Page 76 of Nightingale

Vrea contained her excitement as Imogen emerged from the back of the room, arms crossed over her chest. “Colour me surprised that no one has killedyouyet. Especially since I haven’t been here to back you up, if your opinions get you into a fist fight.”

Her strawberry-blonde hair was tucked into a messy braid, swinging around as she raced for her one and only friend. Vrea clasped her shoulder, patting it twice in friendly greeting,smiling widely at the stunning female.

Hazel eyes that were lit with delight, tanned skin with freckles that broke out all over. Lean muscle that wasn’t to be ignored was packed into her arms, her shoulders, her long back. She stood half a foot taller than Vrea, even if she slouched every now and then. But compared to her partner, Amir, the height wasn’t as absurd.

“I heard about your little romp in the war tent. Guess you weren’t quiet enough.” She smirked like a wild plains-cat who had just won the race and its freedom. “A Moordian, huh?”

Vrea tucked her lips together as shame licked her cheeks, reddened her deep-set skin and turned her crimson. “Your husband likes to spill my intimate moments with you.”

“Of course he does, at least to me.” She shrugged and guided them both in the direction of Vrea’s room. “He’s gone for long periods of time, so he makes up for it with everything he hears on the road. It keeps me entertained until he can come up with smart ideas on how to make it up to me.”

“I’m assuming that he’sstillmaking up for this length?” She questioned with a suggestive pull of her face. The pair were notorious for theirexperimental ideas.

“Let’s just say that he’s waiting in our bed.”

“And you came to see me?”

Imogen playfully smacked her shoulder. “Of course I did. I haven’t seen you in three years. Four months is nothing compared to that.”

A dot of warmth spread in her chest.

“It’s good to see you.” She wrapped her arm around the taller girl’s shoulder as they walked up the set of stairs that led to her old room, pondering if it would all look the same as it used to. Everything else seemed to be in the exact same place as before, so she assumed her room would remain untouched from how she left it last.

“Is he here?” Imogen peered around the corner, as if someone could be hiding in the woodwork or carved statues. “Amir said he was in Vasthold, but he wouldn’t give me any clues.”

“Who?”

“Rian, of course.” She dramatically groaned in dismay. “Who else? The King of Carylim himself? No, the Golden Heir, the mostattractivePrince in the Moordian.”

Vrea bit her tongue before she said that he wasn’t themostattractive, considering his sibling was as fair as the moon and stars themselves, but Rian made up for it with his personality in comparison to the dark shadow of an asshole that Castil always wore.

“He’s a floor down, locked away and under eye, if your husband has any say over it.” Vrea said, wrenching her friend towards her room, pausing before the door and reaching for the golden handle.

“Amir is definitely cautious when it comes to anyone from Carylim. Something about his blood and where he’s from, I’m not entirely sure where the prejudice stems from, you know? I think he’s being unreasonable.” Sarcasm wasn’t strong enough of a definition for what came out of her mouth, the lilt of the intense satire.

There was a friendship that always existed between the two of them, one that slowly, carefully developed thanks to her lack of trust. One that still held an edge of caution, but one that dulled over the years they’d gotten to know each other. Imogen had helped her through Tessa’s death, through Cyril’s. She’d fought alongside her during the war and provided a necessary comfort that only a friend could do. It didn’t hurt that she was married to the one other person that Vrea trusted completely.

Amir wasn’t the sort to make bad decisions regarding his life, and he only allowed those he would trust wholeheartedly within a certain distance of the royal family. If Amir trusted them, thenso did Vrea.

Thirty Seven

Everything inside of him told him that it wouldn’t be long now before someone would come to see him, or attempt to kill him.

Rian could see it going either way.

He’d been left alone for what seemed like four hours, with nothing to do but wait out his future, waiting for Queen Casta to preside over him. But he’d seen the look in Eamin’s cold eyes, the ones that narrowed in pure hatred as soon as they saw him. The ones that squinted in silent questions, as he askedwhat is he doing here?

Eamin was the one to watch out for.

Even the reports that he’d read about the vicious heir painted him in nothing less than a malicious light. He’d read the way the heir fought on the battlefield, how his poisons were used for the most painful effect possible. He liked to watch his victims suffer, clawing at their throats for reprieve as the toxin swirled through their system. Vrea had carefully shared the story about the scar from high on her thigh to her knee, how her sibling had been the cause of it. She’d shared their trials and tribulations over the years and each story only added to the painting of portrayal that the Prince had built for himself.

Thatwas the heir that he didn’t want to cross.

They hadn’t even stood in Vasthold’s compound for ten minutes and he’d already seen signs of distress with Eamin.

Vrea became as still as stone, as stressed as river rapids that bounced off of river rocks, if Rian could properly read the tells of her figure. He liked to think he could, especially after the night in the tent. There was another thing inside her mind, something that stirred her up and mixed her confidence into a smaller dose.

Rian considered the way she’d acted towards him of late, of the softer side she’d shown him since he’d almost died to the Blacklegs. Had she gone and fallen in love with him? Had he taken her heart? He wouldn’t dare call it a gentler change in her, not when she could still plunge either of her daggers into his chest at any given time, or when she gave him looks just as sharp and lethal. Personally, he wanted to see her kill the shorter of her brothers on the stairs, and she’d looked as though she wanted to, with the glare she shot his way.

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