Page 91 of The High Mountain Court

“What do you see?” Vostemur asked in a slow staccato.

“Nothing,” Remy whispered. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

Vostemur paused, turning her hand over in his and swiping his thumb across the inside of her wrist. His smooth thumb traced each of her freckles.

“No matter,” Vostemur said, more to himself than to her. He released her hand with a twisted smile, and Remy retreated to Hale’s side.

If Vostemur chose to strike, Remy knew there would be no repercussions to their deaths. No one would avenge them—Vostemur left a bloody trail of such unpredictable violence. No one ever held him in check.

Hale bowed then to the Northern King, and Remy followed. Hale put a guiding hand on her back and moved her down the road.

“Don’t run,” he whispered as they walked, his warm hand a shining beacon to her in the darkness of her fear.

“Oh, and boy,” boy the King had called after them, “take good care of that pretty witch of yours.”

Remy’s entire body seized up at his words, but Hale pushed her to keep moving, one foot after another. The clattering of the carriage and pounding hooves sounded again as the convoy took off, leaving a devastating silence in its wake.

“Keep moving,” Hale said softly, continuing to guide her forward. “Just to the bend.”

The sound of the horses faded away as they reached the corner. She kept willing her shaky legs to keep moving, even though she couldn’t feel her feet anymore. Her whole trembling body chilled as though a sudden snowstorm swirled around them.

“Breathe, Remy,” Hale said, his voice so gentle. She had not realized until he said it. She was panting, unable to take a deep breath. They passed the line of sight off the long road to Andover, and Hale guided her to a tree. “Here, sit.”

He had to hold on to her arms as she collapsed onto the ground. Her breathing was frantic now, her muscles seizing as her teeth chattered.

“That man,” she said as her diaphragm spasmed.

Hale cupped her cold cheek.

“I know.” He pulled her in, his arms enveloping her stiff body. “I’ve got you.”

That was all the permission Remy needed before the gasping tears came in a deluge, her body wringing her fear dry as Hale tugged her closer.

“You are not alone, Remy. I’m here,” he whispered. “I can take it.”

She could pour out every ounce of pain, and he would take it. She knew it wasn’t a burden to him, that he welcomed it all, her Fated mate. This is what he did for her, what she did for him. They held all the things together that were impossible to hold alone.

Remy sobbed for a long time until her muscles were fatigued from the straining and shaking. She went limp in Hale’s arms. She rested her cheek against his chest and listened to his slow, steady breaths. The sounds of the air filling his lungs, this beating heart, the heart of her Fated, anchored her here in this life. Without it she was sure she would have drifted away from the storms she now faced.

Screwing her eyes shut, she clenched her fists, demanding her body change back into her fae form.

“What are you doing?” Hale murmured into her hair.

Remy scowled down at the snow. “I’m trying to take this bloody glamour off.”

She pulled away from him and looked up into those shining pewter eyes. “What does it feel like when you do it?”

Hale rubbed the stubble on his chin, thinking for a moment before he said, “It feels like a relief when I take my glamour off. It feels like releasing a tight muscle.”

Remy huffed. She was trying to battle her glamour off instead of releasing it. It was just another one of her failings—just another way she was a hiding coward.

“You will find the right lever to pull. Give it time.”

“I don’t have time!” she growled.

A snow-laden branch cracked behind them, and Remy jolted. She ran her trembling hands down her face, every sound grating against her jittery nerves. It was just a branch.

“It’s over,” Hale whispered, enfolding Remy’s hands with the warmth of his own.

“It’s not over,” Remy bit out. “It won’t be over until he is dead.”

She choked on the words. They filled her with such dread.

She had barely survived the briefest run-in with the Northern King. One look from him had reduced her to a sobbing, shaking puddle. How was she going to kill him?

What that man had done to destroy her life had all flooded back when that carriage window opened. Her secret was a boulder crushing the center of her chest. If Vostemur had known that she was the one standing in the way of his desire to wield the Immortal Blade, he would have sliced her head off. Those snake eyes could stare into her soul.

“You will kill him one day, Remy, and I will be there to watch you do it,” Hale said, brushing his lips to hers. “Now, let’s get to the inn.”

Hale’s trick seemed to work all too well, with that kiss taking pride of place in her mind.

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