38. Veyka

I slowly worked my way around the great hall of Eilean Gayl, course by course and drink by drink. There was no formality to it, but there was a cadence. Servants would appear with heavily laden platters. The terrestrials would murmur and growl their appreciation before digging in, serving themselves from whatever platter was nearest at that given moment. Eventually, interest would shift back to dancing or fucking or fighting. Only to be renewed again thirty or forty minutes later, when the next course appeared.

Every bite was delicious, every sip of wine thick and luscious. But none of it could touch the aching void inside of me.

No one approached me, which struck me as odd, when they were clearly watching every step and mouthful. So different from Baylaur, where the courtiers would have been fighting one another for a chance to reach my side and ply me with honeyed words.

The terrestrials watched me instead, assessing my strengths and weaknesses. I was determined to show them none of the latter. At least I did not have to speak with anyone.

Which left me too much time to watch them, in return.

There was just as much fucking as the elemental court, though here they did not even bother going into the recesses of the alcoves or corridors. I watched as a female mounted a male right there beside a tray of golden, crisp sausage roles. The servant had to reach around them to clear the last course's dishes.

Plenty of weapons as well, though a wider array that what I was used to seeing. The elementals I knew preferred daggers or thin, elegant rapiers. A handful wielded mighty swords such as Excalibur. Lyrena was one of them. But the terrestrials had all sorts of wicked weapons hanging from their belts, leaning against the stone walls, or just dropped onto the tables next to the platters of food. Spears taller than I was, thicker than my arm, kept company with pick axes and what I thought was called a flail, with a lethal Morningstar hanging from its chain. All of which was secondary to the claws, talons, and teeth that would emerge when the fauna-gifted among them shifted.

I settled myself at a table near the massive wooden doors as the next course appeared—entire game birds the size of my head roasted whole and dripping what smelled like plum sauce. My eyes followed the line of servants marching back into the kitchens, past the head table where Elayne and Pant…

My hand froze an inch from my mouth, the tender meat forgotten.

Elayne was not in her seat. She stood at the door where the servants were disappearing with empty platters, monitoring and exchanging words too lost to the din for me to hear. But Pant remained in his ornately carved wooden chair, the pair at its side empty, and his lap full of female. A petite, beautiful female with pale gold hair cascading loose down her back and breasts that rivalled my own.

For a second, I thought the wine had addled my brain. Or had someone slipped something into it? There were poison experts among the flora-gifted terrestrials. Arran had described how certain talented males and females could coax the poison from a plant, make it more potent or enhance certain features.

"Have you been introduced to Lady Sylestria?" Barkke's gravelly voice said from the periphery of my consciousness.

I had not seen him since our bout in the training courtyard. Whether he realized how deeply he'd disturbed me with that glowing gaze of his, I did not particularly want to know. I was barely holding myself together as it was, that wall of ice I'd tried to build around my heart nothing more than a puddle.

I inclined my head to acknowledge his presence, but gave nothing else. He'd already noted the direction of my gaze and my blank face. That had been enough for him to guess the direction of my thoughts.

But Barkke was unbothered by the lack of warmth in my welcome.

He leaned back easily, his huge body swallowing up the chair. Even went so far as to kick out the chair on the other side of the table and prop his feet up on it. Utterly at ease. He swept his gaze over me—a little too appreciatively—and then refocused on the scene unfolding at the other end of the hall.

"She's been his mistress for the last forty years or so," Barkke said, swigging back his ale. No aural to be seen here, even if I'd wanted it.

"Arran spoke of the love and tenderness between Lady Elayne and Lord Pant," I said, lifting the wine to my lips to spare myself expanding on that thought.

Barkke operated under no such subtleties. A terrestrial through and through. "Since when are love and sex preclusive?"

I blinked. There was no way I would ever let another female sit in Arran's lap. If I so much as saw one with desire glowing in her eyes, I'd stab her and be done with it. But… Arran and I had never spoken of it. He'd intimated that sexuality was different in the terrestrial kingdom, even freer and wilder than in Baylaur. But he couldn't have meant this…

"Not much for sharing, are you, Majesty?" Barkke said, grinning broadly. Even adding a wink. I wanted to stab him.

I swirled my wine and contemplated dashing it into his smug face. "Certainly not one to discuss my sex life with a terrestrial brute."

He leaned back further, tucking his hands behind his head. Boldly exposing his throat even as he blatantly played with fire. "Yet you married one."

"Arran is not a brute," I said. No room for argument in my voice. Which, of course, the rude and irritating terrestrial took as a challenge.

"I have known the Brutal Prince a lot longer than you, Majesty. That is precisely what he is. But if it works for you…" He trailed off, waggling his bushy brown eyebrows.

I crossed my legs, knowing the action would expose the long length of my muscular legs. He wanted me, that was blatant. Too damn bad. Let him look, let him be jealous. Let him worship me. So that when my mate did return, I would have the pleasure of watching him flay this ass of a male alive. "What does and does not work for me is, and never will be, any of your concern."

