Lifting her eyes to Loche, she nearly stumbled back at the flames burning in his gray ones.
“Loche…” she started but trailed off when his eyes snapped to Merrick.
“You’re the Death Whisperer,” Loche growled. “King Rioner’s right-hand man.”
His gaze shifted back to Lessia, and she swallowed at the hurt twisting his features.
“So, you are a spy, after all.” He started pacing back and forth, his sword ready in his hand. “Does he want war? Is that what your king is after? I can’t ignore this. Ellow can’t ignore this.”
“Loche—” she started again as she slipped one of the daggers into her waistband, but he interrupted her.
“No! I thought I’d figured out your secret, but you keep many, don’t you? Fuck! I don’t want another devastating war. Why is he doing this?”
When Lessia and Merrick remained quiet, he screamed, “Tell me! You owe me that much.”
“I… I can’t,” Lessia got out, her voice strangled.
“You won’t. That’s what you mean!” Loche dragged a hand through his dark hair. “You need to come with me. I’ll have to take you to the dungeons. I’ll try to make sure they don’t execute you, but I need time to figure this out.”
Merrick gripped her arm. “If you don’t erase his memory, I have to kill him.”
His magic whispered through the air again, and Lessia bit back a cry.
She didn’t want to do this.
She couldn’t do this to him.
But as she desperately scanned the area around them, a sharp pain coiled its way up her arm.
Loche knew about them now, and even though the king hadn’t given her a timeframe for when she needed to use her magic, he’d told her she couldn’t share anything about him or her mission.
Beside her Merrick shook from restraining his magic, theoily whispers snaking over her shoulders, and a whimper worked its way up her throat when the pain in her arm intensified.
Her feet moved of their own accord, making her take a step toward Loche.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she pulled on her own magic.
“What are you sorry for?” Loche snarled, eyeing her as she took another step.
“This.” Her voice barely carried over the wind as magic rushed through her body, her eyes shifting into a molten golden glow.
Loche’s hard eyes widened for a second before they glazed, every line of his face softening into a mask of obedience.
She huffed a breath as her heart cracked at seeing him like this.
Completely unrecognizable from the strong, lethal, alluring leader he was.
Placing a hand on his heated cheek, she gently caressed it with her thumb.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered again before dragging up every ounce of magic within her.
Her voice lowered into a seductive murmur. “You will forget that Merrick has magic, forget that he’s the Death Whisperer and full Fae. You will forget that we are spies. You will forget I did this to you, forget that we had this conversation. The only thing you will remember is that we were attacked, and we fought them bravely. Merrick thankfully showed up before we were overwhelmed, and he helped take them down.”
As she began to pull away from Loche, Merrick spoke behind her. “Give me a minute.”
She didn’t dare avert her eyes from Loche’s, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught Merrick unsheathing his sword, driving it into the lifeless bodies on the ground, backing up her story.
Her throat went dry as she stared into Loche’s vacant eyes, and she continued to brush her thumb over his cheek—as if the touch could somehow make up for what she was doing.