Chapter 19

NINETEEN

Tempest

Snow.

Tempest stuck her tongue out to catch a few flurries as she slogged her way to the barracks, snow crunching beneath her boots. Her cloak trailed behind her, creating a path. Although heavy-hearted, she smiled as snowflakes bussed her lashes and left cool kisses on her cheeks. The first skiff of snow was always magical, but the first real snowstorm was her favorite. It covered all the ugly filth of the city and transformed the capital into something from a fairy story, every home looking like it belonged in a sleepy village.

Relief surged through her as she spotted the barracks. She skirted the training ring, her pace picking up as she reached the door. Bawdy laughter rumbled from inside, bringing a smile to her lips. Maxim. No one had a laugh like his. Reaching for the door, she paused and inhaled deeply. For the last several days, she'd gone over and over her story so she wouldn't make any mistakes. Guilt pricked her. It was wrong to lie to the men who raised her.

You're not any better than the Jester.

Her breath fogged in a mini cloud in front of her face before dissipating. She'd had a lot of time to think on her journey home. Not all of her thoughts were of good things.

Just open the door, Tempest.

"My lady?"

Tempest froze and slowly turned toward the feminine voice. A palace servant garbed in a drab gray cloak and a sensible working dress shuffled closer. Tempest almost screamed in frustration. The king was calling for her already? She hadn't even had a moment to unpack. Plus, how in the blazes did he know she was in town? Someone must've been watching her. She'd snuck in through the slums. No one should have known about her arrival.

Sloppy, that's what it was.

"King Destin requests your presence at—"

"Yes, I shall meet him within the hour," Tempest interrupted, a wooden smile on her face even though she wanted to punch something. It was not the servant's fault that she was in a bad mood. People were not emotional punching bags. She swallowed down her bitterness and forced her tone toward something more polite. "I just need some time to bathe and change my clothes."

The servant bobbed her head and quickly retreated, her hurried footsteps a sharp staccato. Tempest rolled her neck and opened the door, warm light spilling out onto the snow. A wave of heat hit her as she stepped inside, knocked the snow off her boots, and closed the door behind her. The laughter cut short, and she turned to face the room. The Hounds and trainees all stared at her. She gave a little wave and smiled.

"I'm back."

Dima stood slowly from his bunk, followed by Maxim.

"You're home," Dima said with no inflection. That wasn't a good sign. He was angry.

She shouldered off her backpack and set her bow gently against the wall, before unclasping her cloak and hanging it on a hook near the door. "Finally," Tempest said lightly. "Seems like forever since I've been home."

"You better get over here right now and hug me, girlie, before I lose my temper," Maxim rumbled. Her shoulders sagged. He'd never lost his temper once with her growing up.

Maxim held his arms out, and she walked right into them. He squeezed her tightly against his chest and laid his head on the top of hers. For the first time in ages, she felt safe. Loved. "You have to stop leaving like that."

Tempest nodded, her nose rubbing against his flannel shirt. "I'll work on it."

"You better," Maxim muttered. "My poor ticker can't handle the stress."

He pulled back and released her to Dima. Her quiet uncle clasped both her cheeks and slowly studied her. "Who hurt you?"

"No one," she said, her voice not wavering. You had to care about someone for them to hurt you. Lying to your uncles and yourself. A slippery slope.

His eyes narrowed. "You know I interrogate people for a living?"

She held his gaze resolutely. If she wavered one bit, he'd never let this go. "It was a long journey. I'm tired. "

Dima nodded and pulled her into a hug. "I'm letting this go for now," he murmured, voice low in her ear. She forced herself to stay relaxed, even as her pulse picked up. "But we will come back to this."

"It's nothing," Tempest argued.

He leaned back and ducked to catch her eye. "It's not nothing. I can see the pain in your eyes." His gaze hardened. "I will find out the truth."

She chuckled and maneuvered herself out of his arms. "The truth is that I'm in need of a bath." Tempest waved a hand at the bathing chamber. "Is it empty?"

