Page 68 of Ruin of Revenants

King Wystan’s gaze narrowed. “Because you are too drunk to wield your power properly?”

Nearby, Princess Briar sniggered.

Archer’s grin stretched wide, as if his insobriety was something to be proud of. “That.” He pointed toward the king. “That exactly, Father.”

“Then we’ll have someone else do it,” the king growled. “This isn’t the time to show the demons mercy.”

“Not mercy. Just delayed death. Let him suffer and fear it longer.” Archer scowled. “After all, I really don’t want anyone getting blood on my decorations. Plus it would ruin our appetite for the cake. That would be a travesty. That thing is magnificent. And so tall. I’d know…I had that ruler to measure it.”

The king’s expression hardened, unmoved by Archer’s attempts at humor. “Very well. Take the prisoner away,” he ordered the guards. “But we will schedule a proper public execution, and soon.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Isoria

Lily and Owen gave me privacy once they escorted me back to Archer’s rooms and I told them I was exhausted. That wasn’t a lie—I was utterly drained—but I wasn’t about to go to sleep.

My chest hollowed when I pictured Bren, head downcast, hands manacled with those awful forget-me-not-infused shackles. Most likely, he had entered the capital searching for me, and now he might lose his life for it.

I didn’t let my thoughts linger on how Archer had looked at me, how tenderly he’d brushed the tear from my cheek. It didn’t matter if he’d shown me kindness in public, when he needed the world to believe he was a lovestruck prince. The fact was, I could not trust him, no matter what. He’d killed phoenixes in the past—hated and hunted them—and there was no reason to hope he wouldn’t do the same to Bren, when he could prevent me from losing control and exposing what I was.

I had to make my move tonight. Thankfully, before I had too much time to worry, Archer’s footsteps signaled his return. Behind my closed door, I hesitated, wondering if he’d come to talk with me, but I listened as he passed by.

With shaking hands, I unbound my hair, smoothed the skirts of my dress, counted to thirty, and made my way from my room. I paused in the pantry to collect a bottle of golden wine and two glasses. I slipped the vial from my skirt pocket, emptying its contents into one of the glasses before filling both with wine.

Hiding the empty vial in a cabinet no one would check, I gathered my wine glasses and made my way through the rest of Archer’s quarters. The delicacies I’d consumed at the party earlier curdled in my stomach as I paused in the library. Onyx was spending time on one of his favorite perches, so I took a moment to kiss the top of his head, breathing in his comforting scent and letting the soft feel of his fur soothe me and steel my courage.

Then I continued toward Archer’s bedroom.

His door was closed. Setting my jaw, I rapped firmly on its surface, determined that I wouldn’t let him detect my fear, not even in the pattern of my knock.

“Enter,” Archer drawled.

I crept inside to a dim interior with the fire burnt to embers and the curtains drawn. Archer, his jacket tossed onto a nearby chair, was already in bed. He clutched a bottle of wine, already half empty.

Suddenly, I wanted to turn and flee. He must have thought I was a servant—he had no reason to expect me to ever request admittance into his rooms.

Instead, I forced myself to walk further inside and be assaulted by the dark, despairing emotions clouding around Archer. I gritted my teeth against their weight.

From his place lounging on his pillow, staring at the ceiling, Archer glanced toward me, raising his eyebrows and smirking. The expression didn’t reach his eyes. It was all for show, an old habit even for me, when he knew I could sense the truth and wouldn’t fall for the lie that was the mask he wore. “Missed me already?” His eyes landed on the wineglasses. “Oh, good. I’m almost out.”

I swallowed thickly, hoping any anxiety of mine he detected—which was likely little to none given the intensity of his own emotions—he’d assume was due to nerves. “Thought you could use a drinking companion.” I settled on the edge of his bed, closer than I wanted to be but not nearly as close as I suspected I’d have to get for this to work.

Archer sat up, shoulders shaking with laughter. His green eyes were alight with victory, studying me like he could see right through me. “You’re still thinking about that kiss.”

My momentary relief that he didn’t suspect my true intentions was swiftly followed by shock. Heat seared my cheeks, giving away the mortifying truth: I was still thinking about our kiss. Both of them.

Archer’s hands on my hips. His lips moving against mine. His smile as he’d kissed me.

I sucked in a breath. All to prove he feels nothing, that it meant nothing.

But there was something confusing in the emotions linking us now, something that wasn’t just triumph but felt a lot like hope.

“Maybe,” I said, deciding however Archer felt about the idea of me seeking him out for another kiss, it would at least please his ego. I carefully handed him the correct wineglass, immediately taking a sip from my own.

Archer took a long pull from his glass, and I had to tamp down on my eager response so he didn’t suspect the flood of hope shared in our bond.

“I want to know what happened to Bren. My brother.”