Page 50 of Wicked Court

“How chivalrous,” I murmur.

I reach for one of the glasses before quickly downing half of it.

Cav watches me for a moment longer before abruptly pulling his hand back.

His lack of touch should leave me feeling relieved, lighter. Instead, I feel ... empty where there once was a powerful pressure.

He picks up the other whiskey. The overhead lights cast long shadows over Cav’s features, turning him into a daunting fiend in a raucous bar, which seems to have taken a turn for the oppressive.

The crowd of students has become merely a blurred backdrop to Cav’s unyielding stature.

Heat spreads through my veins as I put down my glass. The whiskey burns my throat, but it also brings about a flush spreading where goosebumps once did.

Cav leans in close, his breath warm on my cheek and his voice deep, silky, and mocking. “Do you need a moment to catch your breath?”

My heart hammers in my chest. The adrenaline rush is intoxicating, stronger than any drink.

“Yeah,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

If I turn, I’d catch his lips after scraping my cheek on that stubble of his.

How would he taste? As frosty as a mint? Or would the heat of his mouth be more of a spice, a burning cinnamon?

Cav nods, his mouth brushing against my cheek before he straightens, offering a brief, knowing smile.

He raises his glass towards me, as if in toast, and tips back his head to take a long sip.

The seconds stretch into minutes as I watch him finish his drink. His gaze remains on me the entire time, pinning me in place with its lethal precision, daring me to look away or flee.

But I don’t. Instead, I lift my glass once more and meet Cav’s chilling stare as I down the rest of my whiskey in one gulp.

Cav leans a hand on the top of a chair, studying me for a moment longer.

He finally speaks, each word deliberate and precise. “You know why I’m here.”

My stomach knots at his declaration. The Cimmerian Court’s machinations hang heavy over me—their plans for me as clear as they are terrifying.

But during my less turbulent moments in my dorm room tonight, staring at my fan spinning and spinning, I’d come to a conclusion. One that works for both of us. They want the necklace, and I want answers. One can’t be had without the other.

Dread pools in my stomach. I wish I had more whiskey to gulp so I could set it on fire and burn it to ashes.

Sasha’s next song starts up, a slower number this time, and the crowd quiets down to listen. I use this distraction to compose myself and finish my drink.

Cav mistakes my expression for something else. His arm shoots out, and he grabs hold of my wrist.

“You’re not leaving,” he states with cold certainty.

“I’m not going anywhere, Cav,” I reply, almost daring him to tighten his grip.

He doesn’t, but his hold remains firm. “What are you playing at, butterfly?”

My lips twitch in a bitter imitation of a smile. “The crows crooked the maid, and the maid crooked the crow, and they all lived together in the tulip tree so.”

Cav blinks, momentarily taken aback, before returning to his usual sleety expression. “And what is that lovely poem, exactly?”

I shrug nonchalantly, giving him a look that says I know more than I am letting on. “Just an old nursery rhyme, nothing that would interest you boys.”

He narrows his eyes and releases my wrist as if it’s set on fire. I rub it discreetly, trying to appear like his eyes aren’t as scathing as his grip.

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