Page 70 of Heir to His Court

Aerinne blinked, tears pooling in those luminous eyes, deep endless pools of burnt umber rimmed in jade that would forever hold him prisoner in their depths. It was intolerable. He had wed Zephirre precisely because he had wanted to avoid this kind of trap. Loving one’s wife.

“I know. I’m sorry, Renaud. I am so sorry.” She turned her head away as much as he would allow.

He loathed his weakness, loathed her.

Loved her.

Craved her.

And he hadalwaysunderstood how she felt all these years carrying her mother’s death.

The Prince closed his eyes. “I cannot forgive you. But I can replace the memory. I can replace him—you will help me.”

“What?” Increased wariness in her voice. “Run that one by me again.”

He lifted his head. “My price for your life. My price for Embriel’s.”

ChapterTwenty-One

Why are the Old Ones, the Ancients, so cruel?I asked in the dream. I didn’t know where we were. Gardens in a palace, the bite of autumn in the air.

You have never had to sleep with your every mistake,he thought, the deep, liquid syllables strangely accented,or rise with the torture of your every hope.

I didn’t know whom I’d asked. The personality of this aspect was hazy, the inflection of his voice not quite defined. It could be any of them; Raniel, Threnvanne Sanyelle, Darkan, Renaud. It could be all of them.

You have not had to look down the dark tunnel of your interminable life and realizenothingoffers meaning, even vengeance, but you are too much a coward to end it.

I couldn’t remain unfeeling, unable to remain unmoved by the subtle pain he exposed. But I was impatient.

What do you serve?I asked.

He turned, arctic eyes inscrutable, face ascetic with old, suppressed grief. The blue robes he wore were a style I didn’t recognize, his hair drawn back in loops, braids and knots to his waist, a thin silver circlet on his forehead hanging with a single sapphire jewel. He stole my breath, and returned it in force.

What do you serve, son of Ancients?I paced toward him.Your life has no meaning because you serve nothing but yourself.

He stared at me a while longer, then smiled. Wry, gentle, brushed with amused malice, impervious to my criticism.Ah. It is that simple, is it? I've lived all these years only to find wisdom from the mouth of an infant.

I understood then, when he allowed that small expression of emotion, that I was speaking to all four. To who he was when he was whole. Raniel’s gentleness, Darkan’s brusque but steadfast guidance. Renaud’s knowing darkness, and the General’s piercing calculation.

I would not let him bait me.I can't offer you wisdom, but perhaps I can offer you a reminder. That’s the problem with High Fae. You’re so lofty that you’ve forgotten basics the rest of us have barely begun to learn. Simple things build life, Raniel Threnvanne Sanyelle.

And those simple things, Aerinne Kuthliele?

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me.A purpose greater than vengeance. More lasting than pain, stronger than love. Find that purpose. Do not be moved from it.

He looked at me for a long, silent moment, then the dream faded.

I’d gone to sleep, possibly the worst idea I'd had in a while. But accessing my harpy, keeping her at bay, the increased stress of my life during the last several weeks, the lack of sleep and yes, infrequent meals now that I thought about it, were taking their toll.

Oddly enough, I felt safe in the palace. Safe from everyone but my psychotic bonded, of course. If he wanted me dead, it didn't matter where in the city I laid my head down to rest. I would be dead.

There’d been clothes for me in the same room I’d been assigned before, and I’d grimaced after ushering the staff out. Squires, even high ranked squires, didn't warrant dressing maids. Though technically my current status seemed to be below that of a squire, considering the collar around my neck.

I couldn’t forget its presence even though it lay cool and light against my skin. I didn't know what it would do, and I feared to attempt to use power to poke at it. Not when it sat next to my jugular vein, my brain stem.

Grimacing at the selection of nightgowns obviously designed with the male gaze in mind, I’d opted for the most practical and slid into bed.

Then dreamed.

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