by May Dawson
I plummet down.
Chapter 22
I slam into the water hard, and it parts around me in a swirl of bubbles. I kick out desperately for the surface.
When I emerge into the cool, moonlit night, I draw in a quick, frantic breath.
That worked. I’m almost giddy.
Then I look out at all the people rushing from the ballroom to the edge of the pool, gawking at me.
This might be hard to explain.
Rian steps out from the crowd, already unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket. “You were supposed to wait for me, wild girl.”
He shucks off his jacket and crown, throwing them to one side as if they mean nothing. Then he takes a few quick steps to the pool before he launches into the air. He’s graceful as he executes a perfect dive into the water.
There’s a shocked pause. Then, all around us, the party disintegrates into drunken nobles throwing aside their clothes, followed by a series of splashes into the water.
Meanwhile, Rian reaches me in a few quick strokes. His fine white shirt is soaked to his shoulders as he wraps his arms around me. Laughter and splashing rises around us, cloaking our voices. He murmurs into my ear, “What’s going on?”
“I was attacked in my room,” I whisper back. “He used a compulsion spell on me, told me to kill Mycroft. And then Mycroft came in the door—”
Rian looks up at the balcony, just as Mycroft steps back, melting into the shadows.
“So you hurled yourself off the balcony to keep him safe?” Rian asks, his eyebrows arching over those silver-gray eyes.
He’s looking at me again like I’m something special, and that’s always embarrassing to me. I duck my head.
“I had to do something,” I said.
He just shakes his head. His lips graze my cheek as he leans in close to my ear. “I trust Mycroft has the situation in your room under control now.”
“Yes.” My breath gives for some reason at how near he is now. “I expect he probably does.”
Rian made up a cover at the drop of a hat to keep anyone from looking askance at my leap into the pool. He’s certainly quick-witted. Suddenly, I realize just how much of my body is pressed against his royal highness as the two of us tread water together.
“Then we should maintain the story that you’re a wild party girl and get out of here as soon as possible,” he whispers back. “We can always tell the truth later, but this gives us some…flexibility.”
It seems I’m drawn to men whose first impulse is always to lie. Resist the usual spy impulse to lie to me just for practice, Cutter had said to my men before.
There’s something about Rian, something he isn’t telling me. Not that the crown prince of Avalon owes me all his secrets.
But he’s right, anyway; people might realize that I don’t have any magic if they realize how I was attacked. It’s safer to keep this secret too.
His arms are around my waist, and the simplest excuse for why he and I might leave the pool together is the dirtiest one, too.
I rest my hand on his shoulder. Through the wet fabric, I can feel the hard, heated muscle of his broad shoulders, bigger than I’d have expected from his slender elegance in that fitted tux.
I turn my face into his, my lips tracing the shape of his cheekbone before I reach the shell of his ear. He turns his face into mine, inhaling a quick breath. My heart races. He wants me to kiss him, and I don’t want to hurt him. I’m kissing him for a reason.
“Do you mind if we kiss?” I whisper. “For our cover.”
“I think I can manage,” he says, a smile arching his lips.
I press myself against him, my cheek against his cheek, his leg sliding between mine. The two of us, the exile and the prince of Avalon, tread water under the moonlight. His arms are firm and comforting around me, and the heat off his body warms me against the chill of the water.
Around us, people are laughing and splashing. Happy voices ring out through the night. It must be nice to be so carefree.
“Do your parties usually end in the pool or in some other form of debauchery?” I ask.
“This night is special,” he admits, his gaze meeting mine. His silver-gray eyes are alight under his lush, dark lashes.
I realize two things at the exact same time. No matter what, he’ll pretend that it was all right that I kissed him, that he’s taken it in stride. But it will mean something to him. It would be cruel to kiss him if I don’t feel anything for him at all.
But I do feel something. I don’t know what to make of him, but he’s fascinating to me. He’s strong and competent and quick-witted beneath the polished surface.
