“Okay, Alabath,”I exhaled as Cypherion, Malakai, and I heaved Brystin into a chair. Dax bound his wrists and ankles, the fae’s shoulder still bleeding freely with the tip of the cypher stake in it. Santorina and Celissia cleaned some of the major mess from the floor—to assist the innkeepers, Rina suggested.
I stalked toward Ophelia, carefully wiping away a lingering drop of her blood the fucking fae had drawn. My hand tightened on my dagger, but I swallowed the rage. “Tell us how this happened.”
“He broke in to steal the emblems,” Ophelia said, crossing her arms and glaring at the fae male. His blood still smeared her hands and nightgown. I lifted my dagger at the sight. But?—
The nightgown.
“You knew he was here, didn’t you?” I asked Ophelia, my eyes narrowing. Every head whipped toward us, but she merely grinned up at me as if this was one of our games.
She asked sweetly, “What makes you say that, Vincienzo?”
“Insisting on clothes before we went to sleep,” I began.
Malakai grunted, arms crossed, “I think we’re all grateful for that.”
“Definitely,” Lyria confirmed, leaning against the wall behind Brystin, her eyes trained on the fae and flooded with threats.
“I don’t know—” Barrett started to joke, but Dax cut him a harsh glare. The general flinched, hand on his stomach as he muttered something to the prince. But Mila shushed them all, stare intent on Ophelia.
“First of all,” I continued, still wearing nothing but my undershorts, “you would all be so lucky to see me naked.”
“Some of us have seen more than we care to,” Cypherion complained. “Now, continue.”
I turned back toward Ophelia, her wide magenta eyes blinking expectantly up at me. “You insisted on clothes tonight because you suspected he was going to attempt to break in. It’s why you’ve been preparing that stake, too.” I gestured to the shattered pieces of crimson-stained, ash-white cypher now atop the dresser, and Brystin grunted. “You were whittling that thing all morning, and it’s why you wanted to sleep with the curtains pulled back.”
“I’m surprised it took you so long to notice.” Ophelia smiled wider, and I’d be damned if I didn’t meet it. We made quite a pair of deviously charmed warriors, grinning across crimson-stained floors.
Until a pillow slapped into the side of my face. Ophelia laughed, but I spun, finding Jezebel perched on the bed with her ankles crossed. She shrugged a shoulder. “Slipped.”
“Baby Alabath,” I grumbled.
“Stop looking lustfully at my sister while there’s blood on the floor, and I won’t have to throw things.”
I tossed the pillow back to her, not adding that I always looked at Ophelia like that.
Jez continued, “Why did you insist on leaving the curtains open?”
I answered, still in awe of Ophelia’s mind. “Because when we returned to the room tonight, Ophelia and I had a fun time in full view of that window, and I assume she wanted Brystin to think we were vulnerable and exhausted.”
Which, truthfully, I had been. Sleeping soundly as I often did nowadays, I may not have woken if I hadn’t felt Ophelia beside me.
She nodded approvingly at me.
“Disturbing,” Jezebel said, hopping up from the bed and giving it a wary look. I didn’t bother to tell her the bed wasn’t the only place we’d been.
Ophelia turned toward Lancaster and Mora, expression hardening. “Did you two know he was here?”
“Not entirely,” Lancaster bit out, eyes trained on the splintered piece of cypher inside his comrade’s shoulder. “I scented him recently. Figured Ritalia sent him on some jaunt for her own purposes. Reconnaissance like she had me doing previously, now that I’m occupied. I knew nothing of his thievery attempt,” he sneered.
“Don’t act like you’re above it,” Brystin taunted, breaths heavy between his words. Ophelia really hadn’t been merciful. Spirits bless her, she was fucking magnificent. If I had my way, I’d clear the room of everyone else right now to show her how impressive this plan was.
No, Vincienzo, I scolded, eyeing where Jez sat, armed with another pillow. There was a fae bleeding in the middle of our floor. I’d fuck Ophelia into oblivion later.
Lancaster stalked forward and gripped the arms of the chair Brystin was tied to. “Thieves are dishonest.”
“But killers are morally fine?” Santorina interjected from the corner of the room, a bloodied rag in hand.
Lancaster flicked a gaze over his shoulder, his hair drooping in his face. “Defending him even though he would have killed your friend?”
