Page 37 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“And you’re the one to lecture on civility?” Odhran asks sarcastically. It isn’t like the playful sarcasm I use with Declan. This is different. This has teeth. My need to see their faces drives me from the wall as I lean forward, parting my lips to breathe.

The room has massive dark-oak double doors, both opened wide. I move to hide behind one, watching them through the slit between its golden hinges. Tall wooden pillars curve seamlessly into a transparent ceiling. Moonlight drifts softly from above, lending a bluish tint to the emerald green couch they’re seated on. Unlike the bedroom, there are no plants, though the branch-like structure of the window frames is akin to being under a canopy of tall trees.

Odhran raises a glass to his lips, swiftly emptying its contents. His hair is still tied back, his sleeves still rolled above his elbows. “I think she has the right to know. It’s clear that this conversation revolves around her presence and my decision to indulge in it.”

“Fine,” Eadan says, crossing one leg over the other, showing off her knee-high leather boots. “The prince won’t like you keeping her.” My heart hammers against my ribs. Keep me? I’m nobody’s pet.

“Then let him come here and collect her himself.” Odhran slams his glass on the table on the far side of the room. Nausea washes over me, and my head spins. Collect me. My hands ball into fists, twisting the white material of his oversized shirt in my palms. I’m not a playing card to be owned and collected!

Eadan’s groan sounds more like a feral growl as she pushes off the couch. “Is that really going to be your answer?” she demands. “Really?”

“What do you think?” Odhran answers, pouring himself another drink.

“You’re deliberately being an idiot! You choose to rely solely on your cock for rational thought. Grow up, Odhran! I know you don’t like serving the crown, but we have to. There is no other choice! Not if he refuses to release you.” She aims to walk away, but the brawny man stops her, grabbing her arm.

“Eadan, wait.”

“Get your hands off me, Sloan,” she hisses.

He pays her no heed as he looks toward Odhran. “Just fuck her and get it out of your pipes.” They’re talking about me. Telling him to… I cringe.

Odhran strolls over to them, taking his time with each step as he drinks the contents of his glass before throwing it into the fire beside him. The flames crackle, rising higher. Odhran lunges forward. The action is so swift I would’ve missed it if I’d blinked. One moment, Sloan is in the centre of the room with Eadan’s arm in his hand; the next, he’s being rammed against the wall. Odhran fists the collar of his jacket in his palms as veins cord his arms. Nails as black as ink pierce the material of Sloan’s shirt, and my sharp intake of breath almost gives me away. Blood roars behind my ears. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.

“That is the first and last time you attempt to dictate what I do with my pipe.” The vibration of his voice is so deep it practically comes off the walls. I lean closer to the slit in the door, surveying the room on the other side.

Sloan starts to laugh. “Dick-tate.”

Odhran groans, releasing him. When he turns, I glimpse his eyes, as black as night. Unlike mine, his ears aren’t rounded but hold an indiscreet point, adorned with black studs and rings.

“Why do I even bother?” Eadan sighs audibly, exiting the room through a concealed door in the panelled wall.

“What is it then?” the tawny man with the whispering voice asks. His hair is clipped and matches his skin.

“Call it a feeling if you must.” Ligaments dance along Odhran’s jaw when he shoves his hands into his pockets.

Sloan pats him on the shoulder, and he visibly tenses. “Isn’t that sweet? The big bad general has feelings.” Amusement laces his every word.

“Careful, Sloan, don’t make me kennel you like a dog.” He narrows his eyes at Sloan, but then his glare turns into a smile. It takes me a second to realise they’re friends, and this is their banter.

“I hope you realise that your father and brother will be harder on you than before,” the quiet man says, backing away.

“I have a plan. It involves all of you. Meet me here in the morning so we can discuss it together,” Odhran says, taking a seat in front of the fire.

Sloan throws an arm around the other man’s shoulders and steers him toward the concealed exit. They both leave while I remain staring through the slit between the door and its frame. I watch as Odhran raises a bottle resting between his feet, pouring himself yet another drink. He sets the full glass on the floor and drinks straight from the bottle. I take a step in retreat, ready to call it a night.

“What? You aren’t joining me?” he asks. I turn back to look through the gap. Frowning, I search the room. There’s no one there except for him.

“I’m talking to you, Slìbhìn.” He looks over his shoulder, directly at me. Shit!

My heart lunges into a flat-out sprint so fast it hurts. Heat rushes to my cheeks and burns in my ears. Holding my breath, I pull back my shoulders, muster all of my courage, and step out from behind the door.

NINETEEN

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

While all faeries are capable of compulsion, they are unable to compel each other, for it works only on humans. There are ways to prohibit compulsion, one of which is keeping rowan berries or red verbena on your person.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper