“That sounds marvelous, Sinclair,” Lilac replied. It was perfect. She would once again have a place to rest her head, and she could sneak away before dawn.
“I brought two of my father’s cavalrymen to aide in your search. They’re back at the camp. I am sure they will be fine with taking a little night stroll to provide us some form of privacy.”
By now, it was all too easy for Lilac to turn a strong grimace into a smile. She merely nodded and allowed Sinclair to lead her around to the left side of the steed. He got up with ease and gripped her hand while she struggled to slide her foot into the leather stirrup. Mounting a horse was something she should have known how to do; all princesses were privy to some degree of equestrian training. Riding was both a sport for the wealthy and a necessity for the working-class. Paimpont was one of the towns that relied so heavily on the majestic beasts—yet she, the future queen, was probably the only person in the kingdom who did not know the first thing about riding. Her parents never wanted more attention drawn to her than necessary by the time she was old enough to learn; of course, that was after the Freya incident, and since her mother insisted Lilac maintain a low profile—why on earth would she be allowed to ride?
A small pang of sadness resonated within her chest as she swung herself over the horse’s back and settled onto the saddle behind Sinclair. She reluctantly wrapped her arms around his torso.
As he gathered the reins and gave the animal a light kick, Lilac couldn’t help but sneak a glance back. All the creatures except Blitzrik were out of sight, likely still sheltering in their patchwork tents. Blitzrik sat on one of the logs near the fire, silently breaking each pastry into seven pieces.
They left the campsite only to arrive at another. The second appeared as a fireball in the middle of the woods, its embers floating high into the night. When they approached, Lilac could have cried with relief. They met no resistance on the short ride, but she almost wished they’d been ambushed by vagabonds or even monsters if it meant not having to listen to Sinclair talk about himself and his need to eradicate all Darklings. The going trend among his favorite stories seemed to include the times he’d rescued beautiful damsels and valiantly denied gratitude sex from them, as he’d wanted to save himself for his one true love.
At this, Lilac barely suppressed a snort.
The only thing she was actually curious about was the white horse they were riding. When she inquired about him using one of her parents’ royal steeds, he puffed his chest out so far she thought he might float away. He explained that once his parents informed him of Lilac’s absence, he rode his own war horse as fast as he could to the castle. There, he told the king and queen he would be gathering the bravest men to search the woods, but no one agreed to participate until the sun rose. He, being the overzealous bastard he was, vowed to take two of his own soldiers into Brocéliande. By Sinclair’s words, King Henri immediately gifted his “future son-in-law” the ivory steed, as if his own brown war horse was suddenly less effective.
Fortunately, Sinclair was so infatuated with hearing his own voice that she only needed to murmur agreeably in response. This gave her time to retreat into her own thoughts. First off, she was starving; the last time she’d eaten anything was a day ago, and she’d need to ration out her remaining portion before Paimpont.
Her belly gurgled with worry. What would her excuse be if Sinclair caught her sneaking off in the morning? There was no way in hell she would return to the castle without first visiting Ophelia.
That was all that really mattered, seeing the witch. She needed to get rid of her Darkling Tongue; it was the only way to win the approval of her people upon inheriting the throne. Sure, the throne was hers, Darkling tongue or not. But with the deep-seated hatred the kingdom harbored toward the creatures, she had a feeling their respect for royalty would only run so deep. If the townsfolk held riots protesting her upcoming coronation before she was queen, what would they resort to once she was actually crowned?
In the first few anxiety-ridden hours after receiving Ophelia’s letter, she’d sat in bed mulling over the ludicrous notion of showing her parents, in hopes they’d take her to the cure themselves. That, however, would have included risking someone in Paimpont seeing. Plus, what if it went wrong? Her mother would never place herself in that delicate a situation, at such proximity to judging eyes and ears, and especially with her reputation at stake.
As much as she hated admitting it to herself—and she would never, ever admit to anyone else—Lilac deeply yearned the king and queen’s approval. She couldn’t remember the last time her parents didn’t startle every time they entered a room in which she’d taken refuge to study.
