Page 73 of A Reign of Roses
“Perhaps he’s been supplementing his power for years.” A dark smirk curled at his lips. “Yours is more potent than anything else he’d find in Solaris. It might have made his dependance worse. Hart will need to hear this. I told him you might need some time, but…”
But every moment we stayed here we put Hart’s encampment at further risk of detection. We needed to leave this place—this realm entirely—before any of Lazarus’s men or his Fae mercenaries tracked us down. We needed to ready the Onyx army for war.
“No,” I said, pressing off his chest and taking a steadying breath. “I’m all right.”
I moved to swing my legs over the bedside, but he stopped me.
“Stay put. I’ll bring them in here, to us.”
“Them?”
“Valery, the witch who healed you. She’s Hart’s right hand and the high priestess of the Antler coven. They’ve pledged themselves to him and his resistance.”
My raised brows must have revealed my surprise because Kane nodded. “Yeah, he’s something else.”
My burns from the explosion had already faded and I could feel my stomach wound healing rapidly. After filtering the dregs of replenishing lighte into my stitches, I brushed my fingers across all my jagged scrapes and multicolored bruises. I wondered if being in Lumera—the homeland that birthed the Fae race—heightened the regeneration of my lighte or the effectiveness of my healing abilities. I felt better than I expected to.
By the time Kane returned with the rebel king and his witch I’d even pulled on a worn-out cotton frock that had been left on the brass hook near my bed.
“For a woman who was clinically dead two hours ago,” the handsome man striding inside behind Kane drawled, “you lookremarkable.”
The rebel king was not at all what I’d been expecting.
Not an old general, beat up and battle-scarred but…well, Hart Renwick was what Mari would have called a dreamboat.
He was tall in that lanky, masculine way. Not necessarily broad or muscular, but so lean and wiry you knew he could outrun a gazelle without breaking a sweat. He had the same slightly overgrown hairthat Kane did. The kind that fell past his ears and hit midneck, bits drifting across his cheekbones unless he brushed it out of the way or tucked it behind his ears. Kane was always running a hand back through his hair to clear his face, but Hart just let the auburn strands cover his eyes like a shaggy, unbothered dog.
And thatsmile. Nobody’s grin held a candle to Kane’s, but Hart Renwick could steal runner-up. Despite the circumstances that had led us here, and no doubt the resources he and Valery must have expended to save my life, Hart’s eyes crinkled around a pleasant, relaxed grin that showcased endearingly imperfect, pearly-white teeth.
“Thank you,” I managed. Despite my accelerated healing, I didn’t quitefeelremarkable.
“Of course,” he quipped, prowling past Kane and deeper into the room toward the only furniture beside my bed—a creaking wooden sideboard, which I assumed was filled with medicinal instruments and ointments.
Instead of leaning on the credenza, Hart leapt atop it in one graceful movement and let his feet dangle over the edge. “My father used to tell me, never miss an opportunity to tell a woman of her beauty.”
Kane followed him inside and took a seat at the foot of my bed with a frown.
“I meant,” I said, cheeks growing warm, “thank you for healing me.” My gaze found Valery, still in the doorway, who made no move to enter the cabin. She was tall and sharp-boned, with the posture of a dancer. Her many necklaces cluttered a thin, narrow chest. When I offered her a grateful smile, her flat expression didn’t change.
“You cleaned up.” Kane’s words were deceptively casual, though everything from his breathing to his posture was lethally focused on the mischievous rebel.
“Didn’t want to scare your lady.”
My stomach twisted as I contemplated what he’d been dirtied with earlier.
Kane raised a brow. “What had you gotten yourself into?”
“Just a Fae merc who’d followed after you. What can I say? I do enjoy the kill.”
“How did you build all of this, Hart?” Kane asked, one hand falling casually across my ankle, still tucked under the threadbare blanket. His warm, broad palm over the sensitive skin—even through a layer of cotton—sent a shiver up my spine.
“I had a lot of help,” the rebel king admitted, eyes finding Valery’s.
Her expression warmed for the first time, and she entered the cabin in earnest, closing the door behind her.
“In the beginning, inspiring one man to find the courage to join the revolution was difficult. Then, amassing a handful of real, sturdy weapons. Training peasants and mill workers to fight like soldiers…”
“Sounds impossible,” I croaked.
