Page 21 of Consort's Glory
“Indeed. Mr. Solbourne and I will have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”
Dread was a lead weight in her belly, but Margot did her best to ignore it. “Please tell Noni and Alric that I’m fine, Grandma. I don’t want them to worry.”
“Of course. I’m sure Tula will call you anyway, though.”
Yes, of course she would. Sophie Goode’s bondmate was as fierce in her softness as Sophie was in her cool intelligence.
Homesickness made her throat tight when she whispered, “Good night, Grandma.”
“Goodnight, Granddaughter. We’ll talk soon.”
* * *
Margot kicked off her covers.
One thing she learned after leaving the Coven was that she had trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places. Any bed that wasn’t her bed felt wrong. Any room that wasn’t her room was full of suspect shadows. Any blankets that weren’t her blankets were too rough, too silky, too heavy, too light.
Of course, becoming an apprentice healer in the Ward as a teen meant she had long perfected the art of falling asleep wherever she stood, but that wasn’t the kind of rest the body truly craved. It was just enough to allow a person to slog through another rotation, not to provide any meaningful recuperation.
Even that paltry rest eluded her.
Margot stared up at the darkened ceiling of the unfamiliar bedroom, her heart beating hard against her ribs. Her skin was clammy under the borrowed pajamas. A current of… something buzzed just under her skin, making her itch for movement, for relief from the tension that made the muscles of her neck and shoulders lock.
Removing the sheets and down comforter didn’t provide any relief. Getting up to splash water on her bruised face didn’t either. Even after she gave up the pretense of trying to sleep in favor of pacing the bedroom, Margot only felt that strange tension increasing.
Restless, she left the confines of the bedroom to make herself some tea in the small kitchenette. The water bubbled in the instant heater as she fished a small box of assorted teas from a nearly empty cabinet.
Just some chamomile and then I’ll…
Her skin prickled. Magic surged to the surface, passing along a warning.
Someone touched the door.
Margot set the box of tea down onto the counter without a sound. Flicking the instant heater off with a touch of her negligible telekinesis, she turned to face the door. Cinching the waist of the too-big robe, Margot stared at the door and considered her options.
Stay inside and watch them try to break through the sigilwork, or open it and see who’s on the other side?
One was safer, marginally, but the other held no prolonged suspense, no fear of being cornered by someone able to break through her crude spellwork.
Facing the monster on the other side was, she decided, far superior than waiting for it to get you.
Setting her chin, Margot ignored the fear crawling through her to stride through the sitting room. It was exposure she truly feared, not a fight. No, she knew how to fight. It was instinct hammered into the DNA of every witch, of every being who was once prey. She could fight. She would survive.
Closing her clammy fingers around the knob, Margot sucked in a harsh breath through her nose, gritted her teeth, and threw open the door.
...And found no one on the other side. The hallway beyond her door was empty.
Margot blinked, her adrenaline leaving her in a great rush as she stared at a massive painting of a desert landscape. There was no intruder standing in front of her door. There was only the heady scent of the sovereign and—
She looked down. Dark eyes with wide, vertical pupils stared up at her. “Why are you sitting in the hallway?”
Theodore shrugged, apparently unconcerned that he was caught sitting against the wall by her door, his forearms propped up on his bent knees and his suit jacket gone.
“This is my home,” he answered. He tilted his head back until the messy black waves of his hair touched the wall. “I can sit in a hallway if I want to.”
“Well, of course you can.” Margot eased backward, at once confused and relieved to see him there. Her heartbeat slowed. A little bit of that insistent pressure eased with every inhale of the cinnamon-cedar laced air. “I’m just confused as to why the sovereign of the Elvish Protectorate would sit outside my door in the middle of the night.”
He tilted his head to one side. Between his bent legs, he loosely intertwined his gloved fingers. “Does it bother you?”