It would be nice to change that. Even if it meant changing the very fibers of her being.
Sinclair halted the steed behind a tree with low-hanging branches a few yards from the campsite. When he helped Lilac down, she threw him a puzzled look. He could’ve parked the animal closer.
“Well, my sweet, it was not planned… but now that you are here, I have a surprise for you,” he said, tethering the horse to the trunk. Then, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and motioned for her to turn around.
Oh God.
“What the f—” Lilac cleared her throat, stepping back before she could catch herself. Should she run? She could run. Lilac wasn’t sure how far she would get with him chasing her on the steed, but she’d try. She shuddered. The very last thing she wanted was to be blindfolded anywhere remotely near him. “What is that?”
“Oh, don’t be afraid. You’ll have such a laugh, I swear. But you must not peek until we get there.” He circled around to her back and slipped the cloth in front of her eyes, knotting it at the back of her head. “Take my hand and I’ll lead you.”
Revolted, she felt for his palm and allowed him to eagerly drag her forward. Behind the cloth, the firelight danced rhythmically and grew brighter as they neared.
“Prepare yourself,” he said, the pressure of his hand steady on the knot of material. “Ready?”
He’d better not be naked.
“For what?” she replied through her teeth.
When the cloth fell first to the floor, nothing appeared out of place. Lilac squinted past the tall flames. Two chestnut horses stood off to the left, snouts buried in a pile of oats. Beside them, a woolen blanket and straw pillow created a makeshift bed in the softer grass. Nearer to the pit was a set of stone goblets, a bulging leather bag, and wire rack. Lilac’s stomach grumbled audibly.
Then, beyond the flames, she spotted something that made her heart drop.
A pair of guards flanked a prisoner. A man slumped dejectedly in the dirt.
Dark hair clung to his sweat-slicked forehead. The material of his linen shirt was slashed open at the front, deep burgundy pooling in vivid contrast against the cream. A piece of cloth laced through his mouth and secured at the nape of his neck, gagging him. Thick rope knotted tightly around his wrists and mangled his bruised fingers.
At the sound of her gasp, he glanced up. He blinked wearily through blood-matted lashes framing a pair of wild eyes, deep as dusk and luminous as the stars.
6
“What is the meaning of this?”
A storm of emotions warred inside her. There he was. Obviously dragged, beaten into a pulp. Even scored at the ribs. But, where she should have felt relief at the display of justice, she couldn’t help the sudden fear that he’d been arrested for fraternization with a royal. That they’d been spotted together. Was she followed by a guard from the castle? What if someone witnessed her having supper with the barkeep and following him upstairs? It would spark an enormous scandal, as if she needed another. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her temples, and she pretended to scratch her forehead to wipe them away.
Fortunately, Sinclair seemed oblivious to her recognition of the prisoner. He shifted on his feet beside her and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “You look a bit alarmed. Not used to witnessing such an impressive catch, I presume?” He ro
cked back and forth on his heels proudly. “I found him earlier tonight.”
“Catch? You… caught him?” She frowned at his words of choice.
“He was in the woods, journeying alone. We were on our search for you when I spotted him. We were just beginning an interrogation on the whereabouts of the rest of his kind, when I noticed the korrigan’s campfire in the distance. It was as if it appeared out of thin air. Enzo and Mathis offered to watch him while I left to investigate, and I’m sure glad I did! I wouldn’t have found you, and then those awful creatures would have devoured you alive.”
“That’s not how that wor—” Lilac bit her tongue and adopted a doe-eyed stare of gratitude. His kind? “You’re right, thank goodness.”
“And the thing is,” Sinclair continued, starting at the firepit, “that would be nothing compared to the consequences you’d have faced, had you found yourself alone with this one.” He nudged an elbow in Garin’s direction. “He’s tricky, this one. Once I figured it wasn’t a trap, we ambushed him and quickly bound him with Hawthorne cordage,” he explained proudly.
