78. Veyka

The door opened, and I did not need the mating bond in my chest to know who it was. Cyara's silence said enough.

"Go away," I said without looking up.

I was writing letters—fucking letters—about the amorite. I'd portioned out what we'd taken from Castle Chariot and would send it with the aerial shifters on to Cayltay and Baylaur. Word still had not come from either city in response to the missives Elayne and I had sent weeks ago.

I should take it myself, through the void. And when I got back, Lyrena would tie me to a chair—little good it would do her. And Arran… was standing right behind me.

"We must speak."

"You've said enough," I snapped. "High fucking King of Annwyn."

He did not move. Cyara didn't either, bless her.

"I should not have countermanded you."

I dropped the quill.

"Who are you?" I asked for the second time, turning in the chair. The first time, because I'd been unable to recognize my mate, the male I loved, in the one who had openly undermined me before our subjects. Now, because he was apologizing. Sort of.

This was not the male I had fallen in love with. Maybe neither of us was that person anymore. Maybe we could never be again. Not in the face of all that had happened.

But maybe we could be something else.

I swallowed down that traitorous shred of hope.

"You have been High Queen of months," Arran said. "I have only had a matter of weeks."

Still not quite an apology.

I wanted to hate him for what had happened in the great hall. But I couldn't, because I understood it. I knew what it felt like to be broken and lost and alone. That is what Arran was—alone. Just like I had been in the water gardens for all those years. When I emerged, only to have Arthur taken from me, I'd recoiled in on myself. Arran had been the one to rescue me, to pull me out of that darkness.

He was my mate. My love. And instead of being gentle and kind, I was sharp. Hard. The queen I needed to be for Annwyn, but not the wife I needed to be for Arran.

I should have told him about my plan. Argued with him about it. Persuaded him to see things my way.

Trusted him.

I had not trusted him, and he had repaid me in kind. We were both behaving like children, not High King and Queen.

For Arran, I could swallow my pride and my hurt. For my kingdom, I could try and make peace. "I should have shared my plan with you."

Arran worked his jaw slowly. "You closed off your mind."

"It's horrible, isn't it?" I sighed heavily. "But even before then… before we arrived back at Eilean Gayl. I knew what I wanted to do, and I was afraid you would refuse."

He took a step closer. "I betrayed both you and Annwyn. It will never happen again."

I bit hard into my lip to keep from closing my eyes as the weight of that vow hit me square in the chest. I knew—just like I had known when we made our vows to one another in the faerie pools—that this was forever.

And that both comforted and scared the shit out of me.

Does that mean you will always let me have my way? I hoped I sounded more flippant than I felt.

A soft, rumbling growl. It means I won't argue with you in front of our courtiers.

I suppose you want me to promise the same.

The next growl sounded more like a chuckle. That would be ideal.

I pressed my palm to my forehead. "You are the one who is good at this. Not me."

Arran rewarded me with a rueful laugh. "Perhaps we can learn together."

My heart thumped painfully in my chest. "Perhaps we can," I echoed.

"Ahem," Cyara cleared her throat from the corner. "Shall I call the Round Table to order?"

I grimaced, thinking of the dismally small rectangular table in the sitting room. "I suppose you should."