When I press my lips to the corner of his mouth, a small, tentative kiss, he turns toward me. His lips capture mine, and he presses sure, confident kisses to my mouth. The prince of Avalon is an expert kisser.
The two of us trade kisses until the cool of the water fades away entirely. My body flushes hot. He lowers his head, pressing kisses to my throat, my chest. It reminds me of Devlin’s question as he ducked his head. Do you intend to make Rian bow to you too?
Rian is smiling when he pulls away from me. He rakes one hand through his wet hair, and the look on his face is triumphant and glad and shy all at once. I can’t tell if he’s an expert actor or if that’s how he really feels, in this moment.
He draws me gently through the water toward the steps at the shallow end of the pool. It’s only as we’re climbing the marble stairs out of the water that I realize how shallow this end is. I would’ve broken my legs and shattered my spine if I’d slammed into the water here instead. I look up at the balcony, high above, and my heart races with the sense of danger narrowly avoided.
“I’m an idiot,” I murmur to Rian.
He glances at me, his eyebrows lifting, then follows my gaze up to the balcony. “Ah, yes. But a beautiful, courageous, wonderful idiot.”
“Maybe I should put that on my business cards.”
“I’d hire you.”
“For what?” I demand.
His hand is against mine as he leads me through the crowd. I catch a glimpse of knowing smiles—and more than a few jealous looks—as we cross the patio, then pad through the now nearly empty ballroom. His wet shoes squeak across the marble.
He escorts me up to my room. In the hallway, a servant starts down the hall in our direction. Then, as his face registers the prince, he melts into a doorway as if he’s trying to avoid us.
As soon as we walk into the room and he closes the door behind us, Mycroft, Airren, and Cax are waiting for us. Moirus is unconscious on the ground, and guessing from the way his wrists and legs are flat against the floor, he is bound by invisible magic. It doesn’t matter that he can’t even look at me; I still turn away from the sight of him, my heart pounding. No matter how brave and stupid I’ve been tonight, the girl inside me is still terrified of that man.
“What took so long?” Mycroft demands, caustic as usual.
“Protecting your girl’s secrets,” Rian says icily in response.
Mycroft snorts. I know how it looked from up here.
Airren sits on the bed. The covers are still mussed at the bottom of the bed, and one of the sheets has come undone at the corner. He has the bottle of spiced wine in his hands. His eyes flicker up toward me and narrow before he returns to studying the bottle, and he angles his body away as if he’s trying to ignore me. I’m about to ask what’s wrong with him when I remember there’s a far more pressing issue.
“I need Cax,” I say. “Moirus used a compulsion spell on me, and someone’s got to get it off before I hurt Mycroft.”
Mycroft says, “I think we covered the likelihood of that in the gym this morning.”
“That’s why she jumped from the balcony,” Rian explains to Mycroft. “She was trying to protect you.”
“I assumed that,” Mycroft says. To me, he adds, “You don’t need to make those kinds of sacrifices for me. I’ll manage, I assure you.”
“Croft,” I say, then stop. H
e’s being so formal, so distant. I don’t know what to say to make him be human with me again.
I jumped out the window because the idea of hurting him was a hundred times worse than the possibility of being hurt myself. How can he be so cool with me?
“Well, you’ve managed not to cold-cock him yet,” Rian says.
“It is a temptation,” I mutter before I realize the implications of what Rian had just said. Morius’ spell doesn’t seem to be working on me right now. My gaze flickers abruptly to the still body on the floor, looking for the rise and fall of his chest. “Did one of you kill Moirus?”
“Tempting,” Cax says, “But no. It’s rude to kill someone in the prince’s home without his permission.”
“Manners make a man,” Rian says. “But this time, I’d have been willing to make an exception to the usual good etiquette.”
I study Mycroft’s face: the planes of his chiseled cheekbones, the strong shape of his nose and jaw, the high, intelligent forehead below his close-cropped hair. Even when his gold-flecked brown eyes meet mine and then glance away quickly, like it pains him to look at me, I don’t feel anything but the usual exasperation.