Lilac focused on the amber-colored rope at Garin’s wrists and ankles, wrapped so tightly that they cut into his reddened flesh. Nothing Sinclair had said so far made any sort of sense. The Hawthorne, rumored to be the oldest kind of tree between Brittany and France, was used to dispel Darklings.
What good would it do against a mere man?
A metallic shhhk pulled her attention back to Sinclair. Horrified, she watched him pull his sword from its sheath and insert the blade into the fire. Garin’s head had slumped over again.
Lilac could feel the panic stirring in her chest. “Sinclair, are you, erm, sure you don’t have the wrong person?”
“Wrong person?” Sinclair snapped, forgetting his chivalrous demeanor.
“I mean,” Lilac said, tip-toeing over her words, “he just looks… I don’t know…” Normal certainly wasn’t the word she was looking for. “I want to be sure you’ve got the right person, is all.”
A visible chuckle rose from the marquis’s belly into the night air.
“He is rather unusual for his kind. Domesticated, if you will. You see, he doesn’t seem to hunt people. Anymore, at least. My father and I encountered him twice, on the west side of the High Forest. The first time was years ago, when father first began bringing me on his hunting excursions; he’d approached our camp and untied our horses. The second time was last year. He’d been slumped over a bale of hay, a bottle of what smelled like liquor mixed with something foul on the ground beside him. Both times he’d evaded us—killed a guard of ours on the latter, but he didn’t feed or anything, just bludgeoned him dead.”
Lilac’s mouth had gone dry. She licked her lips. “He…” She couldn’t even bring herself to repeat him.
“On our first encounter, father informed me that this one used to be one of the town terrors. He believes this is the very one my granddad would talk about in his rants about the Raid. Isn’t that something?”
“The Raid of 1482.” She chewed on her lip and stared uncomprehendingly into the flames. It had to have been the one Sinclair referred to. That was over half a century ago.
“The bloodiest travesty known to modern day Paimpont,” he recounted, smiling fondly at Lilac as if she, too were a prize capture. “That’s him. Here, in the flesh. They do say third time’s the charm. My grandfather would be proud.”
Lilac couldn’t even begin to grasp what Sinclair was implying. Her rumbling stomach was distracting, and her intuition evaded logic. She rubbed her arms for warmth despite the crackling fire. Her mind was still foggy from the exhaustion and hunger finally catching up to her. All she hoped was that Sinclair knew nothing of their encounter the night before.
“So, he’s a criminal. He… Did he kill someone?”
Sinclair shook his head, his icy eyes gleaming as his smile grew.
“Stole something, then?”
“It is not what he did, my dear,” Sinclair said, finally pulling the sword from the fire, its tip searing-red. “For, that list would be far too long. It’s what he is that deems him criminal enough. Observe.”
He gestured at Enzo on the left. The guard grabbed a fistful of Garin’s hair and, with an upward yank, angled his chin so that he looked Sinclair in the eye. The sight of the burning sword provoked no reaction from him whatsoever. He didn’t squirm or recoil at all. Instead, he grinned madly, challenging Sinclair.
Lilac watched, her skin crawling in sick horror. He was done for. If Garin had any sense of self-preservation, he’d at least act in defeat. How did he even have the energy left to challenge Sinclair?
Like lightning, Sinclair growled and slapped the flat end of the red-hot blade against Garin’s cheek, sizzling his skin right off. The inhuman cry that escaped through the cloth gag made Lilac’s skin crawl. Mangled with fury and desperation, his cry echoed throughout the woods, sending nightingales flocking from the canopy above.
Lilac could not hold back any longer. “Stop it,” she screamed, but the veins on the marquess’ temples only bulged further as he ignored her request. “Sinclair, I order you to stop!”
Sinclair stepped back and threw his sword down. “Order me?” he said, cocking his head, blond hair swaying to one side. “Oh?”
Lilac wanted to flinch away at the unveiled rage in his tone, but she stood firm. “Yes. In a few days’ time, I shall be your queen. You will answer to me.”
Sinclair laughed and turned away to press the blade to Garin’s face again, resulting in another retching yell. After a long moment he pulled the sword away to reply to her. “Need I remind you in a few days’ time, I shall be your husband. You will respect me.”
