” Holfast asked, taken aback.
“I have a rather fleet-footed messenger,” said Ruenen under his breath.
The Witan perked up, straightening in their chairs, leaning closer to the table. Ruenen handed the letter to Holfast, whose dark eyes rapidly read the text with a frown.
“What does she say?” asked Fenir.
“She states that she and King Maes would be interested in discussing an alliance, but only if I personally go to Grelta for the meeting.”
“Well, that’s preposterous,” huffed Vorae. “We’re not going to send our prince all the way to the North when you’ve just announced yourself.”
“I agree,” Holfast said, passing the note to the black robed man next to him. “The journey is too far and too perilous this close to battle. We cannot risk losing you. Rayghast has heightened both his defenses and incursions. There are soldiers stationed along all roads in the Middle Kingdoms, waiting to confront any Nevandians they find.”
“Nieve knows this,” another councilman said with a grimace. “She knows it’s too dangerous for our prince. She’s an arrogant bitch.”
“That bitch has every reason to be cautious,” came a lethal, silky voice from behind the throne.
The Witan jumped and flinched at the sound.
Nosficio, covered in his cloak, revealed himself. How long had he been there? How had he gotten in without being noticed?
Vorae shot to his feet. “Intruder! Guards!”
Avilyard and his men raised their weapons, sweeping in towards Nosficio.
“Wait,” Ruenen jumped from his seat, raising his arms to halt the King’s Guard, who’d closed in from all sides.
Nosficio’s eyes burned bright. All movement stopped. The guards, weapons raised, stared from Ruenen to Nosficio.
“He’s my guest. Please, lower your weapons,” said Ruenen.
Avilyard gestured and his guards retreated back a few steps. The Witan, however, remained frozen. Keshel’s eyes had widened as understanding clicked into place. He glanced at Marai, who gave him a brief shrug.
“This is . . . Lord Nosficio,” said Ruenen as Nosficio stalked forward from behind the throne. “He’s my emissary to the North.”
“I’ve heard of him,” a councilman said, pointing a shaking finger. “He’s that murderous vampire!”
Two members of the Witan shot out of their seats and rushed for the door. Guards raised their swords again. A few people yelled and cursed. Nosficio smirked, showing off his fangs, enjoying this chaos.
“Faeries, and now v-vampires?” another councilman stammered.
Vorae pounded his fist on the table. “We cannot condone this, Your Highness. Nevandia isn’t a sideshow spectacle!”
“Kill him,” one council member shouted at Avilyard. “Kill them all!”
Ruenen got to his feet. A calm fury rushed through him. “There will be none of that. Nosficio, like the fae, has pledged himself to our cause. He wishes to defeat Rayghast, as we all do. It would be ignorant of us to reject his assistance, not when we’re so vastly outnumbered. We need every man.”
