Page 132 of A Pact of Blood

Is he finally going to tell me? I tip my head against his shoulder. “You’re allowed to hold on to a few secrets if you must.”

He chuckles roughly and reaches to grasp the side of the first tapestry. “It’s not all that thrilling a story.”

Pulling the woven fabric to the side, he reveals a span of the crimson wall—which is broken with cracks and missing shards of plaster across nearly two feet of its surface.

As I stare at the battered plaster, Raul tucks his arm more firmly around me. “It started as a stupid way to blow off steam when I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing me. Punching the wall until my hands bled… Then the cracks started forming, and it meant more. Someday when I’ve moved out ofhere, the next person who stays in this room will find that spot and know this palace isn’t impervious.”

My own throat chokes up. “And you said you weren’t a poet.”

Raul snorts and nuzzles my temple. “Only for you, Lamb. We’re going to beat this place. We’ll break down everything that’s wrong about it one piece at a time until it’s all rubble.”

He pauses and turns fully toward me, dropping the tapestry back into place. A deeper intensity than usual flares in his pale blue eyes.

“I still haven’t said it. I keep meaning to, and then…”

I frown at him. “What?”

A crooked smile crosses his lips. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this to anyone. I had some strange idea that the moment had to be perfect. But it beingsaidmatters more. I love you. I think I started loving you the first time you told us to fuck off, and the feeling hasn’t let go since. I’m never going to offer Bastien’s smarts or Lorenzo’s dreaminess, but no one will fight for you as fiercely as I will.”

Raul touches the thumb he sliced open when all three of the princes made their vow to me. “You’re in my blood. Every beat of my heart belongs to you. I’ll spill it all if it keeps you safe.”

Tears well in my eyes. I’m already nervous enough about my princes’ secondary part in our scheme without him talking like that.

I pull him close, pushing up on my toes to claim a kiss. His mouth melds with mine with all the passionate furor the prince of Lavira can offer.

“I love you too,” I murmur afterward, feeling the need to say it now even though I have before. “And you’re exactly who I need as you are. But let’s keep you safe too, please.”

Raul’s answering snort sounds a little ragged. “I make no promises, but I’ll do my best. For you.”

I ache at the fervor in his words, but my eyelids are drooping again. I sway in Raul’s arms.

He clicks his tongue at me. “Right now we need to get you back to your room so you can sleep. We’ll train more tomorrow. Let me make sure the hall is clear.”

In the abandoned room, he kisses me once more before seeing me off. I carry the heat of his mouth with me into my trek.

As I walk farther through the passages toward my bedroom, I start to feel as if I’m trudging through mud. But when I reach my bedroom, I don’t crawl into bed the way I’m longing to.

I need to perfect the potion that’s going to lace my blade when I enter the arena.

It’s a variation on the sedative that’s kept Marclinus knocked out for hours, but that concoction always turns out vividly green. I can’t have anyone wondering what I’ve smeared on my sword.

My gift has trouble accepting color as a key factor in any kind of cure, so my first several attempts have only resulted in a paler shade rather than the transparency I’m seeking.

Sprite ventures over to watch me pull out my brewing equipment. When I light the flame under the miniature cauldron, she puffs up her fur and backs up a few steps.

I waggle my finger at her. “That’s where you should stay.” Then I inhale slowly and focus my gift.

I’m halfway through the brewing when I add one last pinch of powder to the cauldron, and the acrid smell that rises up flips my stomach over. Bile rises in my throat.

Clamping my lips tight, I scramble up and dash for the bathing room. The remains of my dinner lurch up my throat just as I bow over the toilet.

I cough and sputter a few times before sitting back on my heels in a tired daze.

What wasthatabout? I’ve concocted brews with the same powdered mineral dozens of times, including just this morning, and it’s never had such a discomforting effect on?—

My stance stiffens with a jolt of possibility. I count back through the days in my head.

The renewed churning in my gut shifts into fraught anticipation rather than nausea. Wetting my lips, I push to my feet and return to my brewing materials.

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