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Vulnerable as I felt in the saddle as we sped through the garden, I suddenly realized the ride was a dance of trust and understanding.
Nightclawwantedto be ridden. Perhaps had even yearned for it.
It was a strange honor, coming from this creature who seemed to embody the very essence of the wild in his majestic being, to know that I was wanted as I perched so small and frail in the saddle above.
When I left the Shadow Gardens, I was tired, dirty, and sweaty but also vastly satisfied.
There was something incredible about seeing how much happier Nightclaw was out of the menagerie and knowing I had done that for him–gotten him away from his cruel prison, away from Master Rodrick.
I still couldn’t believe how long he had been confined. If Tabar had captured Nightclaw then that meant the exmoor had been in the underground palace more than twenty years.
Twenty years of agony and hopelessness.
I had left Hawl’s saddle in the gardens, hanging from a tree in an area full of soft grass that Nightclaw seemed to use as his bed.
I hadn’t wanted to walk with it through the palace corridors, and as I turned a corner and saw two figures coming towards me with an entourage of guards and courtiers behind them, I was glad of my decision.
“Well, look who it is,” Avriel drawled. “The Valtain...” He paused to look at his companion. “I’m surprised she’s allowed to wander unaccompanied. Wasn’t she supposed to have guards? What exactly are we calling my cousin’s prize again?”
He made a striking figure. Dusky bronzed hair and amber skin that hinted at the power that simmered just below the surface. My eyes went to the glimmering gold scales adorning his forearms. A porcelain hand lay resting lightly along one arm.
Beside Avriel, the Queen Regent's velvety crimson lips curved upwards slightly. Waves of cherry hair cascaded down her back, interwoven with delicate strands of gold. Draperies of silk billowed around her. A regal cape of sapphire blue was fastened around her shoulders. Her ivory complexion, flawlessly fair, seemed to glow in the dimly lit hallway.
“Why, our royal guest, of course,” Sephone replied. She looked at me as if she were already bored, then tapped Avriel’s arm playfully. “The Prince’s Prize. I mean, Paramour.” She tilted her head. “I wonder how long she will be with us?”
There was something ominous to this statement.
“I have a name,” I said tightly. “You may address me as Morgan.”
Avriel laughed. “The Prince of Claws’s prize may have claws of her own.”
“Tiny ones,” Sephone allowed. “Like a sweet kitten.” Her smile widened, beautiful and cruel.
“Nowhere near as sweet as a kitten, I’m afraid,” I replied. “And where are you two off to? Just out for a pleasant family stroll? Do you always hold hands? Now that’s rather adorable.”
Sephone’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“The Queen Regent does not answer to you, captive whore,” Avriel snapped, showing his true colors in a heartbeat. “It is none of your business where she deigns to go or not go.”
I smiled slowly. “No, but you answer to your cousin, don’t you, Avriel?” I stared at him, holding him fixed with my eyes, reminding him of the moment of utter weakness he had shown on the mat that day when Draven had dominated him in a matter of seconds. “I suppose some men only get off on bullying those weaker than them. Like Pearl.”
“What the fuck do you know about Pearl?” Avriel’s eyes narrowed.
Sephone’s hand pressed down slightly on Avriel’s arm. “Sister to the rebel traitor. She would have died in the Blood Rise if Avriel had not put her down. From what I understand, it was a mercy killing.”
“That’s funny,” I bluffed. “Because I’ve heard it called a coward’s way of cheating before the competition has even begun. But then, I suppose it’s all right if some of the challengers have it easier than others. As long as they’re favorites of their queen.”
I held Sephone’s gaze intently for as long as I dared.
She returned it with a cool, detached stare. “You bore me, my dear. I honestly don’t know what my son sees in you.”
“She must be a good fuck at least,” Avriel said snidely. “There must be something special about her–or at least between her legs–or he wouldn’t have brought her back. He gets off on it, I suppose. Bedding the enemy. We all know how frigid Kairos used to be. Perhaps that’s what he needed to get him going. Why, I’m surprised he could bed his own wife...”
“That’s enough,” Sephone said sharply. “You’ll speak more respectfully of your prince.” But I suspected she had only berated Avriel because of the fleet of onlookers behind her.
I noticed Ulpheas in the crowd of courtiers. He was watching me with a puzzled expression.
“Bedding the enemy?” I gave Sephone a significant look, refusing to meet Avriel’s eyes. “Is that what it’s called? Regardless, Kairos will win the Blood Rise. You’ll see.”
