Page 44 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

It doesn’t really matter. Lark is silent while we stand there, but he never lets go of my hand, and I can tell he wants me close.

I don’t know what to do. Even in my mind, I’m a broken record because I want to be angry with him—I am angry with him—but I know I’m thawing quickly. Every second in this place tells me why he kept the truth to himself, and it feels like a betrayal to leave him behind, even if I know I don’t belong here.

I thought about that when I was getting dressed earlier. What if I stayed? What if Ophelia and Grant left and I stayed with him? The fae can’t be expecting his soulbond to wear a crown if they believe Ophelia’s the one. At least we could—

Be together. Except I don’t know what that would look like either. And not going back… It’s not an option. Sam will storm this place and drag me back if he has to.

Would I ever see them again? I let out a faint sigh, head still resting on Lark’s shoulder. It’s more than that. I don’t like how I feel here. I don’t know how this could ever be my home the way the pack is, the way London is. I’d get used to it in time, maybe, but how long would that take and how long would I have?

“Come,” Lark murmurs. He tightens his grip on my hand. “We have been here long enough.”

“Don’t you have anything you want to say to them? Tell them?”

“They are long since gone. And I—Now is not an appropriate time for what I wish to say.”

I look at him. Really look at him, which is what I’ve been trying to do over the last day; see him past the rosy haze of attraction that I’ve been living in the past few years. His jaw is set. He avoids my gaze.

“Oh. You’re angry at them.”

He sucks in a surprised breath, then nods, just once.

“Why?”

“We would not be in this situation if…” Lark shakes his head, as if trying to shake the thought loose. “It is irrational. There is nothing they can do. Ronan’s death destroyed my father. And then my mother faded, as soulbonds are wont to do. It was not unexpected, and yet I am angered by it.”

“Soulbonds… fade?”

“Yes.”

“So when I die, you’ll—” I snap my mouth shut, unable to bring myself to finish the thought.

Lark’s grip on my hand is so tight it hurts. “You—When that happens, I will not fade,” he says faintly. “We do not have the same rituals as wolves, but our soulbonds still require some… intentional stability. If we do not do that, then I will—I will know, but it will not cause me to fade.”

“Well. That’s good.”

Lark lets out a little growl and shakes his head when I look at him. He doesn’t want to talk about it, clearly, because he drags me from the room and back out the way we came. Neither of us looks for Grant on the way back to Lark’s rooms. Part of me really does trust that he can keep himself out of trouble, having seen how quick he’s been today.

When we get back to Lark’s rooms, it’s clear that other fae have been in to tidy up. The plates from this morning are gone, and the bed is made far more neatly than I left it, despite my best efforts. The only room that hasn’t been entered is the greenhouse—that door remains shut, and I wonder if the fae even look in its direction.

I sit gingerly on the edge of the sofa and watch as Lark paces. I don’t think he realises he’s doing it. He turns on his heel, hair falling around his face, and I watch him walk back and forth until I feel dizzy.

“What made you build the greenhouse?” I ask, and he comes to such a quick stop, there’s a moment where I think he’s going to fall over.

“I-I like plants.”

I frown at him. The words come out too quickly, and his voice is lowered, like it’s a fact that should stay between us.

“Don’t all fae like plants?”

“Some more than others,” Lark says, but when he studies my face, he sighs. “We are all in tune with the natural world. Flora and fauna. But it is not… becoming for an Unseelie prince to show so much aptitude for the flora. My parents did not like it.”

“And Ronan and Iagan?” I can’t quite work out the relationship he has—or had—with his brothers, but I desperately want to try. I’ve got no siblings of my own, though Ophelia and Felix might count as close enough. Still, I don’t know what it’s like to grow up with another person like that.

“Ronan hated it,” Lark says. The words are stark and unemotional except for the same tightness in his jaw I saw earlier. “He is the reason I warded it at all. He believed it was a waste of my time and my talents and that, if anyone in the court were to find out I spent so much time with plants, it would weaken our parents’ position wearing the crowns.”

“Could it have?”

He snorts and finally gives up on standing, coming over to sit on the sofa next to me. “Of course not. They had been king and queen for centuries by then, and as we are discovering, it is difficult to find powerful enough high fae to keep our realm alive. No. He simply did not like it. He was charming, my brother, but he could be cruel.”