Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

I swallow hard. Agony shoots up my wrist from my earlier fall. It's difficult to protect myself from his magic when I'm in pain, but I have to pretend that everything is fine. The Fey heal quickly—well, the real Fey.

I need to distract him.

Stepping closer to him, I trace the path of his tattoo with the tip of my finger, inhaling his masculine scent. "A willow branch. Are they in Shalott, too? Because they're in the tapestry."

His full lips part. "So I've been told. They're on my family crest. Not Auberon's, but my mother's side. When Mordred trapped her in the tower of Camelot, they say the willows in Shallott turned bone-white with sorrow."

My finger pauses. "And she died here, in Brocéliande?"

"Executed. Burned at the stake." His eyes narrow, and his thick eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. "For spying."

My breath goes quiet in my lungs, and I pull my hand away from him. I can't stay here long. I was hoping to find a way to sneak back in later when he isn't around, but I don't see any other doors leading into the room except the main one, and we're far too high up for me to climb in through the window.

I need to get him to leave me alone in here so I can rifle through his things.

I glance at his desk, where books lay open on a stack of papers, and lean against a windowsill. "So, do you have the night off from torturing?"

He scoffs. "I'm bored of using the rack. The screaming gets on my nerves sometimes. So high-pitched, the way they shriek."

I swallow hard. I think he's joking, but I can't be sure.

I raise my glass and smile coyly. "Well, congratulations. You continue to be the worst person I know."

"Do I get a prize for this honor?"

I rack my brain for something—anything that I overheard in his thoughts that might give me a second alone.

…the taut cherry skin yields as my teeth pierce it, and the tart flavor bursts over my tongue. Cherries and cream, the nectar of the gods when the rest of the day has left me wanting…

Someone special to him used to bring them to him, and now he loves them.

I lick my lips. "I think you deserve a prize, yes. When I was little, before the famine, if we did something worthy of celebrating, my big sister used to bring cherries for me."

He takes a step closer, the copper in his eyes ignited in the dying sunlight. "I adore cherries."

He takes another sip of his wine, eyeing me over the rim of his glass. I have the faintest inkling that he likes having me here.

"Give me a moment." He turns and crosses to the door.

He steps outside, and I can hear him talking faintly to the new sergeant-at-arms.

I hurry to the window and examine the latch up close so that I can describe it later in my report to Avalon Tower. If the assassin can find a way to climb up here, he'll have to figure out how to unlatch this. Unfortunately, it doesn't look possible. The windows lock from the inside.

I pivot and rush over to his desk, my heart slamming against my ribs, and open the top drawer. Just as Mordred told me, the gateway key is inside, along with some parchments, a container of ink, several quills, and a wicked-looking dagger with a few drops of dried blood on it. I slip the replica key from my pocket and switch it with the real key. My blood roars in my ears. If he catches me?—

From the other side of the door, I hear the guards obsequiously pleading with Talan to let them remain at their posts. I think I hear him curtly say he will find a servant, then footsteps moving away from the room.

I have a few more seconds, and something draws my eye. Underneath a pile of papers, I notice the corner of a crimson envelope—the letter Talan collected early that morning. The secret message.

I should leave it alone. I should just be happy with the key, and yet…I won't get another chance like this.

I slip the envelope out of the stack, making a mental note of its exact position. With relief, I see that the seal is already broken. I open it and take the pages out. The first page looks like an architectural plan of some sort. My pulse is racing so fast, I can hardly concentrate, as part of my brain is still wondering what sort of horrific fate awaits me if I'm caught. What I find is a series of stone towers and buildings surrounded by a stone wall. A fortress, maybe. A river runs into the fortress itself and seems to flow into a cavern labelled Water Mill . I scrutinize the diagram for a few seconds, memorizing it as best as I can, then flip to the next page.

Is this an accounting report? There's a list of supplies and their prices. And at the top of the page, it says Blue Dragon Project . My jaw drops.

Those are the words Lord Ael said just before Talan killed him. This must be why Talan killed him. Not because he was a traitor, but because he was about to tell the world about…whatever this is. Is this related to the secret strategy in the war in Scotland? And if so, why is he keeping it secret from Auberon?

I'm about to flip to the next page when I hear rapid footfalls in the hall and the sound of male voices. Quickly, I slide the papers inside the envelope and shove it back where it was, then hurry to the window. The door opens as I pick up my wine again and casually take a sip, and Talan saunters inside, a lock of his hair falling in front of his eyes. Moving at a languid pace, he drops into an armchair as a blond servant bustles into the room, carrying a tray of cherries and cream. She is sweating, and a few strands of damp hair cling to her pink cheeks.

Talan gestures for me to sit, and I ease into a chair next to him.

"Your Highness," the servant stammers, sliding the tray onto the table.

"This is my reward, Nyfa, for being the worst person in the world," he says to her. "Everyone needs one area to really stand out in, don't you think?" He plucks a cherry from the bowl. "And every kingdom needs a torturer. Is it my fault that I happen to be good at it?"

"No, Your Highness."

"Do you think I'm the worst person you've ever met, Nyfa?"

She pales and shakes her head. "No, Your Highness."

His eyes glint with amusement. "But Nyfa, your dreams say that I'm a sadist. And they say that you like it, too."

I glare at him. "Stop tormenting the poor girl. She just brought you cherries."

"You may leave us, Nyfa."

She bows, and I glance at the desk. My heart skips a beat as I realize I haven't put the envelope back in exactly the right place.

Nyfa practically runs from the room, and the door slams behind her.

