Page 19 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“That sycophant’s been planning this for centuries,” Emrys growls to Legion. “He’s positioned himself perfectly—the queen’s advisor, now a dragon host. Two votes already in his pocket.”
Legion’s jaw tightens. He nods with understanding. “If Goodfellow gains control of the Shining Host, he’ll have the power to rewrite our laws, restructure our defenses, even alter the Old Code itself. All while Queen Titania slumbers.”
The Radiant’s eyes bore into Legion. “The House of Stone stands with you, Commander. But we need your support. Your vote could be the difference between maintaining order and watching Avorlorna descend into chaos.”
“I am well aware of the dangers to Avorlorna, Ser Larkspur,” Legion grinds out, eyes flashing.
Bodin takes the Earl’s shoulder and guides him forcibly to the door, but he breaks away and slams his hand on Legion’s desk. “We don’t have time for this to wait,” he insists. “The Shining Host convenes at moonrise. If we don’t act now, it’ll be too late.”
“You are dancing precariously close to breaking the Old Code Protocols.”
After a beat of tension, the Earl composes himself and plasters a fake smile on his face.
“Good day,” he says, then inclines his head. “Your careful consideration of my visit has been most appreciated.”
His smile falters when he looks at me. Then he strides out.
“Ensure he is escorted out of the keep,” Bodin instructs the captain.
The gloomy hallway swallows the Radiant’s appeal as the captain tugs him away. Briar’s eyes lock with mine, and then Bodin shuts the door in his face.
Chapter 9
Bodin
The bastard guard dared touch what is ours.
My blood boils with fury. I want to rip out his heart, suck the marrow from his bones, and obliterate the space he takes up in this world. A rage like no other infests my soul . . . and it’s all because of her, our Shadow.
I glance at my brothers, noting the growing distance between us. We’re hiding secrets when once we were so in tune that we melded our minds, our hearts beating with one desire. Now, with Puck’s machinations threatening to tear apart the very fabric of Avorlorna, we should be united. But she’s here, and I can’t focus.
Keeping secrets is pointless if this intrinsic part of me hasn’t changed despite Titania’s curse. Legion will always be driven by the need to control. Emrys will always let pain rule his mind. Varen—even caught in madness—will always play with his puzzles. Fox will poke and lay traps to test our affections. Styx will always be restless, always hungering for the warmth we cannot give him.
I am the Knight Protector of the Queen’s Hive. I should be dependable, lethal, loyal, and adaptable. I should blend into society’s vital surface and never reveal my true nature. I shouldbe forgettable, not this loud, boisterous, hungry nonsense infecting me whenever she is close.
But the clouds in my mind make it hard to remember why I must be these things. The political machinations blur and fade while she remains in sharp focus. A distraction. A danger. Just like . . .
The thought eludes me. My nostrils flare as I inhale to steel my patience at this infuriating state of mind, but Willow’s scent lingers like the sun’s warmth after dusk. It refuses to allow me a moment’s peace. Always there. Always around the corner of the night, whispering a promise of its return.
You’ll never escape your true nature.
A flash of memory: golden feathers crushed in my fist, blood on my hands. A little canary silenced forever. But it wasn’t a canary, was it? The truth slips away like sand through my fingers, leaving only guilt and the overwhelming need to protect.
The Earl’s words echo in my mind: “One more vote and Puck controls everything.” The weight of our responsibility crashes down upon me. I should be strategizing and planning our defense. Instead, my eyes are drawn to her wild silver hair, her bare feet.
I remind myself I am the quiet ebb of water. I am dismissed until I perceive a threat. Then, and only then, will I rise like a wave and crush the danger, dragging it beneath the surface before our society’s joyful mien and manner are indistinguishable from the beasts.
My rage stills for only seconds while I stare at our Shadow. The wildling flaps its wings and circles her legs. Her existence shatters Titania’s illusion of decorum.
Look at her—wild silver hair unkempt and akimbo from her tussle with the dragon. Varen’s jacket buttoned unevenly. She strolls around the castle without undergarments, sleeps in Fox’s stolen shirt, and invites herself into beds other than hers. Sheleaves a piece of herself wherever she goes. She is the picture of chaos, of flames flickering brightly, and she couldn’t give a fuck.
She is the wildest creature I know. When I stumbled into her unguarded dreamscape and found her in Varen’s bed, petty jealousy overwhelmed me. Ever since, my cold, hard body has craved her soft warmth.
Darkness cannot understand sunshine.
I have forgotten much but know I cannot hold back when taking what I want. This intrinsic hunger is carved into my being. Sometimes, fractured memories bubble past the seals binding us and pop into my mind. I’ve caught enough to know I cherish possession more than any other war prize.
I hunt. I chase. I keep . . . and . . .
