Page 78 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

Wren defended me only in the presence of the High King and played nice when there were eyes on us, but he glamoured me in Sthiara so the townsfolk wouldn’t know I was there. Because he didn’t intend for me to stay. He tried to bully me into leaving, and then he attempted to convince me by pretending that he understood. Finally, after the army of caenim lay dead in that field, he even tried his luck at trying to seduce me away.

“Now, you tell me,” Wren growled softly, eyes of molten gold roaming over my face. “Do you want to go home yet, Auralie? You haven’t gotten what you followed me here for, but does it really matterwhichHigh Fae man finally gives it to you? I can still smell your arousal mixed with the come all over the slit between your legs. If I fill it for you, will you be happy? You’re mad at him. So, if I fuck you until you forget and send you home dripping with me for the nextsixmonths, will you be satisfied? What will ittakefor me to beridof you?”

Fury like nothing I had ever felt before filled me to the point of overflowing, but I sensed the darkness before it erupted, and this time, I held it at bay. Even for Wren, I wouldn’t let it consume me again. Not even after that.

Taking a step back, I flexed my fingers, letting the motion send a bolt of self-awareness charge through my veins. I would not let it consume me—would not let itbecomeme.

“The next time you throw me a blade,” I said with lethal calm, my voice steady against a growing wave of devastation, “you’d do well to think twice.”

He laughed bitterly. “The next time I throw a blade at you, bookworm, I don’t intend to miss.”

There was no one else around to hear the threat. Even the House had gone quiet again, the lights lowering to a dim flicker.

Lucais had probably evanesced from the dining room as soon as I slammed the door, and the only other people I had seen around were Delia and Morgoya. The former was forcibly silenced, and the latter was probably as displeased about the Oracle’s predictions for her High Queen as the man standing in front of me, who was visibly shaking with each violent breath.

We stared at each other for a few moments longer until the rage simmered down into a mild shade of hatred, reflected in the soft golden tones taking over the wildfire in his gaze.

There was no way for us to be freed from each other. That was the unspoken truth that hovered between us, bouncing back and forth between our locked eyes.

He was the High King’s best friend, and I was the intended High Queen.

And we hated each other. We really, truly hated each other.

He fooled me twice, and I would never forgive him.

Wren turned away before I did, prowling down the hall to the east wing, rattling the glass cabinet doors with each heavy step. I didn’t breathe until he had disappeared from my sight, until the burn marks from his eyes had healed over on my skin.

And then I walked back to my bedroom, far too proud to fall apart in the halls, and asked the House to lock my door andleave me alone as I climbed into bed and let the tears soak into the pillowcase beneath my head.

Chapter thirty-three

Morgoya

Morgoya joined me forbreakfast the following day, wearing a lime green dress that was far too bright and sparkly for first thing in the morning.

I fretted that she would wrinkle it when she sat down on the end of my bed, but she waved me away and adjusted her skirts as I scrubbed the sleep from my eyes. She hadn’t said anything about what had transpired between myself and either of the men in the House, but she had a knowing and sympathetic look in her eyes as she extended a tall glass mug of coffee topped with whipped cream, strawberries, and chocolate sauce to me.

It was a peace offering, as though she had been a fly on the wall during my disastrous encounters with the men in the House last night—or perhaps the arrogant High Fae bastards had also likened her to a whore at one point or another, so the look in my red-rimmed eyes was familiar.

Delia wheeled in a small silver cart about ten minutes later with two breakfast trays instead of one. She was in on the apology tour, too, though why either of the women should feel obliged to take responsibility for the behaviour of the men was beyond my comprehension. Her hair was still black, which unnerved me, but I tried not to think about it because it seemed that no one else—not even Delia herself—was concerned.

“Is it rude for me to ask what happened to her?” I asked at last, after Delia had bowed her head to us in goodbye and disappeared through the door into the hallway.

Morgoya’s mouth quirked to the side. “Happened to her? You mean the stitches?”

I nodded, taking a bite of generously buttered toast.

“They didn’t tell you,” she realised, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. “Delia is a Secret-Keeper, one of the more curious of our kind. She traded her voice to the High Mother in exchange for answers to all of life’s greatest questions.”

Frowning, I took another bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully. “You mean she consented to the stitches?”

Morgoya looked a little insulted, but she smiled at me and replied, “Of course. Wren and Lucais might behave like beasts around you, but we’re not barbarians.”

So shedidknow.

I decided that I wouldn’t ask how and instead steered the conversation back to Delia. “What’s the Secret-Keepers, exactly?”

My companion took a deep, considerate breath. “Well, the High Fae date back to the dawn of time, when the High Mother granted the original-blessed the gift of magic. Everyone from that era is worm food nowadays, but our history claims that the Temple of All is the last remaining relic.” Her emerald green eyes drifted towards the window wistfully. “Legend says that if you go there, pure of heart and sound of mind, and ask the HighMother to share her knowledge with you, she will. But, in return, you must leave your voice in the Temple and sew your mouth closed with iron-thread to ensure that you keep the secrets of creation to yourself.”

---