"Go ahead," Maxim said.

She nodded and strode toward the door next to the massive fireplace, whispering hellos to her fellow Hounds. She slipped into the bathing chamber and closed the door, leaning her back against the wood frame. Dima wasn't going to leave it. She pushed away from the door and began stripping off her clothes. The brazier in the corner gave her enough light to slip into the pool in the middle of the room. Heat enveloped her as she sank into the water. Thank all that be for hot springs. Placing her arms on the edge of the pool, she pillowed her cheek on her forearms and closed her eyes. Nothing felt as good as this, but still, she couldn't fully relax.

Time was ticking away, and the king expected her. How had her life become so tangled? From either direction, she had a sovereign trying to manipulate her. Well, if one could call Pyre—the Jester, Mal, whoever he was—a ruler. He seemed to think he controlled everyone around him. It still rankled her that she hadn't seen the signs sooner. There were similarities if one looked close enough. But how was she to know? Shifters weren't supposed to have two human forms. It was unheard of—a legend, a myth.

Tempest pushed away from the side of the pool and grabbed the scented oil from the southern side, steam rising around her. It had been a gift from Maxim one year. She uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of soap into her hands and lathered her hair and scalp. Even in the Jester's den of deceit, his tubs hadn't compared to this. She moaned and then dunked her head, rinsing her wild locks.

Rising from the water, she fingered a wet strand of hair. Unbidden, a memory floated to the forefront of her mind. Mal's hands threaded through her hair, insistently pulling her closer, his mouth slashing over hers, eyes heavy with desire, challenging her to give in. Tempest shuddered and then slapped a hand against the water. She had to stop this nonsense.

You feel nothing for him. You were lost in the moment. Heated emotions can lead to such things. It meant nothing. He means nothing to you.

Pyre was the Jester. He wasn't a good man. She moved toward the stairs that led out of the pool. That was an understatement. ‘Not a good man' was a shady slumlord, loan shark, or a merchant who hit his wife. The Jester was another kind of man entirely; he was the other side of the coin to King Destin. Corrupt, ruthless, and driven. Passionate. She ignored the last one as she climbed the stairs, water droplets dripping from her skin.

Tempest grabbed a towel and dried her face before running it over the rest of her body. She paused, blankly staring at the roaring fire. If Pyre was simply the same as King Destin, what did that make her? She had been willingly working with Pyre. Just how much of his evil behavior was she supposed to tolerate in the name of the people?

Protect the innocent. Deal with everything later.

She couldn't change Pyre any more than he could change her. Is working with the Jester and the Dark Court the only way you can make a difference? Stars, she didn't know. "Stop thinking about it. There is nothing you can do about it now," she muttered to herself, wrapping the towel around her body to hide her important bits. Her abdomen cramped, and she winced as it began to ache.

Of all the times to begin her moontime. Life just wasn't fair.

She rolled her neck and exited the bathing chamber. Someone whistled, and she gestured rudely, before disappearing behind her dressing screen. Tempest eyed the limited dresses she had and then her leather breeches. Her upper lip curled. If the king wanted her to come immediately, he'd get her as she came. She wasn't going to dress up for him. Quickly, she gathered her clothing along with some toiletries for her moontime and stalked back into the bathing chamber.

Wet skin and leather were a bloody nightmare. Dressing took much longer than normal. She yanked the brush through her wet hair and plaited it, before moving back into the barracks. Maxim lounged on his bed next to her.

"I sent for some food."

"Thank you," she murmured, dropping onto her bed. Tempest tugged on some socks. "I'll tuck in when I get back."

"Get back?" he asked.

"I've been summoned."

"I see." Maxim eyed her up and down. "You're wearing that?"

"What's wrong with this? It's my nicest outfit."

"It's not very courtly. "

"Well, he demanded me to come now so this is what he gets." She snatched a bottle of vanilla oil from the shelf next to her bed and dabbed it on her wrists and at the base of her throat. "Does that make you happy?"

