Chosen Fool (Forever Evermore #5)(60)
Every single one of them blinked for long moments.
Finally, King Collins stepped forward to stand closer to the screen. His gaze flicked to me, holding there. “You’re sure about this?” I knew he was asking more than what he said, but I still nodded—although I wasn’t entirely sure. He turned his regard back to the One. “We have no questions for you. You did exactly as we needed from you. But it stands to say that while you’re in our home, you treat everyone here with respect and courtesy, because honestly, with what we’ve been through, someone may just lose it and kill you merely because you look like the bastard.” He stared steadily at the One for a long moment before his brown eyes came back to me, and he waved a hand. “You can shut it off, Caro. We’ll see you at home shortly with your guests.”
I waved my glowing left hand and cut my power off. “Well, you’ve gotten what you want.”
The One pushed off the table, lifting abruptly, and paced away. “Not yet, I don’t.”
No, I didn’t believe he had.
Because I truthfully thought he wanted the bastard dead for this.
I glanced at Mr Damon. “The name, please.”
He lifted his brows. “I’ll tell it to my son. When he’s there and safe, then he can tell you.”
Ah…he was ticked that King Collins had threatened his baby.
The One peered out into the night again. “They have plenty of reason to be confused, with what this man did to them.” He shook his head. “It’s not their fault.”
“It’s not yours, either,” Mr Damon countered.
“Is it not?” He tapped his lips lightly, his profile majestic in the dim light of the stars. “It began with us, as Roselle correctly stated. He wouldn’t have had the opening he did through to Ms Jules if it weren’t for me.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Mr Damon reiterated. “You are not the wicked inside this spirit. That is whose fault it is. His. Not yours. Not mine. Nor any of the others who had Walkers. Or any of the Royals outside the Temple. It is his fault. Focus your blame accordingly, and you’ll be more clear-headed, son.”
The One turned sharply, moving toward the luggage. “We should go now and meet them while they’re all together. They’ll feel safer in their numbers.”
With little to no fanfare, the four of us made our way through the Temple after the One had talked to his father quietly for about ten minutes. I didn’t miss how the One shielded me the entire time from the gawkers. On the dark beach, as I gave a private wink at the gaping Guardian I had spoken with when I first arrived, Reese placed a hand on the One’s shoulder while gripping Roselle in his other arm. Tristan stepped a paw on the One’s bare foot.
And he peered at me while I stared at his nose. “I’ll take us directly there.”
My lips pinched as I stared at his outstretched hand.
I shook my head calmly. “I left from there, so I don’t need your help on this.” I paused, then I added, “Thank you, though.” His hand gradually dropped. I opened my Core and pulled myself and Isolde back home to the Elemental’s kitchen, blinking at the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the windows. I breathed in the scents. “Home sweet home.”
Introductions went smoothly, the One, Reese, and Roselle all very professional. And also sympathetic in their greetings. It helped that Queen Ruckler and Elder Merrick both covertly sniffed and gave them their scent approval—the spirits apparently not smelling of the dead. Tristan was testy though, barging through all the Rulers and Elders, knocking legs and stepping on feet as he growled at everyone to get out of his way. Until he got to me at the back of the Ruler’s group and started twining his way around my legs.
Queen Ruckler lifted her eyebrows. As I was knocked to and fro, trying to keep a grip on Isolde so I didn’t drop her, she stated, “So the real Tristan really does like you.”
It was a statement, and I yelped as Tristan started bumping me forward. “Yes, which I said the first time you saw the other one.” I grunted again when he bumped my butt with his head none too gently, still working me forward. Understanding where he was pushing me, I griped behind me quietly, “I’m with the other team, Tristan.” He didn’t seem to give a shit, knocking me too hard one last time. I shrieked, doing a windmill with one arm as I started to fall, Isolde tumbling out of my other hand.
My momentum jerked to a halt as a swift, muscled arm scooped under my stomach, my feet no longer on the floor, and a fast tanned hand caught Isolde’s whimpering tiny frame. I grunted, the wind knocked out of me from the hold against my belly. Isolde instantly started growling quietly, but the One, the man who had caught us both, crooned softly, “Be quiet and just give me a second with Ms Jules, then I’ll put you down.”
“Me…” I gasped, still hanging upside down, bent in half, “first.”
“That’s what I said,” the One murmured over Isolde’s continual snarl. He bent, placing my feet on the ground, and gave me an extra boost with his arm. “There you go.”
I sucked in a lungful of air, flipping my hair out of my face. I glared at Tristan where he sat proudly with damn smug eyes. “That. Was. Not. Nice.” I pointed behind him. “I belong over there.” Finger down at the ground. “Not here.” My stern voice. “Do you understand me?”