Page 43 of The High Mountain Court

Chapter Eleven

If they had been in the West, Remy would be freezing. Her wet dress clinging to her curves would have made her shiver. The slightest breeze would have made her teeth chatter.

But in the Southern Court . . .

The warm air twined around her legs. The evening breeze danced with the floral scent of night-blooming flowers. And the Prince of the Eastern Court radiated heat all along her right-hand side.

The fabric of her dress was light and quick-drying. Remy welcomed the darkening night as she feared her dress might be sheer when wet. The trail of dripping water behind her had long stopped as they crunched their way down the white gravel promenade.

They walked in tense silence for many paces. Remy pretended she was looking at all the unusual tropical plants, but she was aware of those gray eyes upon her. They entered a smaller path that snaked its way through large bushes with waxy leaves and maroon flowers. It was darker on this trail. The umbrella-shaped trees obscured the last light of the setting sun. Tea light lanterns were lit at regular intervals along the path. Remy wondered if there was a servant lighting candles up ahead, even still. How many tiny candles did they have to light every night? These were questions the fae probably never asked themselves.

The parrots nesting in the palm trees were quiet now, only the softest tittering as they settled to sleep. In the silence she heard Hale’s slow, steady breaths. She could hear her own heart beating through her ears. She knew keenly that no other eyes could see them now. They were alone.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Hale said to the night air. Remy thought it would be a relief for one of them to speak, but now she wished for that awkward silence again.

“That’s ridiculous. I am right here, holding your arm,” she replied, giving too much of her attention to the yellow-leafed shrub illuminated by a lantern.

“You haven’t looked me in the eye since the night of the full moon,” Hale said.

Ah yes. That night.

Four witch hunters had nearly killed Remy. The past weeks of training with Bri and Carys had helped her nerves some. Though she wasn’t planning on dueling with four fae males anytime soon, she felt like at least she knew how to hold a weapon now. Remy knew the attack wasn’t what Hale was talking about. It was what happened after on the trail around Silver Sands Harbor and in that cabin after the full moon had whispered her mother’s words to her. Something had shifted between them, something intangible that the harder Remy tried to grasp, the more it evaded her. She wasn’t sure what that feeling was, but it frightened her to know that Hale felt it too.

“I think we should head back,” Remy said, peeling her arm off Hale’s. She was doing precisely what he had accused her of: avoiding him. But she didn’t care. She made one quick step down the path and Hale caught her hand.

“Remy.” The weight of him wielding that word felt like a boulder on her chest. “Look at me.”

Remy relented, looking up into those smoky gray eyes. She felt her emotions pull in every direction. It was new, thrilling, terrifying and yet also . . . familiar, comforting. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure how many disparate feelings she could hold at once. She wondered if anyone else ever felt that way, like they were free falling every time they looked into a person’s eyes.

Not any person. Just this one person.

Remy didn’t know how to look at him. She wasn’t sure how much he saw. She wondered if Hale felt that same pull looking into her brown eyes, if he’d get trapped falling into the flecks of green. She tried to keep her expression determinedly neutral, if not slightly perturbed.

The dimples flashed on Hale’s cheeks, but his voice filled with gravel as he simply said, “Hi.”

How could she feel that one syllable word echoing through her entire body? The things that sound did to her.

“Hi,” she replied breathlessly.

It had to be the Southern Court and the honey wine. The food and drink, the sweet smells, the warm air: it had made her drunk on revelry. She had danced in the twilight, dueled in a fountain, and now she wanted to kiss a prince in a hidden garden. But it was not her doing, it was all the magic of the Southern Court, she reassured herself.

Hale looked down to where their fingers still interlocked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For that night and for what I said. I’ve wanted to apologize every day since, but you’ve been keeping away from me.”

“I . . . ,” Remy said, struggling to find the words she wanted to say.

“That day really frightened me,” Hale said. “More than I was willing to admit. And I felt responsible—feel responsible, for your safety.”

“Right.” A long-held breath escaped Remy’s lips. He was feeling guilty about the attack. That’s what he had meant.

“I pulled you into this,” Hale said. “I asked you to come with us. I made you put yourself in danger and I promised I would protect you.”

“You have protected me. You did protect me,” Remy said. Hale shook his head like he wouldn’t believe it was true. “And Bri and Carys are helping me to take care of myself.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Hale said. “You were brave and powerful before their training too. You fought off those fae. If there had been even one fewer, you would have dispatched them all.”

She noted the way he said dispatched. He did not want to say kill. But she had killed one of them, and he had killed the rest. It still bothered her, the fact that she had killed that fae. Training with Bri had not lessened that feeling, but it had taught her that the feeling was okay. All warriors carried the ghosts of those they killed with them. Bri made it okay to feel powerful, to know that she would kill again if it came to it.

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