"Lower your voice," Dima admonished, moving to the end of her bed. He crossed his arms and stared her down. "You need to be careful."

He had no idea. She smiled grimly. "Believe me, I am."

"Tell us what has happened over the last few weeks, lass," Maxim said. "We know that you've been sent on missions for the king, but that's the extent of it."

"Ask Madrid." She wouldn't breathe a word of any of it. Plus, there was a chance that her uncles were part of the mimkia ring. Winter's bite, she hated doubting them. Tempest tied her wrist sheaths on.

"We have. He's said nothing," Dima bit out. "You shouldn't be out there on your own. You may have won your trials, but you're still a novice. Dealing with traitors to the realm is very different than training in the ring."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"We're not trying to antagonize you, lass," Maxim said.

"I have faced nothing I could not handle," she interrupted, trying her best to make the smile on her face somewhat genuine. She strapped her last dagger into place at her hip. "And on the subject of the king… I will be late, if I don't leave now. And you and I both know it's unwise to keep the king waiting." She shoved her feet into her boots. "I'll be back soon."

Tempest squeezed Dima's arm once as she passed him, before moving to the door and tossing her cloak over her shoulders. She pulled open the door and tugged up the hood of her cloak, her wet hair chilly against her skin .

To the lion's den we go.

Reaching the king's chambers happened far too quickly. What disturbed her the most was that she hadn't seen another living soul. Usually, a servant escorted her, but not this time. Something wasn't right. Her heart picked up speed, thumping against her chest. She stared at the heavy wooden doors that served as the entrance to the king's chambers and took a few seconds to steady her breathing. Destin was only a man. She was a trained assassin. If he tried anything, she'd kill him. Plain and simple. True, she'd have to flee for her life, but she could always live in the Fire Isles as a pirate. The weather was supposed to be delightful.

You'd never run away.

She knocked on the door, her nerves on edge. A second of silence. Two. And then—

"Come in," a deep voice called.

Well, here goes nothing .

Gathering all the willpower she could muster, Tempest opened the door. His chamber was exactly as she remembered it. She moved into the room and managed not to flinch as the heavy doors slammed behind her. The king stood by the stained-glass window at the back of his chambers, his signature tumbler of fire whiskey dangling negligently between his fingers.

"Your Majesty," Tempest said, bowing politely, her stomach twisting. "It has been a while."

She straightened and locked eyes with Destin. Wicked hell, he was handsome for a psychopath.

"Don't just stand by the door." He crooked a finger at her. "It has indeed been a while," he said, his tone playful and yet edgy. Not a good combination. "Too long. I have missed your radiant presence around the palace, Tempest."

Tempest had the sense to look abashed. A small smile flittered across her face. "You flatter me, King Destin."

He chuckled and shook his head like she was the most amusing creature in the world. What a crock.

"This is exactly what I missed," he said. "How have you been these past few weeks, my Lady Hound? The rebels haven't been giving you too much trouble, I hope?"

"It was nothing I could not handle," she said, repeating the same line she'd fed to Maxim and Dima. "If you wish me to debrief you on the matter now, I'm happy to oblige."

"Oh, no, no, no," the king said quickly, laughing again. "That's what I love about you. Always right to the point, and yet, such business can wait."

That was new. She frowned, her nerves ratcheting up a notch. "Then why, may I ask, am I here?" If he didn't want to know about the rebels, then that meant it was personal. She was very thankful she'd worn her trousers and not a dress.

The king approached her, his steps prowling. He reached for her hands and took them in his own.

Oh, bloody hell, this wasn't good .

His thumb ran over the top of her right hand. "All I have been able to think about is our encounter before you left." He licked his lips, and her stomach dropped. "So, I have a question for you, Tempest. An offer, if you will."

"Whatever do you mean, Your Majesty?" Tempest asked, feeling lightheaded.

Destin leaned in closer until his lips were but an inch from hers, his golden gaze smoldering. "Marry me."

Oh, no.