Page 14 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“Apologies, my Lord King—”

Night cocked his head to the side. “It’s unlike the man I know to express remorse. It’s also unlike you to use formal titles so primly. You must be in distress.”

“I am, Lord King.”

“I take it the witch is responsible for this . . . distress?” His clever gray eyes saw too much already.

Malcolm felt his pores open. Nervous sweat dampened his hair. He wished the window was larger to allow more of a breeze inside the stuffy room. “We need to borrow your office,” he said to the warden. “I require a private word with His Majesty.”

Barrows straightened in his seat. “That’s not—”

“An excellent suggestion,” Night insisted.

Whatever the warden had been about to say, he swallowed it down. It took him a moment to set his expression to something more polite before he stood, bowed at the waist, then headed out.

When the door had closed gently behind him, Night helped himself to Barrows’ leather chair, propping his tall boots up on the desktop. “Last we spoke, you assured me you would exert your best efforts toward keeping the peace in Reedholm. I’m having enough issues with Dagrun’s estate next door. I hope you were sincere.”

“I meant my words,” Malcolm vowed. “I’m trying.”

The king worked loose his coat buttons, opening it as a fresh breeze blew in through the window. “The Vanir witch—”

“—is my mate.”

Night’s gaze settled over him. One of his blue-black brows rose. “Then the reason you wanted my queen to stay home is . . . ?”

“Her brand of bloody justice is not needed here. Not today.” His jaw clenched. With effort he softened his tone. “I’ve nothing but respect and admiration for my queen. You know that. But . . .”

“But she’s bloody.” Night grinned.

Solis had been behaving himself like a proper shadow, but at that he came off the wall behind Malcolm, standing with his dark arms folded broodily.

Night spared him a quick glance. A powerful mage, he was unaffected by Malcolm’s unusual soul. “Then you think your witch did as she’s accused?”

“I don’t know,” Malcolm said honestly. “But I beg of you, on my knees if you’d like, show her mercy, Lord King. She can’t stay here.”

Night scoffed.

“With her wings she barely fits in these cells. One wrong move and the iron will score her skin. This place wasn’t designed to hold an immortal like her.” Malcolm spoke through his teeth. “When I arrived, I found the guards trying to bathe her.”

Night’s expression gentled at that. “Did you kill anyone?”

“No,” Malcolm said grumpily, wishing he had. Solis agreed enthusiastically with his thoughts. “I may owe the warden some reparations for at least one of the guards, however . . .”

“Break any limbs?”

“If anyone had dared to remove her clothing, I would have, but the cowards were too scared of her to get close. They threw poorly cured soap and water on her through the bars. Now she’s supposed to sleep in all that.”

Night chewed at the inside of his cheek, pondering. “Sounds like you showed restraint, then. Or perhaps the blooming bond pull is slight between you?”

Malcolm’s laughter lacked humor. “It’s definitelynotslight. Were I a younger, more impulsive fae, I’d have wrung all their necks. Though I confess I have nothing to compare the pull to. But damn it all, if this is a slight tug, how does anyone survive a great one?”

Night’s chortling gave him a boyish glow. He looked more like the friend Malcolm had trained all those centuries ago. After the academic young man had finished his mage studies, the former king wanted his heir to master the sword, and Malcolm had been the best. They were close in age, but the marquess had spent his youth much differently: hunting trolls and battling giants, chasing adventure instead of studying books.

“Nothing to compare it to?” Night’s showing of teeth was full of mischief. “You can’t mean that you’ve never met a mate before.” At Malcolm’s drawn expression, Night’s brows rose toward his hair. “Truly? All this time and you’ve never stumbled upon even one with match potential?”

“You know what an absolute shit-sack I am. Are you really surprised? Why would the divines give me a mate? Are they so cruel?”

“Apparently they are.” Night rubbed a hand across his mouth. Malcolm wondered at the thoughts turning in the clever king’s mind. Night was a fae trickster in more ways than one. He could use moon magic to change into the form of a beast, but Malcolm was more interested in his other trickster attributes. The Lord of the Lunar Court could be very conniving.

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