Page 98 of Fate's Wicked Oath

It Meant Nothing

Faren

Faren watched her go, too stunned to follow.

He lifted a hand to his mouth, his lips tingling. With Mariana in his arms, his magic had consumed him, rising to the surface of his skin to bask in the lean curves of her body pressed against him, the plushness of her lips, the silken strands of her hair tangled in his fingers, the coiled enthusiasm in her touch. As he stood there on the grass, the bonfire at his back, watching the shimmery fabric of her dress disappear into the night, he tried and failed to strong-arm his magic into calm.

Never mind his common sense. One taste of her, and Faren could hardly remember what a terrible fucking idea it was to want her. He was a Mighty Knight. She was a criminal planning a rebellion against his Lord. His loyalty was being tested. Yet she’d tasted like the sugar-dusted blackberry jellies he’d bought for her. She’d laughed as he twirled her around the fire. She’d consumed his thoughts for weeks.

He didn’t want to lose this. He didn’t want to lose himselftothis. His head hurt from the whiplash of their situation. Theworst part was that she wanted him, too. She would’ve never let her guard down tonight if she didn’t. She never would’ve been so pliant in his arms.

The thought had him striding after her, away from the bonfires and through the line of vendor tents. Clouds were gathering overhead, the stars winking out one by one. The wind gusted, causing tent flaps to flutter and support beams to groan. Faren was numb to it, now—numb to anything less than the addictive pleasure of Mariana’s touch.

He was not unaware of his surroundings, though. As he broke through the congestion around the tents, the wind blustered a second time. Something creaked and groaned, followed by the sound of ropes snapping. There was a collective gasp among the revelers, pierced by a chorus of shrieks. To Faren’s right, a tent was swaying precariously, the crowd scurrying out of the way. He rerouted toward the chaos, dodging frightened partygoers in hopes that he could get to the collapsing tent in time.

Noble got there first, bracing his hands on the central support beam. It was the largest tent in the parade ground, housing a myriad of food vendors who were now fleeing the scene. Open grills were spitting fire; if the beam and canvas fell, the tonight’s celebration would go up in flame.

Another harsh gust had Faren running. Noble couldn’t possibly hold such a heavy beam on his own, not in this weather—it was only a matter of time before the tent buckled. But when Faren arrived at Noble’s side, slamming his hands against the rough-hewn beam, he did not feel so much as a tremor in the wood.

It didn’t make sense. From afar, it’d looked as if the entire tent was going down, yet the support was steady in Noble’s grasp.

Noble’s eyes went wide, as if Faren had caught him in a lie. Then he schooled his features into cool authority. “Douse thegrills,” Noble said. “Make sure everyone is out. Once it’s safe, we’ll allow a controlled collapse.”

Another raging pulse of wind had Noble bracing his feet, the scars on his knuckles paling as he gripped the beam—yet still, it did not fall. “Go,” he ordered.

Faren got to work, scrambling to ensure everyone was out of the tent. Idris appeared, and though he was wobbly with drink, he hastened to help Faren put out the fires. Soon, the space was safe and empty, with the crowd watching the tent from afar, and they were returning to Noble at the central beam.

“Help me lower it,” Noble said, but when Faren and Idris gripped the broken support, Faren barely had to flex to guide it down. It seemed their efforts were more for show, obscuring Noble’s impossible strength as the canvas of the tent draped gently over them.

As the trio made their way out of the collapsed tent, their hands holding the limp canvas over their heads, Noble nudged Faren’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help,” he said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Seems you could’ve,” Faren replied.

“Hecouldn’t,” Idris insisted.

“I would appreciate your discretion,” Noble added.

About what?Faren wanted to ask. He hadn’t fully wrapped his head around what he’d seen. Inhuman strength made no sense, except—

—maybe, in Noble’s case, it did.

“A symptom of your Order?” Faren asked.

“A gift from my rescuer,” Noble replied.

They’d reached the end of the canvas, the untethered edge flapping and snapping in the worsening wind. When they emerged from the wreckage, the crowd clapped and shouted. Anya and Hattie broke free of the onlookers, racing into the arms of their beloveds.

“Are you harmed?” Anya asked, touching Idris’s flushed cheeks.

“I’m fine, dearest,” he soothed.

“Whywould you attempt heroics in your drunken state?”

“It’s my wedding,” he said, silencing her scolding with a kiss. “I can be a hero if I please.”

Hattie and Noble, meanwhile, were whispering amongst themselves. She was holding his hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs delicately over his scars. “No one saw a thing,” Faren overheard her saying, and when Noble glanced in Faren’s direction, he gave the other man a quick, affirmative nod.

“Where’s Mariana?” Anya asked Faren.