Leonard couldn’t look Matilda in the face at breakfast the next morning.His brother had returned late last night, refused to say anything about what he’d found regarding Briallyn, and only insisted that today they’d all meet at the river house and learn of it together. Leonard hadn’t cared. He’d barely listened to Matilda asking about training.He’d come in his pants after a few touches from Nesta, soaking himself like he was no better than he’d been in his youth.But the moment she had kissed him in the hall, he’d lost all semblance of sanity. He’d turned into something just short of an animal, licking and biting at her neck, unable to think clearly beyond the base instinct to claim.The taste of her had been like fire and steel and a winter sunrise. That had just been her mouth, her neck. If he got his tongue between her legs … He shifted in his seat.“Did something happen that I, as your chaperone, should know about?” Matilda ’s dry question dragged Leonard from his rising ar
“Do you think Matilda can find the Trove?” Azriel asked Leonard as they relaxed in the sitting room that separated their bedchambers, flames crackling in the hearth before them. The night had turned chill enough that they needed the fire, and Leonard , who’d always loved fall despite the pricks in the Autumn Court, savored the warmth.“I hope so,” Leonard hedged. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Matilda putting herself in danger, but he understood her motivations entirely. If he’d had to pick between sending one of his brothers into danger or doing it himself, he would always—always—choose himself. Though he’d winced at every harsh word that had come out of Matilda ’s mouth to Elain, he couldn’t fault the fear and love behind her decision. Could only admire that she had stepped up—if not for the good of the world, then to keep her sister safe.Azriel said, “Matilda really should do a scrying.”Leonard gazed across the space between their two armchairs. They’d sat in them, befo
Curled up in bed, a book propped on the thick down comforter, Matilda was just getting to the sizzling first kiss in her latest novel when a knock thudded on her door.She slammed the book shut and sat up against the pillows. “Yes?”The handle turned, and there he was.Leonard still wore his leathers, the overlapping scales of them full of shadows that made him look like some great, writhing beast as he shut the door.He leaned against the carved oak, his wings rising high above his head like twin mountain peaks.“What?” She slid the book onto the nightstand, sitting up further. His eyes dipped to her sleeveless silk nightgown, then quickly returned to her face. “What?” she demanded again, angling her head. Her unbound hair slid over a shoulder, and she saw him mark that, too.His voice was rough as he said, “I’ve never seen you with your hair down.”She always wore it braided across her head or pinned up. She frowned at the locks that flowed to her waist, the gold amongst the brown
Five days later, Leonard sat before the desk of the library’s high priestess and watched her enchanted pen move. He’d met Clotho a few times over the centuries—found she had a dry, wicked sense of humor and a soothing presence. He’d made a point not to stare at her hands, or at the face he’d only seen once, when Mor had brought her in so long ago. It had been so battered and bloody it hadn’t looked like a face at all.He had no idea how it had healed beneath the hood. If Madja had been able to save it in a way she hadn’t been able to save Clotho’s hands. He supposed it didn’t matter what she looked like, not when she had accomplished and built so much with Rhys and Mor within this library. A sanctuary for females who’d endured such unspeakable horrors that he was always happy to carry out justice on their behalf.His mother had needed a place like this. But Rhys had established it long after she’d left this world. He wondered if Azriel’s mother had ever considered coming here, or if
Hoping Clotho wouldn’t come shove him over the railing for disobeying her orders, he said, “All right. Throw the right hook.”Matilda did so. And dropped her damn elbow.“Get back into position.” She did, and he asked, “May I?”Matilda nodded, and kept perfectly still as he made minute adjustments to the angle of her arm. “Punch again. Slowly.”She heeded him, and his hand wrapped around her elbow as it began to dip. “See? Keep this up.” He maneuvered her arm back into starting position. “Don’t forget to flow the weight through your hips.” He took her arm, keeping a good foot of distance between their bodies, and moved it through the punch. “Like this.”“All right.” Matilda reset herself, and he took a step away. Without his order, she did the punch again. Perfectly.Leonard whistled.“Do that with more force and you’ll shatter a male’s jaw,” he said with a crooked grin. “Give me a combination one-two, then four-five-three, then one-one-two.”Matilda ’s brows bunched as she reset
Simmons pulled her bloodred cloak tightly around herself and pressed into the shadows of the closet, listening to the three men who had broken into her cottage.She’d tasted the rising fear and rage on the wind all day and had spent the afternoon preparing. She’d been sitting on the thatched roof of the whitewashed cottage when she spotted their torches bobbing over the high grasses of the field. None of the villagers had tried to stop the three men— though none had joined them, either.A Crochan witch had come to their little green valley in the north of Fenharrow, they’d said. In the weeks that she’d been living amongst them, carving out a miserable existence, she’d been waiting for this night. It was the same at every village she’d lived in or visited.She held her breath, keeping still as a deer as one of the men—a tall, bearded farmer with hands the size of dinner plates—stepped into her bedroom. Even from the closet, she could smell the ale on his breath—and the bloodlust. Oh, t
Matida and Leonard rode down the dusty road that meandered between the boulder-spotted grasslands and into the southern foothills. She’d memorized enough maps of Wendlyn to know that they’d pass through them and then over the towering Cambrian Mountains that marked the border between mortal-ruled Wendlyn and the immortal lands of Queen Maeve.The sun was setting as they ascended the foothills, the road growing rockier, bordered on one side by rather harrowing ravines. For a mile, she debated asking Leonard where he planned to stop for the night. But she was tired. Not just from the day, or the wine, or the riding.In her bones, in her blood and breath and soul, she was so, so tired. Talking to anyone was too taxing. Which made Leonard the perfect companion: he didn’t say a single word to her.Twilight fell as the road brought them through a dense forest that spread into and over the mountains, the trees turning from cypress to oak, from narrow to tall and proud, full of thickets a
The King finished off the roast chicken and sipped from whatever was in his bloodred glass. “You’re quiet this morning, Prince.” The conqueror of Texas reached for a platter of smoked fish.“I was waiting for you to speak, Father.” Night-black eyes shifted toward him. “Unusual, indeed.”Maxwell tensed. Only Matida and Bolton knew the truth about his sword —and Bolton had shut him out so completely that Maxwell didn’t feel like attempting to explain himself to his friend. But this castle was full of spies and sycophants who wanted nothing more than to use whatever knowledge they could to advance their position. Including selling out their Crown Prince. Who knew who’d seen him in the hallways or the library, or who had discovered that stack of books he’d hidden in Matida ’s rooms? He’d since moved them down to the tomb, where he went every other night—not for answers to the questions that plagued him but just for an hour of pure silence.His father resumed eating. He’d been in his