Page 85 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“You don’t know.” Her cold chuckle makes my blood chill. “Of all the things for him to keep his mouth shut about… I wonder if I should be grateful or alarmed.”
My hands fist by my sides, my body rejecting what she’s insinuating.
Lore doesn’t keep things from me.
Cressida offers a tiny head shake, which I almost miss because I’m searching for my mate. “I believe that’s my cue to take my leave. Enjoy the rest of the celebrations, Nicnevin.”
I’m too distracted to even stop her.
“What did she mean by that?” I ask Bree, quietly.
He’s silent for a long moment, like he’s choosing his words. “Lore has history with Cressida.”
That explains everything and nothing, but I recognise what he’s saying; it’s not his story to tell.
My thoughts are cut off as Jaro separates himself from the knights and surveys the room, his eyes finding me with unerring accuracy. Those brows furrow, and I feel him digging into the mating bond. The wildness of his wolf is at the forefront, the predator demanding to know what’s unsettled me before the male has even realised I’m not fine.
He’s in front of me in a flash, sandwiching me between my two seelie mates. “You okay, Rosie? You look like you want to leave.”
“Will Florian notice if we do?” I ask, guiltily.
“Your brother is very wrapped up in his mate right now,” Bree reminds me. “And I don’t think he’d want his sister to stay just for his sake.”
That’s true… “Then, yes,” I whisper. “I’d like to go home.”
Twenty-Eight
Bricriu
The brush slides easily through Rose’s hair, the tangles from sleep long since dispersed, but the rhythm of the task is soothing.
“Do you want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?” Rose asks, noticing my inattention.
In my defence, this morning’s session with Priestess Claudri was… rough. The inside of my ribcage feels a little like someone has taken a block of sandpaper to it. I know I’m putting myself through this for good reason, and there’s catharsis in the exhaustion that follows, but I find myself wondering if I should just… not attend our next session.
Is it even working? I still jerk away from any kind of touch. I still find myself searching every new face for any shred of recognition, tasting the air for the scent of sloe gin and rosin…
Claudri struggles almost as much as I do under the weight of my burdens, and for what? She’d undoubtedly be far happier without seeing me every few days. Subjecting an innocent female to the full force of my demons doesn’t sit right with me, evenif she assures me that she has all the support she needs in the Temple.
“Bree,” Rose calls me back to the present, stealing the brush with gentle fingers.
Without the distraction, my hands go straight to my tattoos.
The priestess called that a self-soothing coping mechanism. Does that mean I shouldn’t be doing it? I force myself to stop, only to bury my fingers into Rose’s tresses and start twisting it into a soft braid without thought.
“I’m working on it,” I eventually choke out, keenly aware of her sympathy. “Some days are worse than others.”
Rose accepts the answer without pressing, and my shoulders lower fractionally.
“Go flying with me?” she suggests, smoothing the creases from the pink dress that flows to just above her knees.
Thanks to her new braid, her shoulders and wings are on full display, and my eyes trace the graceful line of her spine, lingering on the curve of her ass before I shake myself.
My mate is gorgeous, but she’s also waiting on my answer, and here I am staring like an idiot.
Wordlessly I offer her my hand, and she takes it, allowing me to tug her gently to her feet before her dressing table. Instead of stepping instantly away, she leans into my body, giving me time to object. I’m grateful for it, given how close to the surface the memories are.
I hug her like she’s made of glass, but equally like she’s the only thing tethering me to this world, because she’s both. Those sparks where we touch are addictive, soothing the rough edges and replacing them with her.