I don’t feel any compulsion to kill him.
“Then why am I not struggling to keep from…” I trail off, making a general gesture toward Mycroft.
“Come here,” Mycroft says impatiently, gesturing me toward him even though he could just as easily come to me.
Cax is stripping off his tuxedo jacket, and he suddenly flings it over my shoulders. It’s only when he rubs his hand over my shoulders that I realize I’ve begun to shake from the cold.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I tell Mycroft.
He makes a small sound of irritation. Then he’s the one who crosses the distance between us in a few quick strides. His fingertips sweep briskly across my forehead, then linger against my temple.
After a few quiet seconds, he says, “She doesn’t seem to be under compulsion.”
“Did he fumble the spell?” Rian asks. “Are you sure it was a compulsion spell, Tera?”
“She is a freshman,” Airren murmurs. I turn toward him, beginning to smile—it’s been a while since I’ve heard a dig about my underclassman status—but Airren isn’t smiling, so my lips fall.
“I’m sure,” I say, my voice subdued. “My father used it often.”
Mycroft’s lips tighten.
“See if you can compel her,” Rian instructs Mycroft.
“I don’t like that,” I say, taking Mycroft’s wrist in my hand, as if to stop him. But it does make sense. This isn’t like with my father; no one is going to tamper with my mind and leave me that way. It’s only for a minute, to understand what just happened. No matter how much I hate having someone’s fingers brush against my mind, I can be brave once more.
As I drop my fingers from his wrist, I nod at him to go on.
“Cax should do it,” he says roughly. He takes a step back, nodding to Cax.
“Cax can always use the practice,” Airren says, but there’s something else going on here, and we all know that even if no one speaks it out loud. Mycroft’s not at full power yet.
“Are you sure, Tera?” Cax asks as I turn to him. He rests his hands on my shoulders, his gaze intent on my face.
“I’m sure. I trust you.”
Something changes in his face, like that means something to him. He squeezes my shoulders gently in his hands. Then he raises his hand to brush his fingertips over my temple as he murmurs the words of the spell.
When he finishes, I still feel the same. I tilt my head, expecting something.
“Go put on dry clothes,” he tells me.
“Probably a good idea,” I say. I don’t feel any kind of overpowering urge, though. I stay where I am, my feet planted in the thick, soft rug.
Cax looks over my shoulder to Mycroft and shakes his head. I’m not under any kind of compulsion.
“Are you sure she still doesn’t have magic?” Rian asks. “Maybe she canceled the spell without even realizing it.”
How does Rian know about that, anyway?
“Have you been reporting on me?” I ask no one in particular. All the way to the crown prince?
No one answers me.
“Tera, can you try?” Cax asks me.
I heave a sigh, glancing around for something to levitate. The plate is still on the nightstand, with two forks in the crumbs. I cross the room to grab one of them. That brings me close to Airren, who stiffens at having me so near.
Fork in hand, I turn to the men and ask, “So what’s wrong with him?”
“What isn’t?” Cax asks lightly. I give him a look, and he admits, “Moirus Neal poisoned the wine with a Despise potion. Right now, Airren’s having a lot of feelings that aren’t his own.”
“For me,” I fill in the gaps. “Airren despises me right now?”
“They’re not his feelings,” Rian reminds me.
“I know.” It’s still unsettling. “How do you fix him?”
“Mycroft doesn’t have the juice right now,” Cax says. “I just got here a few minutes before you did, so we didn’t have time to figure out the spell yet. But we’ll get it straightened out in a minute.”
Mycroft’s face is stony. He clearly enjoys all this honesty.
I raise my hand, the fork on my outstretched fingers, and concentrate. I find myself squinting, even though that doesn’t help, as I strain to levitate silverware like any ten-year-old child of Avalon can.
My fingers tremble under the fork, but nothing happens.
