Page 58 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“Anta Rat,” Clapa said, pointing at the queen. Then to the cat, she added, “Pap pap Hiss Hiss. Attaway.”

“Is it time for you to go, too?” he guessed.

The fairy nodded her sharp chin. “Attaway, Mal Mal?”

“Attaway,” he said. “Thank you for helping me, Clapa. You were brilliant.”

She tied a knot in his hair, then hugged his face one last time, squeezing his cheeks. The tips of her tiny claws scraped gently over his stubble. As she flew to join her family, bat-like wings buzzing behind her, the cat bounded forward to meet her. She jetted across the courtyard and beyond the walls, her little arms outstretched. Alighting on the cat’s back, she tugged affectionately on his ears.

The gates rumbled as they parted. Two heavy horses pulled a carriage forward through them, carrying his companions back to where they belonged.

Malcolm was alone.

You’re never really alone, Solis said.

“That’s true,” Malcolm said, and in the encroaching darkness, the air had cooled significantly. Chirruping insects cut through the quiet. He felt hollow again. “Are we ready for the monster?”

Midday tomorrow,Solis suggested,when the sun is bright and at its highest point. That would be best.

“Midday then,” Malcolm agreed.

His mind wanted to drift to Hrafn, to wonder where she was, to picture her sleeping under the stars. He didn’t dwell, but he hoped she was thinking of him too.

He slept like the dead that night, deep and dreamless and numb.

* * *

Noon the following day came quickly for him because he spent most of the morning in bed. Malcolm slept late, then he rang for breakfast and ate little of it. Still combined with Solis, he dressed in leathers, strapped his favorite sword to his back, and went for a light jog to warm up his muscles.

Before ordering the gates opened, he visited the copse of weeping willow trees. The willows were tall and old. The shade formed by aged living things was always the most stubborn. Predominantly stationary, tree shadows were accustomed to only moving a certain way at certain times of the day.

But he was the god of shadows.

“Come,” he said, and the shadows left their tree reluctantly to gather around him.

We’re ready, Solis said, a hint of excitement in his tone. It had been a long while since they’d adventured in such a way.

The gates parted at Malcolm’s word. Where the grass hid in the shade, the morning dew stubbornly clung, cooling around his boots. The whinny of a horse brought him up short. Stepping out of the shade, he shielded his eyes to take in the rider.

“Harrow,” Malcolm said, his nostrils flaring. “What now?”

Harrow was unshaved and his clothing rumpled. The scent of alcohol clung to him. “Miss Zuma spreads lies, my lord.”

He’s not right,Solis warned, casting himself before him.

“Should you be riding in your condition?” Malcolm grumbled.

Harrow scoffed. His eyes were unfocused. “Just a little spirits in my coffee, my lord. I’m fit as a fiddle.”

“You’re drunk, is what you are,” he scolded. “You’re going to get yourself killed or severely injure your mount, or both. Go sober up in Skugborg, then be off with you.”

“Is it true?” Harrow stammered out, ignoring the direct order, and Malcolm bristled at his defiance. For a moment, he imagined pulling the foolish man right off his horse, letting the ground knock some sense into him. “Is the witch really going to be freed?”

Malcolm gritted his teeth. His mate was already free, and the reminder that she was out there and not with him put a knot in his stomach. “As I’ve said in my letters, the phantom in the forest is the creature res—”

“You can’t free her, my lord,” Harrow pleaded.

He’s definitely not right,Solis repeated.

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