Page 94 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

She didn’t look entirely pleased about it, but she took the opportunity to re-bundle herself in the blanket before trailing after me. I skirted a couple of pillows that had found a home on the floor and an overturned vanity chair before stopping at the partially folded piles Eilir had clearly left on her bed in a hurry. She came to a stop just beside me, bundled in her soft, sweeping armor, and a flicker of embarrassment passed over her face. Whatever happened with Eilir and Gallan was not my subject to broach.

“I wasn’t sure how you mourned in Odessa.” I straightened out one of the piles. “So I asked Eilir to find a few options for you. Black, white. Blue as well, it looks like. If none of those are right, though, or if there is any other⁠—”

She touched my arm. A light, shaky touch, but it was a little jarring. “These are fine,” she said. “Thank you, Maksym.”

Ah, right back to the full name. It had perhaps been a stretch to think I had a chance of winning her friendship so easily.

“Right, then. I’ll leave you to it.” I cast her one final, appraising glance before deciding I definitely needed to give her some space, for my benefit maybe more than hers. I wasn’t sure if it was some weird, proxy phenomenon because of her association with Jasper, or if I had royally fucked up some part of our bargain, but I was feeling an undercurrent of obligation I didn’t want to acknowledge. Not yet. “Do you remember how to get to the atrium on your own?”

Her brows drew together over bloodshot hazel eyes, and she glanced back over her shoulder before nodding. “I think so.”

“I’ll meet you there at sunset then.”

She gave me another nod and turned all her attention to the spread of garments laid out on her bed. A little selfishly, I watched on for a moment as she discarded her protective blanket and started sorting through the options Eilir had gathered. To the sprites’ credit, they’d proffered quite a selection.

A few lengthy strides took me back across her room, but I only made it three-quarters of the way to the door.

“Wait. Maksym?” she called out in her warbled, defeated voice. “I need white paint and a brush. For their bodies. And…and mourning vine, if it grows here? Or another white flower. Whatever you have.”

I turned and inclined my head. “You’ll have it all. Send for someone if you think of anything else. I’ll make sure it’s ready for you.”

Now, I had to go deal with my damned mage.

21

CAN’T EVEN GRIEVE IN PEACE

ENORA

Icouldn’t recall the last time I’d experienced such a ravaging storm of emotions in a single day, and now, I had to grapple with one of my least favorite of all—grief. Proper grief, too, over people who were well and truly dead, not someone who’d built another life for themselves after deciding the privileged one they’d been gifted wasn’t good enough anymore.

Thankfully, Maksym seemed to have a somewhat intuitive streak.

When I met him in the atrium just after sundown, he didn’t say a word, just watching from his perch atop a low pillar at the end of the balustrade as I descended the stairs, wearing the simple black dress and sandals that had been among the goods left in my room.

When I reached the bottom, he offered me a nod, slipped off his post, and gestured out the doors.

Regrettably, I appreciated him.

My throat was irritated, my eyes ached, and the last thing I wanted was small talk, even with my future husband. He strode beside me as we took the central pathway, traveling away from the main building of the Keep, but left me to my thoughts.

I earned only one pensive glance from him, just a slow slide of his amber-black eyes, when we entered an exposed portion of the courtyard, and a sudden gust had me tightening the shawl around my shoulders.

The temperature had cooled significantly with the descent of the sun, though moisture still clung to the air, and I was thankful I’d grabbed the wrap from the armoire in my room.

The farther we walked in our amicable silence, past outbuildings and gardens and endless stretches of imposing stone walls, I realized something—Grimm’s Keep was beautiful in a way I hadn’t really had the chance to appreciate properly.

Not when Maksym was whisking me up from the cell block, or when I’d been engrossed in the tour that morning I’d prefer to forget. Even when I’d gone to and from dining rooms—in all those times, I’d been so caught up in practicality, in pathways, in entrances and exits, that I never really took it in for its dark beauty.

The spire-tipped buildings with glass and bronze domes and sweeping arches everywhere in sight. Deep blue-green moss that clung to the stone structures, pale networks of vines tangled all around them. Trees taller than some of the Keep’s looming walls, with their dark, gnarled limbs and swaying foliage.

Maybe it was all just a novelty to an Odessan like myself, having grown up steeped in the rich wood, pale stone, and relative barrenness that came with a fortress so high in the mountains. Or maybe it was truly beautiful, and part of me was just fighting to deny my new home had qualities I never could have fathomed in Odessa.

Whatever it was, I was glad for the pulling distraction it all provided.

Between the press in the back of my mind, reminding me what we were heading to do, and Maksym’s presence at my side, I was back to feeling nothing like myself. And I wasn’t sure if it was because of my wrecked emotional state, but I became increasingly…aware of the king.

How his amber eyes were constantly scanning around us, and how strangely vibrant they were even in the dark. The contrast between his shoulders drawn back and proud, with his hands clasped at his back and the unhurried saunter to his steps, clearly set to match my shorter stride. He had a nasty scar I hadn’t noticed before either, partially hidden in his network of bargain marks.