Page 71 of The Crimson Throne
“For now,” she mutters.
“And you’ve made a right arse out of the entire situation. Meanwhile, everyone else is scrambling behind you to ensure this whole blasted country doesn’t fall apart. Mary, think for one second about the country you’re in charge of instead of the empty place in your bed.”
“I always think of Scotland. I am Scotland.” She tilts her nose in the air, but she is fooling no one, least of all me.
“You’re a lass.” My heart softens a little. “You’re barely older than me, and you’ve been told all your life that a husband will take care of your problems. What man has ever made your life simpler?”
I pause a beat. Mary’s mouth opens, then closes. “But…” Her eyes flick to Bothwell, one of the drunks fighting by the wooden castle.
Great. “He’ll play you like a fiddle, then leave you broken.”
“Do you know that with your…” Mary waggles her fingers.
“I don’t need magic to know that man wants to sleep his way to power,” I snap. “I only need eyes.”
I turn on my heel. Mary grabs my elbow, holding me back. “You are not dismissed,” she says coldly.
I yank my arm free. “The hell I’m not,” I growl. “You can tangle the sheets with whoever you like, but right now?” I scan the crowd and lock eyes with Samson. “Right now, I have an arse to kick.”
18
Samson
I’m still not used to seeing magic everywhere. But holy hell, this party’s a fantasy.
I’m gaping like a fool, and I can’t even chastise myself for it. The lights up above, the costumes and decorations all over, they’re enhanced just enough to go from luxurious to otherworldly.
And I know I’m one of the few who can actually see it.
That thought redirects my focus, and I scan the crowd, unease tightening my back. Who else here is…fae? Who put those lights up above that glitter and dart around? Who’s playing that song in the distance that makes me feel just a bit woozy with laughter? There are too many threads of color in the air to follow what magic’s connected to what person, and it adds a rainbow blanket over the whole scene.
But Alyth.
Now she’s right coated in magic threads. Like she just gives them off, pulsates with ’em where she’s storming across the room toward me.Red threads wind around her hands as if I needed any warning that she’s livid with me.
I force a swallow, correcting my posture to be sturdy and unmoved. I knew she’d be here. Knew I’d have to face her wrath and plead my case. The day of galloping on a horse with Darnley’s hunting group gave me time to come up with an argument as to why I should be allowed to stay and keep on living.
She’s just gotta give me a chance to say all of it first. She wouldn’t off me right in the middle of the party, would she? There are fae weapons that could do that, I bet. Kill a man in a crowd, make it look like nothing at all happened.
I shiver but pull a lazy smile across my face.
Alyth’s only a few paces away, dodging drunken revelers like they’re not even there, like we’re the only two people in this whole castle. Her face is set in a calm, terrifying sort of angry, like she’s so far gone into rage, she’s in her own sort of blacked-out state.
She might kill me at this party, but bloody hell, she’ll look stunning doing it.
She’s wearing some kind of silver mask. It glimmers and glows in the fancy magic lighting, makes her big eyes and the curled, pulled-back style of her dark hair even more regal. Her matching gown is every bit as grand as befits this event, holding curves that her usual practical dresses haven’t shown, and my mouth dries at the sight.
The moment she reaches me, I don’t give her a chance to speak or use the red magic that’s gathering ’round her hands. I grab one of those hands, snap my other arm across her waist, and throw us into a sloppy dance.
Whatever’s passing for dancing has deteriorated already, thankfully. Most people are stumbling their way through barely recognizablemovements. So Alyth and I twirling about in a jerky, half-arsed sway won’t go noticed.
But her body’s pressed to mine now. And my senses get swarmed over with her scent: wild grass and cool, sweet air.
Lord help me.
Pulling her close might’ve been an error on my part.
“Let go of me,” she snarls and shoves at my chest.
