Page 26 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“A familiar scorned,” Malcolm said.

“Like our fairy friend,” Hrafn whispered. Clapa didn’t seem to notice that she’d become the subject of their conversation. She was doing her very best impression of a fountain, spitting a stream of black tea in a perfect arc, soaking blissfully in the steam that curled off the ceramic rim of her cup. “She is one such familiar abandoned by her witch. She and Ezra have been talking.”

A pinch of sympathy squeezed Malcolm’s heart. Despite Clapa’s intimidating smile, he never could imagine abandoning such a remarkable child. She was a little girl who gave her friendship away just for a button one moment and ripped out throats the next. Clapa had his protection, even if there was a good chance that the powerful little thing could have been alive longer than him. Fairies aged differently, after all.

“Call upon the Mad Maker,” Hrafn said, and Malcolm stiffened. “He trapped the monster once before with his shadows. He made its prison with the dead of our people and sealed it shut with runes on their tombstones. Then he charged my clan—what remained of us after the war—with guarding it.”

Food was brought out in waves. Plates of hard eggs, fruits and cheeses, and boiled vegetables were laid before them. Malcolm waved off the footman who plated his food, retrieved the opened bottle of wine, and poured heavily.

Today was going to be another very long day, he could already tell.

Chapter 8

Malcolm

The marquess watched his glass fill to the brim before replying to his mate. “My father is dead.”

“Oh.” Hrafn’s chin dropped, and her face fell. “I’m sorry. I . . . I hadn’t heard.”

Of course she hadn’t, out in the wilderness all on her own with no one but a trickster demon for company. More food followed, rolled in on carts and served generously. Ham and more boiled eggs, venison pies, and three sorts of jams. A jar of honey, a basket of muffins, soft white bread cut into thick slices, alongside a denser, nuttier loaf.

“How long were you there, guarding this cage?” he asked her, spearing cold ham and forking it onto his plate beside a tidy pile of eggs.

She pulled together her own smaller heap of food, ignoring the meat in favor of bread and jam and cheeses. “Just three centuries.”

The footman brought out a fine salted haddock, and she wrinkled her nose at it.

“Just,” he scoffed. Three centuries ago, Malcolm had traveled the Faelands, hunting bounties, fighting trolls, and bringing down interloping giants. He had been a soldier in a militia of sorts at the start of his career. But being a soldier was all discipline and marching. No adventure. Without a war, there wasn’t nearly enough fighting to keep him entertained. The moment his service ended, he’d left the Lunar Province for the Rasika mountains that had starred in all of his favorite war stories. Sewing his wild oats, his father had called it, certain his son would return to fulfill his duties when it was necessary.

Malcolm had, just not in time to see his father and mother before they were gone.

“I wasn’t alone for all of it,” Hrafn said, and Malcolm had to shut his eyes for a moment, squeezing out the feelings that had crept up his chest and into his throat.

“What happened to your clan?” he rasped, touching the side of his face to hide his expression, forcing his focus on her words.

“The Vanir have never been good at holding still.” Hrafn stared at her glass. A sliver of sunlight broke through the nearest window, setting the color on fire. She took a breath, seemingly hesitant to say a negative word against her people. “It’s our god-blood. I feel it too, the call to wander. I cannot fault them.”

“For abandoning you and their post?” His laugh had no humor in it. He was no stranger to that same call, but he’d never abandon duty for it—not knowingly. “Yes, you can. You absolutely should fault them.”

“When I was alone,” Hrafn told him, running a finger over the rim of her glass, “I tried to scare trespassers off as best I could to keep them from tampering with things they shouldn’t. Though the woods are large, it was simple at first, but then suddenly the humans were many. Before I knew it, the world was a very different place. The fields kept growing, consuming more trees, nearing that cage.” Her sigh was forlorn. “It didn’t matter in the end. The cage is broken. I—”

“Gods, don’t sayfailed. You did no such thing. A soldier abandoned on the front lines by his entire regiment doesn’t say he failed because he couldn’t hold back an onslaught single-handedly.” He chewed around a mouthful of food, shoveling in more to calm his rumbling belly.

Her gaze dropped. “At the prison, when the king asked me what happened, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. Perhaps he would fault me.”

“Raven, a house is built with multiple support beams.” He used two columns of hard cheese to illustrate his point, resting a piece of bread along the top of it. He snatched one of the cheeses, popping it into his mouth, and the bread toppled, sliding off his plate. “When all but the one is destroyed, we don’t fault the last beam when the house collapses. The task was assigned to a clan for a reason. It wasn’t meant for one person to do alone. Look at me.” He waited for her eyes, and when he had them, he added sternly, “You’re not at fault.”

Hrafn’s lips parted, words fighting for purchase on her tongue. She worked her throat. When she met his gaze again, her fawn-colored eyes were glassy. “Thank you for saying that.”

On the table between them, her hand dropped open beside her cup, palm up. Malcolm imagined grasping that hand, linking his fingers with hers. The bond thrilled in his chest.

Before he could offer such a comfort, a tiny naked fairy-butt zoomed by his face, dripping tea into his wine. The mad flutter of Clapa’s wings sent more droplets into his eyes. She shook herself dry the way a wet dog might. He turned away from the onslaught.

Hrafn’s head went back, and laughter burst from her lips. Malcolm hadn’t seen the stoic warrior woman smile properly yet, let along heard her laugh. It was a husky, resonant sound, bellowing up from deep in her belly.

And it was absolutely magical.

Just looking at her,Solis said,my heart might burst . . . I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t ruin it.

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