66. Veyka

I was silent.

Behind the heavy curtains and thick-paned windows, the winds of a winter storm howled.

My feet did not make a sound. Neither did my dagger.

A fire roared in the hearth. Crackling, popping. A hiss, almost serpentine.

But no lithe, scaled body appeared.

A pity.

"Awaken, Palomides."

He bolted awake—the reaction of a male who knew his days were haunted. I almost regretted dropping the succubus at his feet, revealing that we'd discovered his secret. It made this just a little less fun. The amorite he wore did not protect him from attack, only from possession. But he'd managed to get away, and I'd dispatched Lyrena with one of my amorite blades to kill the succubus.

Palomides hands dug into the bedsheets, one slithering beneath the pillow.

"You shouldn't bother with weapons," I said, stroking my fingertips lovingly over the hilt of my own dagger. Other than that, I did not move, remaining near the warmth of the fire.

Palomides moved quickly for his age.

But no one was faster than me.

He whipped the knife from under his pillow, flinging it forward with considerable strength and decent aim.

I stepped into the void, reappeared behind him, and caught his wrist as it swung backward.

The knife hit the black stone carved mantle and clattered to the floor.

"How—" his cry of rage died against the swirled steel and amorite of my blade, pressed to his throat.

I chuckled, low and harsh. "What was that, Lord Palomides?"

He grunted, testing my hold on his wrist. Fool. Stupid, arrogant fool.

I drew blood. Not with my dagger—with my nails. I punctured the vein at the base of his wrist. He hissed, but did not move. If he did, my nail would dislodge and his blood would begin spurting.

"You cannot use your cursed power here. I have warded this room against you," he ground out.

I threw back my head and laughed. Fully, deeply. Slightly unhinged.

"How did you know about the King's injury?"

When he did not answer, I thrust my thumb nail deep into his wound, savoring his below of pain, tasting it on my tongue.

"Informants," Palomides grunted. "In Eilean Gayl."

"Names?"

"I do not know their names."

His answer remained unchanged after several thrusts of my thumb into his wound. I did it once more for good measure before hurling myself into the void. When I reappeared, his wasted dagger was in my hand. I turned it over in the firelight.

The blade was swirled. An amorite weapon. I tucked it into my belt and turned back to the bed, where Palomides was busy writhing around in a puddle of his own blood.

I rolled my eyes. "Embarrassing."

"You—"

"Your Majesty," I purred before he made a fatal mistake. "I do not want to kill you, Palomides. Not yet."

He held his silence now. Except for the whimpering.

"You will honor our bargain," I said, examining my fingernail. Even the scent of his blood was irritating. "If you do not, I will return to Castle Chariot. Alone."

I disappeared. Materialized by the window. "You must know by now that the High King is the level-headed one."

Disappear. Reappear. Now at the foot of his bed.

"But I am faster on my own," I whispered in his ear.

Before he could flinch away, I'd moved to the fire once again. "I will not need anyone's help to punish you for your disobedience. Tomorrow, you will take us to the amorite mines. We will take as much as we can carry with us now, and make all the arrangements to set up the supply lines."

His bleeding had slowed. That wouldn't do.

I threw myself through the void one last time.

When I landed at his bedside, my dagger was already in my hand. I swiped it up across his face, flaying the skin from his jawline to his graying eyebrow.

Palomides collapsed back on the bed, screaming and clutching his face. I stalked back to the warmth of the fire on my own two feet. Warm once again, I sheathed my knife and rested a hand on each hip.

"Palomides."

He silenced at the command. His whole body shook, but for a moment he managed to drag himself back up to face me.

"Remember, when you think of betraying Annwyn… there are no wards that can hold me."

My feet were too loud on the stone floor, but Arran was already awake. The fire raged in the hearth here as well, illuminating his bare chest, the brutal black lines of his Talisman a sharp contrast to his glowing golden skin.

"Is it done?" he asked evenly.

I jerked my head as I unbuckled my weapons, letting my belt fall to the floor. "Palomides will do as he's told."

Arran's chin dropped. The barest suggestion of a nod.

It may have been a trick of the light, or his chin might have shifted to the side a fraction of an inch. Question or invitation.

It did not matter. I threw myself into the chair before the fire and pretended to sleep for the rest of the night.