“I’ve got nothing,” I say. “I’m still useless.”
“Hardly,” Cax says.
“But you did block the magic,” Mycroft says, frowning.
“Maybe while your spark of magic didn’t ignite hers, it did work to some extent,” Cax suggests. “Maybe she’s impervious to any spells used against her now.”
The thought of having just a little more power and safety in this world of magic seems too good to be true.
“Good,” Airren says through gritted teeth. “Cax, get over here and fix me.”
Mycroft catches my arm and tugs me forward, toward the door, and Rian glances over his shoulder at Cax and Airren before he moves with us.
“I don’t get it,” I say to Mycroft. “Moirus planned for me to drink that wine and then what, I’d hate you guys? Any idea what his long game was?”
“It makes you hate someone to the point of killing them,” Mycroft says bluntly. “Maybe he intended to have you murder the three of us. He must have known we were closing in on him.”
Darkly, Mycroft adds, “We’ll have to retrace our steps and make sure we deal with any friends of his.”
A chill sweeps through my body, and it’s not because of the cool night air still circulating through the room from the open windows while water from the pool is still beaded across my skin. Airren would’ve wanted to kill me? No wonder he had stumbled out of here looking tense and unsettled.
“Did he…” I murmur, glancing over my shoulder at Airren. Airren’s teeth are still gritted, his eyes closed as Cax murmurs the words of a spell.
“Airren’s strong,” Rian says, drawing me against his body to keep me warm. I lean my head against his shoulder, comforted to have him against me right now, even though Mycroft’s brows arch over his eyes. “And he cares about you. There’s no spell that’s a match for that.”
Rian doesn’t always seem that fond of Airren. When even he talks about how much Airren cares for me, it has the ring of truth. The thought of Airren fighting back the magical urge to kill me, protecting me with his gritted teeth and his hand on the doorknob, makes me feel unsettled and warmed all at once.
Airren hisses under his breath, as if he’s in pain, and I turn. Cax holds Airren’s face in his hands, the two of them intimately close as Cax incants the words of his spell. I hate seeing Airren in pain, and I desperately want to cross the room, to rub my hand across his broad shoulders and comfort him, the way
he would comfort me if I was suffering.
But he doesn’t want me near him right now.
Cax steps back, his hands falling to his sides. “Better?”
“Better.” Airren nods, his eyes still closed. “It usually takes time.”
I hate the thought that it will take time before Airren will look at me without his eyes narrowing in revulsion. But I think he said that to comfort me as much as to reassure himself.
There’s a quick knock at the door.
The five of us exchange long looks.
“What the hell is it now?” Mycroft grumbles.
He’s speaking for all of us.
Chapter 23
Mycroft moves to the door on silent feet and glances through the peephole. Then he turns to Rian, a skeptical look written across his face, and gestures him over. Restless curiosity sweeps through me.
Rian hesitates, then says, “Let him in.”
Mycroft gives him a look like he doesn’t like that idea much, but he doesn’t argue with the future king. Instead, he swings the door open reluctantly.
Devlin stands in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. The smug blandness is back on his face again.
“The party was dull without everyone’s favorite villainess,” Devin says, his bright eyes finding mine. “Whatever is going on up here?”
Once Devlin has stepped through the door, Mycroft closes it behind him. Devlin glances over his shoulder, then looks back at all of us, unperturbed. His eyes fall on Moirus Neal.
“This seems to be quite the party,” he notes. “Just what I expect from Avalon.”
“Why is he here?” Airren demands.
Rian claps his hands together. “We could all use some rest. I’ll have Moirus transported to the cells and guarded by two of my most trusted guards. They know how to be discreet.”
Airren looks pointedly toward Devlin.
“Devlin will be discreet as well,” Rian promises.
“We don’t need to transport him to the cells,” Mycroft says bleakly. “We can end this here and now. With your permission.”
He says that last grudgingly. Even he can’t execute someone in the prince’s castle.