Page 74 of Tempting the Fae Lord
To this, Ezra nods toward where Eulie, Chester, Jack, Marissa, Amaris, and I form an observant huddle. “I owe my thanks entirely to my staff for that.”
“Then on behalf of my regiment, we thank them most sincerely.” Willow gestures toward me. “I’ve spoken a fair amount with Gale. He’s apprised me of recent events. How may we be of service?”
Ezra’s mood darkens. I see it in the stiffness of his shoulders and the muscles twitching along his jaw.
“I have a few ideas,” he says. “I’ll speak with you, the mage, and any of your people you deem appropriate in private. We’ll hash out a plan. Until then, please enjoy your supper. We’ll reconvene in my study in… shall we say one hour?”
“Yes, Gatekeeper.” She curtsies again, then turns to rejoin her soldiers.
Slowly, the chatter picks back up.
Ezra rises and motions for me to join him.
On eager feet, I follow him out.
We retire to his study.
He closes the door behind us and reaches for me. “I hate the weight I’ve put upon your shoulders, Mooncalf. How are you truly?”
“Fine, truly.” I’m relieved to be in his embrace, alone together after a day spent bustling through crowds I’m not used to. “Your blood helped.”
“I’m sure it did, though we can’t risk it ever again.”
Not a subject I want to pursue. “And how are you? Truly?”
His sigh ruffles my hair. He lets me go, and we sit across from each other on a pair of leather wingback chairs.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m vexed. Infuriated. Frustrated with myself for how far I’ve let this go. She’s out there somewhere still controlling Petru, and it’s my fault.”
“It’s my fault too.”
“No, darling. You’re not to blame for this. Not at all. The gate is solely my responsibility.”
It’s definitely partly my fault. I let her get away more than once. Part of me wishes she could find what she seeks. Her family. And perhaps with it find a bit of peace.
“What will you do?” I ask.
Go after her. Again. Until the threat is vanquished.”
“Don’t kill her if you don’t absolutely have to. Please? Promise me?”
“Why do you care so much?”
Should I tell him this? But withholding hasn’t been working great for us either. “She’s like me in a way. Or I’m like her. We want the same things.”
“Yet somehow you’ve harmed no one, burned nothing, and claimed no ridiculous life debts in your pursuit.”
“I’m not saying she’s good. Only that I don’t want her death on your hands if you can help it.”
He huffs out an irritated breath. “Fine. For you, I promise to try and capture her alive.”
“Thank you.” I’m eager to change the subject. “Will you take the queen’s help?”
“I intend to, yes. I’ve botched the situation enough times at present to realize I need help. As you tried to tell me from the very beginning. I’m sorry I didn’t take your counsel more seriously. I won’t make that mistake again.”
His words make me warm all over. “You’re forgiven, of course.” Hopefully, he means it because an idea has been hatching in my mind that I’m rather certain he won’t like.
But now is not the time. Not when his shoulders cave with the weight of his problems, and his fingers steeple at whatever’s running through his mind.
