“Should I go after her?”
Garin nearly gave himself whiplash from how quickly he turned on Myrddin. He hadn’t even heard him approaching. He yanked his arm from the warlock’s grasp. “Shhh,” he spat, watching the doors swing shut and listening.
“I’m going to ruin everything,” Lilac was sobbing in the echoed chamber of the corridor. The thud of her heart had quickened. Her ungraceful footfall stomped left, toward the washroom.
“You won’t,” said Piper. “We won’t let you.”
“I will. Iwill. It is what I do. This is my fault, I’ve enthralled myself to him. There are duties I am expected to uphold that I cannot stand by—not with him here. I—” She broke off in a chest-heaving sob. Lilac was panicking. Garin’s fingers twitched, itching to lace themselves between hers. “I never wanted to in the first place, Piper. None of this is what I wanted.”
“I promise we’ll discuss this later,” Piper reassured her, sounding like she was speaking out of the side of her mouth. “Another time. Nothere.”
Her handmaidens struggled to keep up.
“Enthrall?” The soft, pixie-like voice of the kind-eyed brunette.
“Be quiet, Isabel,” the sterner one, Yanna, snapped.
Guilt and fear threatened to overwhelm him. Gods, he wished to turn off his hearing and heightened senses, block out their voices entirely. He shut his eyes as if it would help.
To his surprise, it did. Sort of.
“Even good acquaintances will have their disagreements,” Henri was chuckling.
“Dear, you’re red as a beet,” slurred Marguerite. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Disagreements?” It was the unpleasant red-haired woman from the foyer that seemed particularly fond of challenging Lilac. “She’s been dancing with Emma’s bastard son in front of the emperor’s emissary. She’s more than crossed him. Doomed our entire kingdom, I reckon.”
Garin’s eyes snapped open.He’d have none of that.
“A jig, maybe,” Garin called out, sounding unsure and strangled. Several people who weren’t already discreetly watching turned their attention to him, commenting on the emissary having too much to drink.
Henri made a noise of agreement and motioned at the band, and they began an upbeat jig, drowning out the voices. Garin was grateful. He couldn’t stand to hear Lilac upset, or what she might confide to her friends—because he knew, in his darkest hour, that he would do anything to appease her. That he’d fight tooth and nail to remain in her life, protect her, even if she wished otherwise.
I have made a choice.Her words were carved into his throbbing skull. He didn’t blame her. He was supposed to want this.
“Shall I intervene?” pressed Myrddin.
“Piper’s there. There’s no need.” Garin tugged at his collar, fingers fumbling as he unbuttoned it. He was sweating. Had he drank too quickly? Alcohol usually hit him immediately—it did all vampires—yet all it had done was worsen his anxiety and make his stomach churn. The fire in the hearth behind them seemed to grow brighter, the heat even scorching the back of his neck. “Hell,” he grumbled, shrugging out of his fine coat from Herlinde and letting it fall to the floor. He’d paid in blood for it but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Here, why don’t you have some more.” Myrddin leaned over him tosnatch the pitcher, stumbling back. Disbelievingly, he tipped it over his palm. A single drop of burgundy spilled out. “You drank it all? Already?”
“I had to,” Garin managed, trying to distract himself from the nagging burning in his throat. The punishing urge to follow Lilac. Hunt her down. “The illusion on that blood worked perfectly. I didn’t know it was possible. It’ll be revolutionary for…for—” The room began to spin slowly. Garin gripped the armrests.
He was glad Myrddin sent him out with his own pitcher under the glamor of water. He could hardly concentrate on what Lilac had been saying without imagining sweeping her hair back and sinking his fangs into her. He’d made a clear mistake that morning; despite how badly he wanted it to be true, maybe she wasn’t safest in his presence after all.
Myrddin scanned the room, starling when his frantic gaze falling on the half-full wine bottle. “Where did you get that?”
Garin couldn’t be bothered by the warlock’s pedantries. “If anyone goes to check on her, it will be me.” He made to get up, but slammed back down onto the throne. Reddish brown rope had appeared out of thin air, securing his wrists over his sleeves to the armrests.
“The bottle,” Myrddin said with a warning glare. “Where did you get it?”
“There,” Garin breathed, cocking his head to the boxes and bottles piled to their right. “Marguerite said we could help ourselves. They’re gifts from the attendees.” His stomach and throat were on fire. Garin’s hands balled into fists as he strained against the triple tied hawthorn rope.
“Put those fangs away,” growled Myrddin.
“I can’t.” He was losing control. He inhaled through his nose, willing himself to calm. His fangs throbbed against his lips, his feet and hands itching to move. “I can’t help it.”
Garin looked worriedly out to the crowd, but no one was paying attention.