He couldn’t have been more wrong. She would not marry him if he were the last man on earth. Throughout the years, she hadn’t discussed much of the matter with her parents, not wishing to add more fuel to her controversy as it stood. Now, she paid for not speaking up sooner. She bit her tongue. She had to cooperate for Garin’s sake.
Perhaps the prisoner was a criminal, but she couldn’t imagine what exactly he’d done to deserve a punishment this inhumane. Even if his crime was incredible, she couldn’t stand to watch his torture any longer.
In her peripheral, she noticed Garin’s head pop up rather quickly for someone who had just been just blade whipped and scorched.
“Fine. But stop hurting him.” Her chest prickled with heat.
Stupid, a tiny voice sang within her conscious. You never know what he’d had planned—what he has planned, since now he knows the truth.
He probably deserved it.
“What?” Sinclair rose a brow as if sensing her hesitation. “Is this… bothering you? My God,” he gasped. “Perhaps the rumors are true.”
“Rumors?”
“I’ve known of your Darkling Tongue—of course, the entire kingdom knows. As embarrassing as that must be for you, I’d given you the benefit of the doubt. Why, I was under the impression it was an unwanted gift.”
Lilac’s lip curled into an unintentional snarl. “Of course, my ability is unwanted, Sinclair.” The audacity for him to even suggest otherwise was ludicrous. Her curse had been the source of all her problems, couldn’t he see that? He was unaware of what she’d done for the korrigans. Aside from that, why would he dare imply she felt otherwise?
Sinclair took a menacing step towards her. “Then tell me, why do you defend him so? You do understand that it isn’t fit for a princess to side with such lowly creatures?”
As Sinclair moved, Lilac felt her dagger begin to vibrate wildly against her hip bone, jolting her back instinctively. Noticing her recoil, Sinclair caught himself and smoothed his robes out, along with his aggression.
“Look,” he said calmly, all traces of his previous anger dissipated. He closed the space between them and gently tucked her hair behind her ear. She winced against his touch, unable to mask her disdain.
“We can argue all you want. I’ll spend the whole night tormenting him. O
r, we could get to bed. We have an early morning ahead of us if we want to reach the castle before your mother and father keel over. Plus, on the bright side, we get to watch this one burn to ashes when dawn arrives.”
That did it. Lilac blinked rapidly, reeling from the mental whiplash of Sinclair’s words. Her adrenaline faded slowly, only to be replaced with a heavy, sinking feeling in her gut. Lilac grabbed Sinclair’s arm for support. With reason slowly creeping into focus, she swayed in place. She could keel over herself.
Watch him... “Burn?”
“That’s right.” Mistaking her panicked touch for affection, he slid his arm tightly around her waist. “Deep down, you know that he is not man at all, but a monster.”
She massaged her head in one feeble last attempt to clear it. Sinclair’s implications had gradually begun to sink in. Still, she refused to process any of it. “I’m so sorry, Sinclair. I don’t mean to offend you, it’s just—as future queen, I it is my duty to ensure that we are prosecuting the right people. We mustn’t punish an innocent man.” Only the night before, she’d sat down for a drink with the prisoner slumped before her. “I mean, his eyes are grey,” she stammered. “In my studies—”
“Throw away your studies and those silly little manuscripts, my beloved,” Sinclair said, grandly waving his free arm at Garin. The only thing he hated more than Darklings was being questioned. “You’re receiving an excellent course right now! Like me, you’re an adventurer at heart, always questioning, always eager for information. A bit unusual, but I’ll bet that’s how Brocéliande lured you in—not the silly bluebells. And, in a week’s time, you’ll stand beside me as we eradicate these foul beasts one at a time.”
She shuddered, but he only shifted her closer, purring against her hair.
“Now, his eyes aren’t red because, for whatever reason, he no longer drinks from humans—this, I’ve gathered from our previous encounters. His lack of traditional diet means he isn’t quite as strong as the others, but only slightly so. He’s still dangerous.”
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