"Maybe." He winked again.

I pulled my dagger.

He threw back his head and roared, beard bouncing ignominiously. By the time I thrust my hand forward, he was well out of reach.

Uneasiness was building steadily inside of me. I tried to drown it with another glass of wine, but it seemed even a whole bottle would not be enough.

Lyrena gave me space, dividing her attention between smiling at the dancing, watching me, and glaring at Percival. Whatever Cyara was up to with Diana, I hoped it proved useful. If being separated from his sister was torture for Percival, even better.

Barkke, mercifully, did not return. I spotted him an hour later on the other side of the hall, a slender terrestrial winding vines around his massive biceps.

Jealousy rose in my throat, hot and sharp. No, not jealousy. Barkke may lust after me, but the feelings in my stomach had nothing to do with him. The self-pity, the longing… those belonged to Arran. All of me belonged to Arran.

But still, it burned.

A low growl rolled through me, past my lips. My fingers tightened around the stem of my wine glass. Whether it came from my longing or the shred of Arran's soul that was wrapped around mine… the power of it threatened to slice me in half. Melt me. Until I was a useless puddle of longing and loss that all the dancers had to step around—

The wine glass shattered.

The stem snapped, the foot shattering into tiny pieces on the stone floor. The shards of the glass bowl dug into my palm, my fingers, deep enough that blood dripped down my wrist onto the floor.

That was what caught the attention of the terrestrials around me. Not the sound of the glass shattering, but the scent.

Nostrils flared. Eyes began to glow. The power in my veins filled the hall, until every single terrestrial was staring at me.

My power tugged at its restraints. A tingling started at the tips of my fingers. Once, that sensation had sent terror roaring through me. Now, the void was a comfort, an escape, beckoning…

A sharp movement across the hall caught my gaze—demanded it.

Barkke.

He'd dumped the lusty female somewhere, now stood against the stone wall. Towering over everyone, his mace resting on his shoulder. That was the movement I'd seen—him pulling it from his belt and swinging upward in one swift, brutally efficient motion.

Challenge.

My hands moved for my daggers. I'd slip into the void and slit his throat before—

His startlingly green eyes flashed, but not with desire this time.

A warning, not a challenge. A reminder not to give in to the power. To be the queen I was playing so hard at being—irreverent, powerful, superior.

I curled my bloodied fingers into a fist. Then quickly, just as suddenly as I'd shattered the wine glass, I flung my fingers wide, my blood flying in droplets around me. I smirked at the terrestrials, the ones with my blood now dappling their clothing and skin.

"Go ahead, have a taste of true power," I purred.

The music began again at a signal from Elayne. Conversations began anew. When my eyes again found Barkke, his mace was back in its place on his belt. He lifted his hands and silently applauded.

I held that smirk in place on my face, even as every drop of wine I'd consumed threatened to reappear.

I couldn't remain at the feast much longer. Elayne had mentioned gifts. They would be presented to her and Pant, as Lord and Lady of Eilean Gayl. She'd warned me that some of the more powerful terrestrials in the area might present some to me as well. Power acknowledging power. The true currency of the terrestrial kingdom.

But she'd have to accept them on my behalf. The pressure in my chest was nearly unbearable. Perhaps something I'd eaten—

The entire hall went dark, every flame doused. Blades sang as they emerged from their sheaths. Screams. Snarls and flapping wings and even a hiss as terrestrials all around shifted. The gush and scent of blood.

It was just like when Arthur was murdered. The sudden darkness, the confusion, the blood. So much blood…

My daggers were already in my hands, but I didn't raise them. I couldn't.

I wasn't in control of my body or the snarl, the rolling growl that built until I was howling.

The massive doors of the hall flew open, icy winter cold sweeping in off of the lake.

Another howl. Menace, command, threat—and not mine.

Lyrena's fire flickered, a single plume of it cast straight up toward the arched stone ceiling, illuminating the great hall of Eilean Gayl.

And the massive white wolf framed in the doorway.

A half dozen terrestrials were dead.

Some stood proudly over their kills, daring those nearby to challenge them, give them another opportunity to prove their strength. Others were content to let the dead lie unclaimed. I did not care what scores had been settled in those moments of all-encompassing dark.

My heart was beating so hard I thought it might explode out of my chest. The golden thread, so frayed and stretched these weeks… now strong. And pulling hard.

I stumbled forward. One step, two. My body struggled to catch up with my heart. I felt the sob pushing up through me, as unstoppable as the snarl and howl had been.

"Arran." A whisper—raw and full of aching need that not even my elemental blood could disguise.

A blink and he shifted.

My mate stood before me, seven feet tall, dark hair pulled loose from the knot at the back of his head, deep bronze skin glowing. Whole. Black eyes blazing with fury that I wanted to taste.

His brows knit together, the cruel slant of his mouth thinning before opening again.

His eyes pinned me to the spot as one dark brow lifted. "Who are you?"