Page 114 of The High Mountain Court

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Beams of sunlight warmed Remy’s skin as she opened her eyes. She lay in an enormous bed, a thick azure duvet pulled up to her chest. She must have kicked off another fur blanket in her sleep.

A book thudded shut. Hale sat next to her, leaning against the upholstered velvet headboard.

He beamed at her, relief washing across his face. Remy snuggled further into her soft pillow. Her rumpled white nightdress had slipped off her shoulder in her sleep. Hale traced a finger over her bare shoulder and pulled the strap up.

“This must be the afterlife.” She smiled.

“Why, because the bed is too comfortable or because your Fated is too good looking?” Hale grinned.

Remy placed a sleepy hand on his knee.

“My Fated,” she whispered, smiling into her pillow.

Hale took her limp hand and kissed it, trailing languid kisses up her forearm.

He paused to say, “Make me a promise, mate.”

Remy opened her eyes at that. Hale dropped her hand to cup her cheek instead.

“Promise me I will never have to watch you die again.” He said it as if he meant it to be a joke, but there was too much pain in his voice to pull it off.

“You know I can’t promise that.” Remy stroked her hand down his forearm.

“Lie to me, then,” he rasped.

Remy brushed a chestnut lock of his hair off his forehead. She loved this, that she could touch him freely, whenever she wanted, something she had long wished to do.

“I pray we go together, after a lifetime of happiness, in a big comfy bed such as this,” she said, stroking her hand across the satin pillow.

“Let it be so,” Hale prayed, swiping his thumb across her cheek.

Remy looked to the crackling fireplace, the floor adorned with ornate rugs, the heavy blue velvet curtains that matched the ones in . . . the Northern King’s throne room.

“Where are we?” Remy asked, sitting upright.

Someone had left a glass of water on the bedside table. She drained it and then refilled it from the pitcher nearby.

“We have taken control of the Northern palace,” Hale said, confirming Remy’s fears.

“Is it safe to be staying here? I know the King might be dead, but his people will not so easily bow to the High Mountain Court and . . .”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. Hale looked to Remy and waited for her response.

“Come in,” she called.

Remy swept her tangled hair off her face and smoothed her crumpled nightdress. She pulled the fur blanket back over herself, covering her chest as she leaned on the headboard.

The door opened, and there was Bern, standing like a silver snow wolf, smiling through his icy blue eyes. He stood like a warrior, though dressed in his court finery, wearing a waistcoat the color of sea mist that matched his pale eyes.

He stood preternaturally still in the doorway. Remy smiled back, and his throat bobbed, the only sign that he was holding back his emotions.

“It is nice to see you alive.” He squeezed out a raw laugh.

He walked to her bedside then. All this time, he had been working for her brother, she thought. It was Bern who tipped off Hale about the red witches and the talismans. Bern had been working for Raffiel.

Remy thought of her brother and of Bern’s pained screams as he held Raffiel’s body.

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