42. Veyka

Cyara had not managed to produce cosmetics from her secret stash. Not that it would have mattered. I doubted anything, human or fae, magical or otherwise, would have covered the dark circles under my eyes. I'd have looked better if someone had punched me. At least those bruises would heal.

"You should eat," Cyara said as she knotted the tail of my narrow plait. She'd braided from my right temple, over the top of my head, and down the left side, leaving the back of my hair loose to skim my shoulder blades. A strand of garnets glittered in the braid. A far cry from the ornate plaits she'd fashioned in Baylaur, but effective. Elegant. Regal.

A reminder to every terrestrial I encountered of who I was.

Perhaps a reminder to my mate as well.

My stomach clenched painfully. No, I would not be eating.

Cyara stepped away, sipping her tea as she went. Maybe I would be spared—

"Why haven't you gone to him?"

"He does not even remember my name," I said through clenched teeth.

"Maybe something has changed."

"Do you think if Arran remembered me, that he would be patiently waiting? That he would be anywhere but here?"

I watched Cyara's jaw clench beneath her otherwise smooth cheek. She was the consummate elemental. But she was also my friend.

"I think his chances of remembering you are better if you are in his company," Cyara said carefully. So careful, because she knew what she was proposing.

To spend time with Arran, to feel the pull of our bond, the growl of his wolf… but not to see the love in his eyes… it would be torture.

Cyara set down her tea, the rattle of the cup in its saucer unmistakable. Her hands were trembling. So were mine.

"This is not your fault, Veyka," she said, her voice steady even if her hands were not.

Of course. Cyara, only my keen and observant Cyara, could have plucked the thought so deftly from my mind.

"I begged the Lady of the Lake for his life."

"You did what you had to. I was there on that shore. I saw you, ready to take your own life rather than lose him," Cyara countered.

"But I did lose him."

I inhaled slowly—through the tender membranes of my nostrils, past my throat, sore from sobbing, into my lungs, somehow still functioning alongside my broken heart.

A hand curled around my shoulder. Strong. Steady. Constant.

I lifted my eyes to meet Cyara's in the mirror's reflection. Her chin may still have wobbled slightly, but the depths of her turquoise eyes were eternal. My friend, through all the battles to come.

"Then you should find your way back to him." She squeezed my shoulder tighter. "And I shall be at your side, no matter how long the journey."

"As will I."

I hadn't even heard Lyrena enter. It was a testament to just how lost I was.

My golden knight just grinned, resplendent as ever in her goldstone armor, and reached for my other shoulder.

My heart swelled in my chest. And it was still broken and I was broken and the world was royally fucked up. But at least in that moment, I was not alone.

But our peace was brief.

A knock sounded at the door. Not the one connecting my chamber to Lyrena, Cyara, Percival, and Diana. The one that led to the rest of Eilean Gayl. To reality.

Lyrena winked, squeezed my shoulder, and went to answer it. Cyara handed me the shadowvein tea, though I doubted I would need it anytime soon. Arran's beast may want to fuck me, but the male had looked at me with such contempt.

"He wants to see you," Lyrena's voice cut into my self pity parade.

I blinked.

He. Arran.

My eyes slid past Lyrena to the liveried guard standing in the arched doorway.

He didn't even bother to come himself.

Lyrena turned back to the guard expectantly. He eyed her, then me, clearly hoping he'd be allowed to escape now that he'd given my Goldstone Guard his message.

We all stared at him.

The other two were surely waiting for me to speak.

The guard's hand twitched. Then his jaw.

"His Majesty the High King requests that her Majesty join him in the study," he repeated. No one moved. "Promptly," he added, unable to hide his cringe.

His Majesty the High King requests that her Majesty join him in the study.

I could feel the pull in my chest, that incessant demand. I'd learned to trust it, to use it to determine how far away Arran was at any given moment. He was in this castle, maybe even in this same tower. No more than a floor or two away.

His Majesty the High King requests that her Majesty join him in the study.

We may as well have been on different continents. In different realms.

Cyara moved first. She reached for the heavy fur mantle she'd acquired in an ongoing attempt to keep me warm in this frozen hell.

I reached for my blades instead.

"Tell Arran that if he wishes to speak to me, he can come find me himself. No one summons the High Queen of Annwyn." I watched the color drain from the male's face as I strapped on my leather harnesses, then my belt with the scabbard and dagger.

Maybe it was cruel.

But if I stood in front of Arran just then, I did not know how I would keep myself from coming apart. And that could not happen. Not now, with the safety of Annwyn hanging by a thread.

I had already lost my mate.

I would not lose my kingdom as well.