Page 131 of Secrets of Avalon

“I disagree. The World Tree didn’t need Camelot. The Fae built it as a convenience for the eight worlds.”

“But the magick… The degradation of the tree started with–”

“Nimue.” I glare right at her. “That is quite enough.”

Maybe Ares didn’t walk far enough away…

“Why do the Knights struggling more than anyone else?” King Galathar speaks again. “Is something wrong? Is that why Fenrir shifted during the wedding reception and couldn’t shift back. Should we be worried about them?” He glances over at Boaz who is standing quietly next to Fen. “What’s wrong with you?”

What’s wrong with him? Nothing. I want to scream. I want to stab the crabby old king right through the heart and be done with his selfish nonsense. But I don’t. I don’t dare open my mouth to say a single word.

Boaz gives the Elven King a courteous bow. “Nothing, your majesty. I’m quite well. Fen is fine too, he got caught up with the chaos surrounding the assassination attempt and struggled to regain control. It was an unusual circumstance. He is very protective of Melinda and Hawke.”

Nimue gives me a hateful glare, but I don’t give a shit what she thinks right now. I’m just trying to avoid an all out war between eight worlds. She can’t expect to waltz in and just order everyone around. Neither can I.

King Galathar looks less than convinced by Boaz, but the rest of the royal couples have already started filing out of my father’s study and he leads his wife along after them anyway, even though I can tell he’d still rather be asking more questions.

Questions I don’t want to answer. And questions that no one would be asking if it wasn’t for that insufferable siren queen who thinks she knows better than everyone. I owe her for finding Melinda and bringing her to me, but I don’t owe her enough to put the entire Fae people openly at risk.

As the last of the guests file out, the tension in the room dissipates like mist in sunlight. My parents linger quietly near my father’s desk. Kellan has moved and stands sentinel by the door, while Boaz and Fenrir exchange quiet words in the corner. Wraith, as usual, seems to meld with the shadows.

Melinda sags against me. I wrap an arm around her waist, steadying her and the tremors of exhaustion running through her body.

"You did well." I press a kiss to her temple. She manages a weak smile in response.

The door opens, and Ares strides in, closing it behind him with a soft click. "The servants are seeing your guests to their rooms for the night," he announces, a wry twist to his lips. He gives a cursory bow, then brandishes an ornate bottle, its golden filigree catching the light. "And I brought the good stuff. After that lengthy and ugly debacle, I figured we could all use a drink. Dear old dad sends his best wishes."

I guide Melinda to a nearby settee, and we sink into the plush cushions. The simple act of sitting is a luxury after everything that’s happened today. "Your father sent ambrosia wine?" I hadn’t seen a bottle of the special honeyed wine in centuries.

“The very finest. It’s not every day a king is made and married.” Ares pops the cork off the top and walks to the side table where glasses are neatly arranged.

Melinda Mayweather

Domina, you can't have any of that wine.

Siva's sudden interjection catches me off guard. Why not? I ask, trying to keep the disappointment from my mental voice. A glass of wine right about now sounds perfect.

Well, I didn't want to say anything, but...it's just that... sorry, it might be nothing...

Siva's uncharacteristic hesitation makes worry bubble in my gut.

"Siva, just tell me." I whisper, my voice barely audible, but everyone turns toward me like I shouted.

“Tell you what? What’s wrong with your guardian?” Ares' voice cuts through the quiet.

Kellan steps closer and kneels in front of me. “Domina, what’s wrong? What is Siva saying?”

"I–well–" My throat constricts as I search for words. The room seems to shrink, closing in around me. Hawke's hand finds mine, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my palm.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Hawke's mother leaning forward with concern etched on her face. Her husband places a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Nothing, sorry." I force a brittle smile onto my face. "Just ignore me. It's been a crazy few hours and I'm wiped."

Isolde's brow furrows. "Wiped?"

"Tired," I explain. Understanding dawns in the queen's eyes, but the tension in the room doesn't dissipate.

Kellan stands and crowds me on the other side of the settee, now I’m squished between both men. I wish there was a bed. I just want to go lay down. In Hawke’s arms. Yes. That would be preferable.

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