And there it is again, the feel of silk wrapping around me and the sharp edge of his magic trying to penetrate my thoughts. "It's like there's a barrier inside your skull. It's intriguing."

I grab a cherry from the bowl. "Maybe there's nothing in there. Maybe my mind is empty."

"I doubt that very much." He leans over the table. "In fact, I feel like you're hiding something from me. I'm not getting the real Nia. Tell me something that is actually true about yourself."

"And what about the real Talan? Do you spend your days torturing people, or are those just rumors you play along with?"

"Nice deflection. Tell me a true thing about yourself. And just to warn you, if I'm paying close enough attention, I can tell if someone is lying."

I take a deep breath, realizing the brilliance of Meriadec's directives. Keep it all as close to the truth as possible. He'd already set me up for this.

So, I look into Talan's blazing copper-ringed eyes and tell him something true. "I always wanted a family like other people had. A dad who read books to me in bed, or a mom who made sure I had what I needed. Someone who'd wake up at night when I was sick instead of letting me look after myself. I wanted them to clean up after me when I vomited and not the other way around. I wanted someone who was always there so I didn't have to wonder how long I'd be alone…" I swallow hard, as I realize I'm straying too far into my own life. I sigh and give him a small smile. "But we get the family we get, don't we?"

He inhales sharply and twirls his wineglass. "Well, Nia, that is certainly true. And what happened to your man with the cheap velvet suit? Why didn't you make a family with him, like other people?"

"He left me for a singer." Also true.

"So, the man is a fucking idiot. Would you like me to torture him to death? I would use the rack again, if it made you happy."

I blink. "I believe his own music is torture enough."

Talan gives me a smile that steals my breath for a moment, but it fades. "You told me a true thing, and now it's my turn. No, I don't go into the dungeons. I don't need to torment people physically to get what I want. I kill them, if it suits me, but I've never seen a rack in my life, nor do I want to. Why use such a brutal instrument? I can invade people's dreams and make them feel the most exquisite pain in their minds—or pleasure, depending."

"Okay. But I told you two truths. One about my ex, and one about my family. Tell me another thing," I venture. "Who was your mother spying for?"

His expression is inscrutable, and he gives me a casual shrug. "They say she never fell out of love with Mordred. That she was always trying to find him. She believed he never died. They say that he was truly our worst enemy, that he had made claims to the throne. That's what they say. But that was a long time ago, when I was too young…" His gaze shutters, and he seems to collect himself. "Anyway, not to worry. You might loathe me, but you are mine now, and if anyone tried to burn you at the stake, I'd make them wish they were never born."

I finish the last drop of wine in my glass and know I need to leave. If I don't, my nervous glances at his desk will give me away.

I slide the empty glass onto his table. "Well, thank you for entertaining me while the sun went down. I'll leave you on your own now."

I stand to leave, desperately hoping he never notices that little shift of the envelope.

"Nia." Talan's soft voice stops me, and he stands. "I can see from the way you are holding your arm that your wrist is hurt."

My heart slams hard, and I wonder if he'll realize I'm not healing as quickly as I should. I shrug. "I just fell on it badly. Maybe twisted something. It will be better in no time."

"I can heal it."

"How?"

He holds out his hand. "Give it to me."

My breath is still shaky as I rest my wrist in his hand. He traces his fingertips over it, a line etched between his eyebrows. Then he glances up at me. "I heal with my mouth."

"Sure. Whatever it takes."

He brings my wrist to his lips and kisses my skin.

A hot shiver runs through me as he runs his tongue over the place where it hurts. The sharp pain softens into pleasure, and as his tongue laves my skin, I'm no longer thinking about who he is. No longer able to think of anything except the way his mouth feels on me.

There's obviously more to his magic than just healing, because as his tongue moves over me, a sensual heat pulses between my thighs. My nipples peak under my dress, and molten heat slides through me. Part of me wants to yank my arm away from him, to stop this pulsing of warmth in my core. But I'm transfixed, my breath becoming shallow as I imagine him kissing my hips, stroking me. Murderous prince or not, I can't stop thinking about how it would feel for him to spread my thighs and kiss…

With a racing heart, I pull my arm away. "It's fine now." My cheeks are hot, and my breath comes in rapid little gasps.

Surprise flickers in his eyes. "Are you sure? Because your heart is beating wildly out of control, and you sound breathless."

He's fucking with me. Of course he's fucking with me. "I'm fine."

His gaze dips to my breasts, and one of his hands clenches into a fist. I look down to see my headlights on, high beams in action, and I fold my arms in front of my chest. Jasper doesn't really do bras.

A sensual smile curls the prince's lips as he looks into my eyes. "You can stay longer, if you like."

I turn to the door. The pain in my wrist is gone now. "I'll see you later, Talan."

When I glance back, I find his eyes locked on me. "How strange. I like the way it sounds when you say my name."

"When do I need to see you again? For the purposes of our fake relationship?"

"Tomorrow, actually. I want you to join me at the High Council. I don't need your particular skillset just then, but I want you to know who everyone is."

I do my best to look unimpressed. Bored, even. But inside, I cannot believe I'm about to go into the heart of their government, to find out exactly how the Fey operate. Nivene, Viviane, and even Mordred were right: coming here as Talan's fake mistress was absolutely an opportunity I couldn't pass up. None of us at Avalon Tower had any information about what went on at the High Council meetings. And after fifteen hundred years, I'm going to be the first spy to infiltrate the heart of their discussion.

I shrug and sigh. "Fine," I say, sounding like I couldn't give a fuck.

As I leave the room and step into the hall, my gaze lingers on the scarlet stain on the stone floor.