Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(117)

“I will not beg for his affection, nor his life.”

She scoffed. “Not his—I meant your precious huntsman’s.”

I frowned at her. Something vaguely urgent knocked at the back of my skull. Something I was missing. Some crucial bit of information I couldn’t quite remember. “I . . . I didn’t expect him to come after me, if that’s what you mean.”

Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “It’s not.”

The vague something knocked harder, insistent. “Then what—?”

The blood drained from my face. Reid.

Morgane’s forgotten words drifted back to me through the heavy fog of my mind. Amidst my heartache—amidst my rage and hopelessness and despair—I hadn’t stopped to consider their meaning.

The Lyons will rue the day they stole this land. Their people will writhe and thrash on the stake, and the king and his children will choke on your blood. Your husband will choke on your blood.

But that meant—

“I know I promised you the chance to light his pyre.” Morgane’s croon scattered the thread of my thoughts. “But I’m afraid you won’t get the chance, after all. The king’s blood runs in your huntsman’s veins.”

No. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing, but quickly reopened them as the darkness beyond my lids began spinning. Through sheer willpower—no, through sheer desperation—I forced my useless limbs into action. They twitched and spasmed in protest as I toppled, falling toward Morgane’s outstretched hands, toward the promise of Angelica’s Ring—

She caught me against her chest in a sick embrace. “Fret not, darling. You’ll see him again soon.”

At a wave of her hand, everything went dark.





Consorting With the Enemy


Reid


Madame Labelle pointed above our heads midafternoon. “Chateau le Blanc is there.” We followed her finger to the mountain towering in the distance, perhaps two hours away. “We should arrive in time for the feast.”

We had to take her word for it. No one else could see anything but trees. When Beau grumbled as much, Madame Labelle shrugged and sank gracefully onto her stump, folding her hands in her lap. “’Tis the magic of the Chateau, I’m afraid. None but a Dame Blanche can see it until we cross through the enchantment.” At Beau’s puzzled look, she added, “The bridge, of course.”

Beau opened his mouth to reply, but I stopped listening, drifting to the edge of our hidden camp. In the forest, the faint smell of magic touched everything. But it burned less sharp here, somehow, mingled with the salt and trees. As if it belonged. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. Waves crashed in the distance. Though I’d never set foot in this place, it felt familiar . . . like Lou.

Her essence infused everything—the sunlight filtering through the pines, the creek trickling beside us despite the cold. Even the wind seemed to dance. It swirled her scent around me, soothing my frazzled nerves like a balm.

There you are, it seemed to say. I didn’t think you’d come.

I promised to love and protect you.

And I promised to love and obey you. We’re both such pretty liars . . .

I opened my eyes, chest aching, to see Coco standing beside me. She stared out into the trees as if she too were holding a silent conversation.

“I can feel her here.” She shook her head. Wistful. “I’ve known her since childhood, yet . . . sometimes . . . I wonder if I really know her at all.”

I blinked in surprise. “You and Lou knew each other as children?”

Her eyes flicked to mine, searching my face as if considering how to answer. Finally, she sighed and turned back to the trees. “We met when we were six. I’d . . . wandered away from my coven. My aunt and I—we didn’t get along much, and she’d . . . well—” She stopped abruptly. “It doesn’t matter. Lou found me. She tried to make me laugh, braided flowers in my hair to make me feel better. When I finally stopped crying, she tossed a mud pie in my face.” She flashed a grin, but it quickly faded. “We kept our friendship a secret. I didn’t even tell my aunt. She wouldn’t have approved. She loathes Morgane and the Dames Blanches.”

“It seems Lou has a habit of endearing herself to her enemies.”

Coco didn’t seem to hear me. Though she still stared at the trees, it was clear she no longer saw them. “I didn’t know what the Dames Blanches were planning. Lou never told me. She never said a word—not one—in all those years. And then one day, she just . . . disappeared.” Her throat worked furiously, and she ducked her head to stare at her feet. “If I had known, I—I would’ve stopped them, somehow. But I didn’t know. I thought she was dead.”

An inexplicable urge to comfort her overwhelmed me, but I resisted. This wasn’t the time to comfort. This was the time to listen.

“But you found her.”

She chuckled without mirth, lifting her chin once more. “No. She found me. In Cesarine. Without Lou, I decided I needed some time away from my—my coven—so I tried my hand at pickpocketing in East End. I was shit at it,” she added. “The constabulary arrested me the second day. Lou dropped out of the sky and saved my ass.” She paused, shaking her head. “It was like seeing a ghost. A ghost with a disfigured throat. The scab had just fallen off, but it was still gruesome to look at.” She lifted her sleeve, revealing her own scars. “Even for me.”