Page 158 of Trust In Love (Love Mark 2)

I supposed that’s what I got for fornicating with one of my subjects.

Covering his hand with my own, I smiled at him warmly, hoping to reassure him and let him know he could touch me whenever he pleased. I did so adore the physical.

“Thank you, my love.” Then I sent him a rueful grin and returned my attention to the liquid. “Well…” Flipping the plug off with my thumb, I lifted the vial to my lips and prayed it still contained what it had hundreds of years ago. “Bottom’s up.”

Then, tipping my head back, I downed the contents in one gulp, only to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “Gah. That’s some nasty shit.”

Wicket grinned at my words. He loved the study of different languages, and this brand of colloquialism from the old world was one of his favorites.

I winked, letting him know I’d said it just for his benefit.

“What now?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Now, we wait and see. The luck could come to me at any moment from here on out.”

I had put off drinking it until my work in making sure the damaged forest was repaired after the Donnelly army had set it aflame. I’d traveled with the mages of the Dimway Forest for eight years, you see. I was going to miss them. They had called me Mater Silvam—Mother of the Wood—and treated me well. I don’t recall a group revering me as much as they had. So I’d wanted to make sure they were left in a favorable situation before I departed from them.

And with Nicolette as the new queen of this territory, I knew they would be.

But saving this one group hadn’t been my main goal when I’d “assisted” Farrow and Nicolette with their courtship. No, my true goal—the wrong I’d been trying to right for over two hundred years—had always been my end motivation.

Not that Nicolette’s leadership wouldn’t be good for Far Shore—I’m sure it would—I was just more interested in saving the entire Outer Realms.

“How long are we supposed to wait?” Wicket as

ked, glancing up at me with the most beautiful, innocent blue eyes. He was adorable when he looked serious and intent like this.

Grinning, I trailed my fingers along his cheek, then down the center of his chest toward the fall in his britches.

“I’ve no idea,” I answered honestly as I began to unlace the first leather tie keeping me from the prize I could see growing in his trousers. “But what say you and I pass the time with a spot of fun, eh?”

“Etiam,” he murmured immediately, his voice growing thick and eyes swirling with desire.

But no sooner had he said yes than he made a choking sound, tightened his face in pain, and closed his eyes briefly, only to open them, revealing how they’d milked over almost white, clouded with the frost of magic.

“Already?” Growing eager and wondering if Holden’s luck potion was taking effect now, I cupped one of Wicket’s cheeks in my hand. “What do you see, amica mea?” I asked my handsome soothsayer.

I might be the most powerful being currently wandering the Outer Realms—the creator of all this madness—but I wasn’t all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing, or so many alls I wished I were. I wasn’t a god. I had a beginning, so someday I would have an ending. And thus, I found it incredibly convenient to keep a seeing eye on hand to help me understand some things I otherwise couldn’t.

“I see the queen’s companion,” Wicket finally answered, his voice stilted and monotone, as it always was under the influence of his gift.

I furrowed my brow in confusion. “The prince consort?”

“No. The High Cliff knight,” he corrected, “who bears the mark of L’Amante.”

“Oh.” I pulled back in surprise because I remembered him. When Nicolette had traveled through our camp the second time, after she’d been crowned, to check on the mages of Dimway Forest after the fire, he’d been riding with her. She’d commissioned me to enchant a pair of wrist guards for him, in fact.

He’d been a pleasant enough fellow, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his given name. And I had no idea which house he hailed from.

But if Wicket was seeing him, it had to be an important one.

“Who is he?” I asked, trying to regulate my heartbeats, even as my eagerness rose to a crescendo.

“He is a descendant,” Wicket answered slowly.

“Of?” I prompted, moving closer, my voice rising with anticipation.

Could it be?

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