The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(35)

An owl hooted in the depths of the midnight forest. She shivered in the gathered frost.

“Hush.” Gerard squeezed her thighs.

“You hush.” She rebelled and tried not to lean into the comfort of his chest.

“Woman,” his voice flared with a significant amount of heat, “if more have succumbed, there is only one reason why.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Eagerly.” He jostled her.

Ellie frowned. “About the pox, you beast.”

“You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m a walking encyclopedia of gentlemanly behavior.” A softness creased the corners of his eyes, as if he liked that she riled him.

No more riling.

“The pox is a hex, but you already know that—” He growled when she started to protest. “Since it is a hex, then the enchantress is going after the competition. She is probably a contestant, or close to one, and you’re on the top of her hit list after your spectacular scores. I had to get you out of there as fast as I could.”

Gerard shifted her weight, flicked open the door handle to the shack in the woods, and barged inside.

“Brilliant plan, future king.” She raised a brow. “How come you don’t think I did it? You watched me heal two of its victims with old magic.”

He dropped her on her bottom in a puddle of heavy rugs.

“I don’t suspect you because you’re a kind person, and besides, not twenty minutes after you appeared to heal Veronica and Marie, the symptoms came back.” Gerard walked away, and left her on her butt in the middle of his wooded fortress.

“Seriously?” she said and stood, swiping fluff and dirt from her cloak.

Gerard scowled. “Yes. Had you cast the hex, your healing spell would have worked, permanently. You’re not the villain in this plot. Though, you could help me figure out who’s behind it all.”

“What if I had a hunch?” she asked, perhaps it was time to spill about Dame Lange and Lady Olivia.

“We need proof. I’ve combed my old texts and can find nothing on how to reverse the effects of a magic-induced pox,” he said. “If I blame an individual before we know for certain, I have created a witch hunt.”

“Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help. Anything at all.” Without proof of Dame Lange’s involvement, she worried more contestants were at risk.

“Interesting choice of words.” His brows waggled.

“Scoundrel.”

“I heard that.” He shoved hands to his muscled hips.

“You were supposed to.” Ellie rolled her eyes and took stock of the little hut in the middle of the pumpkin patch that she’d passed on her way to the Citadel. Small lanterns, lit by Gerard’s magic, lined the upper portion of the hexagonal room. A cheery painting of a foreign kingdom, situated on an open sea, took up the width of one wall.

Painted rugs, in exotic designs, lay across the floor. Tiny patches of bare wood, sanded but not polished, snuck through. A drafting desk, the size of her bed, rested beneath the painting. A small hearth, more for cooking than heat, crackled to life, and a massive metal cylinder angled skyward from the center of the building.

“What’s that?” She strode to the strange container and smoothed a hand over the copper metal sleeve.

“A telescope.”

“What’s it for?” she asked. Silence stretched and she turned to find his rapt gaze on her fingers racing along the edge of the telescope. “Gerard?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s a key tool in an experiment I’m running.”

“What experiment?” She meandered to the lower side of the cylinder and stood on tiptoe to peer through the tube. She gasped. The heavens beamed at her with cheery merriment, twinkling, winking, shining. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know.” He appeared at her elbow and bent until their faces were level. “Sometimes I come out here just to watch the stars.”

“How could you not?” She peered back into the magical tube. A star shot across her view, exploding on the decline. “Is your experiment to see how much king-to-be stuff you can avoid?”

He growled. “No. Well, not intentionally. I come out here to study the moon phases.”

“Why?”

“I have to backtrack first.” Gerard cleared his throat as if beginning a lecture. She snuck a glance at his flushed face. Light sparkled in his eyes, passion.

“Shall I sit?”

“Yes, please.” He directed her to one of two plush chairs in front of the small fireplace.

She sank into the cushion with a happy sigh and scrunched her legs up under her bum. As she leaned forward to tug her cloak off and drape it over the chair’s arm, her necklace bobbed out from her gown and twirled.

Blue light spun around the room.

“That’s how you do it?” Gerard sat in the other chair and nodded to the gemstone.

“Yes.” Her palms itched to hold the ring.

“You want to know about my experiments?” He smiled. It changed his face. Lifted the corners of his mouth and softened the set of his eyes. Before he’d been masculine—solid macho man—now tender.

“Yes, please.” She wiggled in her chair.

“Old magic is volatile, right?” Gerard chuckled at her sincere head nod. “Hard to control, and always on the verge of destruction, old magic is held sacred because of its power—both for good and for bad.”