“No,” he said, wincing as he attempted to reach the bottom shelf of the cart, which was stacked with rolled clothes. “I mean, making me—making Albrecht—your knight.”
She bent to grab it for him. “I had my blade onyourshoulder. You were the one I knighted. Thus, you answer to me.”
“Oh? And by that logic, is this also how proxy marriages work in your kingdom?”
Lilac did her best to ignore his question as she mopped the gritty liquid.She then grabbed another cloth and dipped it into the steaming bucket of water Kemble had left against the bed.
“You don’t have to do this,” Garin said, watching her squeeze the excess liquid out.
Cautiously, she brought the damp corner to Garin’s chin smeared in partially digested blood. He recoiled, hand darting for the cloth.
Lilac was quicker. “I know,” she said, holding it just out of reach.
Reluctantly, he dropped his hand into his lap, somber eyes tracking her fluid movement as she brought the cloth back to his face. “So, did you fight off Kemble to get in? Or did you have Myrddin spell her?”
“I didn’t have to. She was going to find me for you.”
Regret crossed Garin’s face. “What did she say?”
“Just that you were talking in your sleep, asking to see me.”
His jaw tightened beneath her dabbing fingertips. “What happened in that ballroom?”
“You were hallucinating,” Lilac answered too calmly.
He looked at her.Throughher. “I will not demand it from you.”
“That’s a promise you’ve broken before.”
“I need to know how I hurt you,” Garin insisted. “Or anyone else.”
There was no gentle way to describe the violent chill that had ripped through her just as Yanna finished helping her change. Lilac’s body reacted seconds before she’d heard any of the commotion; she’d darted out of the washroom without explanation. She’d raced down the corridor to the sounds of screams and shouting, and flung open the doors to see Garin surrounded by guards. He was on his hands and knees, crawling across the dance floor while others helped Rupert off the ground behind him, the bastard son’s temple and mouth bloodied.
Garin had then released an animalistic growl and lunged for her, nearly knocking her over—wouldhave if she didn’t have her thrall strength.
“You left the table after shoving Myrddin aside,” she said, working to keep her voice steady. “They said you’d flipped Rupert on his head because he tried to intervene on your way to the door. I’m not hurt at all.” She removed the cloth, noticing he was clean.
“Not hurt.” Garin’s dubious laugh was cold. “I was at your feet like a mongrel. My hands were up your dress?—”
“You were unsettled and wanted to find me.”
“Iwanted,” he confessed, “to dig my fingers into the plump flesh of your things. To spread your legs and nuzzle my way to your bloody cunt, feast on you in front of the entire room. I wanted—” Garin stopped himself, nostrils flaring. He looked down. “I don’t remember much after Myrddin yanked the wine bottle from me. I came to as I knelt before you.”
Silence followed, Lilac’s shame and desire poorly masked, given the raucous thudding in her chest. She sat back in the chair, careful not to make any sudden movements. “What did you see when you hallucinated?”
His eyes lingered on her throat for a brief moment before looking away. “A blur of foliage, water, and flame. Details were muddied. I was in the dark and desperately had to get to the light, that’s all.”
He was editing, she could tell. But she wouldn’t pry. It wasn’t the time. “There was no one but Rupert harmed. I had my guards inspect the rest of the gifts with Father. They seemed undecided whether to consider it a crime. I advised them to let the issue lie with all the pending celebrations.” She lowered her voice. “Was it a Low Forest toadstool?”
“No. I would’ve been stuck in my hallucination for weeks if it was. Like Sinclair,” he added darkly. “You would’ve had to put your stake in my back.”
Lilac laughed abruptly, taken aback. He must’ve been feeling better; it was very like him to joke in the face of danger. “Never.”
He didn’t return her smile. “The toadstools infused into that wine were indeed not fae-rooted. Myrddin was right, it’s not a poison, but that doesn’t seem to matter between regnant and thrall, given the unique effect ofanyinfluence—mortal or magic—that befalls us. You saw what happened with the Dragondew Mead.”
“But there were those women outside your room, who wanted you just as badly.”
“It wasn’t the mead that caused them to act that way. Likely, they’d had a taste of being from during sex before, and wanted to experience it again. That, coupled with the mead, is a high in itself.” His laugh was empty. “Butyouwere the one willing to break down my door and tear another woman out from beneath me, weren’t you?”
