House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(61)

Black swords slide out of scabbards just as deafening caws resonate throughout the stone terrace, tightening my marrow and detonating my pulse.

The darkness surrounding my body is so thick and absolute that I assume all five of Lorcan’s crows shield me even though I’m not the target of those obsidian blades.

“STOP! Everyone stop!” Dante shouts. “I will not have blood spilled on my terrace. We have a treaty, which I intend to uphold. You want to fight, you fight on Nebban soil, but Luce remains neutral. Pierre, Lore, call off your warriors now!”

It takes several heartbeats for the Nebban guards to sheath their weapons. And then a few more heartbeats for the Crows to land and Lore to reform.

He no longer sits, though. He stands. Right in front of me, his body outlined in smoke. “You are not to touch Fallon Báeinach.” His neck rotates slowly as he takes in the rest of the Fae as though to extend the sentiment their way.

“I wasn’t going to bleed her, you raging buzzard,” Pierre grumbles.

The gold fabric atop my heart palpitates. Oh my Gods, was that his intent?

The man is a psychopath, so who the fuck knows? Now get out of here before you throw yourself at more monsters and strike more foolish deals.

My head rears back as though he’s slapped me, and my fingers ball into fists. I was only trying to help our common endeavor, so screw you, you condescending, feathered ass.

You’ve helped grandly. Now, go back to Antoni’s, and I beg you, from this point forward, avoid playing games with rules you’re unfamiliar with, for I’ve enough on my plate.

The fucking nerve of him! I’m fucking here because of him! As I turn to storm off, I use the mind link one last time. Make sure my marriage contract is financially advantageous for me. I’ve never had much coin, and I hear Pierre Roy is loaded.

Lore’s armor creaks as he turns his neck just enough to toss me a withering stare.

Although tempted to toss out a few more demands just to spite him, it would be petty, and I pride myself on not being that. So I fist the glimmering material of my dress and, trailed by a livid-faced Imogen, I storm down the terrace steps.

When a cloud of sprites forms over my head, I spin around. “Dante, call back your air fleet!”

“They’re for your protection, Fallon.”

I gesture to the five crows that drench the sprites in darkness. “These birds are seeing to my protection, so it’s truly overkill.” I linger on the flagstone path, waiting for Dante to give the order that would prove he isn’t using his men to keep tabs on me.

Although it takes several heartbeats before he speaks, he does end up commanding his airborne squadron to see me to the Isolacuorin harbor and then leave me in peace.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Fal. They truly were for your protection.”

“My protection from who, Dante?”

“From those who wish my brother still sat on the Lucin throne.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to keep them around yourself, then?” My comment puckers his lips even though I didn’t mean it to be grating.

“I suppose you’re right,” he finally concedes.

“Enjoy your afternoon, Your Majesties.”

As I head toward the healer’s with my Fae and Crow escorts, I stare at the golden slippers I picked to match my dress, at the pointed toe caps fashioned from mirrored leather and the thick straps adorned with decorative gold spikes. I thought them beautiful, but now they remind me of Lore’s eyes, which I do not find pretty in the least.

His patronizing words ding through my mind. “Foolish deals, my ass,” I mutter under my breath. I may have been punching above my weight, but I was trying to punch. Shouldn’t that be worth something besides scorn?

I feel Imogen’s stern gaze on my cheek. I’ve no doubt she thinks me a silly fool also.

“Roy has had eight wives,” she says. “And he’s murdered each one of them.”

“Did they not run the castle to his liking?”

“That should not be a reason to murder your spouse.”

“Cauldron,” I grumble. “I was jesting, Imogen.”

“You joke about assassinations?”

I swirl on her, my mood as raw as my nerves. “You’re right. It was in poor taste. The man’s a fucking monster.”

“And yet you offered yourself to him?”

“I’m immune to bargains, and I only suggested it to get more manpower in our search for Meriam. I swear, sometimes it feels like I’m the only soul on this earth who cares to find my runaway ancestor. Shouldn’t everyone be more worried that she’s on the loose? Shouldn’t Dante mobilize all his troops? Shouldn’t Lore—I don’t know”—I toss my hands in the air—“do something more than crash Faerie lunches and plan his wedding to a foreign princess?”

Imogen’s black gaze tapers on my puffing cheeks. “You should not underestimate our king.”

“Your king. Not mine.” Nails digging crescents into my palm, I streak off ahead of her.

“I suppose you’re right. Until you wear our feather on your cheek, you’re not a true Crow.”

I grind my teeth but decide not to engage, for I’ve nothing to gain from debating the value of inked skin. “Has my father returned?”