Page 135 of A Court Bright and Broken

“Pharis,” I declared in a shocked exhale.

According to Stellon, his brother had left the palace for the faraway southern territory of eastern Sundaris and wouldn’t return before the end of the Assemblage.

But there he stood, staring down at me with those glittering turquoise eyes like a cobra contemplating a helpless mouse, debating how long to toy with his meal before devouring it.

A torrid heat enveloped me from head to toe, and my mouth went dry.

My voice was a terrified rasp. “How did you get in here?”

His eyes slitted, and his brows lowered. “Do we know each other?”

Oh right.As far as Pharis knew, he’d never met me. I no longer looked like the glamorous Lady Wyn who’d caught his attention at the ball.

“No, I… I recognize you though,” I said.

Leaning against the bedpost, he pushed his tongue into the inside of one cheek as he studied my face. And the rest of me. Chill bumps raced across my skin as he took his time sweeping those bright eyes down my body.

“Thereissomething familiar about you,” he said, clearly puzzled. “Do you work in the palace? A maid? A servant?”

He snapped. “One of my father’s retinue.”

Though I shouldn’t have been insulted by the reasonable assumption, it irked me. My tone sounded far too combative when I answered.

“No. None of those.”

Pharis shook his head. “But youarehuman. Which begs the question… what are you doing in my brother’s bed?”

“Sleeping,” I said.

Meanwhile, my mind groped for an answer as to how I’d possibly get out of this conundrum alive.

Pharis rolled his eyes. “Obviously. Let me rephrase.Whyare you sleeping in my brother’s bed?”

What could I say? Nothing at all didn’t seem to be an option.

“It’s with his permission,” I said. “That is, he asked me to. I mean, I didn’t sneak in here or anything.”

Which Pharis obviously had. Somehow.

I looked around for an explanation of how he’d managed to get into the locked suite. And then I saw it.

Along one wall hung a row of massive paintings, which I’d admired many times. They were each the height of a man, framed in ornately carved gold-plated frames, and each depicting part of a hunting scene.

Instead of a fox or a rabbit, the Elves on horseback, along with their dogs, chased a Satyr. The collection of them told a story—one I could relate to at the moment since I felt very much like terrified prey.

One of the paintings stood away from the wall. There must have been a set of hinges hidden behind one side of its frame, enabling it to serve as a hidden doorway.

I was tempted to run to the dark opening and disappear into it, taking my chances as to where it led.

Pharis’ eyes roamed over me as he evaluated my response.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” he said. “But looking at you, I suppose I can surmise his reason.”

He seemed disappointed—and at a loss for what to do next.

Turning away, he stalked over to the fireplace and started jamming logs into it, underpinning them with kindling. Flames began to jump as the small pieces of fatty wood contacted the hot coals.

Their golden glow illuminated Pharis’ profile and highlighted his troubled expression, making him look like Aelius, the harsh but fiercely beautiful fire god portrayed in my mother’s books.

---