Page 22 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“Clearly you do, given the twelve corpses in that alley.” My throat is dry again.

“I handled them fine without you,” he dismisses.

My shoulders scream in protest as I shift weight. “I could help.”

“You would just get in my way.” He sounds almost insulted by the suggestion. “Besides, you’re hardly in peak condition yourself.”

The chains rattle as I tense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your knee is damaged,” he states plainly. “Old injury, but you’ve aggravated it recently. Running across rooftops for three days probably didn’t help.”

My jaw tightens. “I manage.”

“It’s affecting your balance.” His footsteps circle again. I’m getting used to tracking him by sound alone. “That’s how I spotted you on day one. You landed wrong coming off that bakery roof.”

Great. My incompetence is that obvious.

Silence stretches between us. He moves again and I hear liquid pouring. Water, from the sound of it hitting ceramic.

“Here.” He’s close now. Something cool nudges my bottom lip again.

I swallow in quick gulps. Each swallow is loud in the quiet. This fucker knows something. The silence between us feels dangerous.

“So, we have a puzzle,” he says, settling back into his chair with a creak of wood. “Someone cares enough about my well-being to hire guild protection, expensive guild protection, but doesn’t want me to know about it. That limits the suspects considerably.”

My stomach tightens. This bastard is too smart. He’s going to figure it out.

“The Wiolants would rather see me dead. The Council members likewise. The Aeonians think I’m a nuisance.” He’s ticking through options like he’s solving a tactical problem. “Which leaves...”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Family,” he concludes. “But Mother would tell me directly. She’s never been one for subtlety. Which means...”

I hear him stand again, sudden energy in his movement. The chair scrapes against stone.

“My father hired you.”

I keep myself still, but he must sense something because he laughs. The sound is more bitter than amused.

“Of course he did. My father can’t have his only remaining heir dying before providing grandchildren. He has to meddle in everything, even when I’ve told him a thousand times I don’t need—“ He cuts himself off and takes a breath. “How much is he paying the guild?”

I say nothing.

The chains rattle as I shift, trying to ease the fire in my shoulders. The position is excruciating now. My arms have gone numb past the elbows.

The quiet drags on for several heartbeats. Then his fingers are at the blindfold, untying it with surprising gentleness. The silk loosens and falls away.

Light floods in, making me squint against the sudden brightness.

We’re in what looks like a private study. Books everywhere, floor to ceiling on three walls. Weapons mounted on the fourth, swords, daggers, and a long spear. His desk is covered in papers and maps—and of course.

Him.

Standing too close. Those emerald eyes study me intensely. It makes me want to look away. Shame burns hotter knowing how I must look. Leather torn apart. Breeches unlaced and low on my hips.

Garrett’s not wearing his armor anymore. He is in simple clothes, a loose white shirt with the laces undone at the throat and dark breeches. His blonde hair is mussed, falling into his eyes. Without the armor and cape, he looks less like a commander and more like... just a person.

He’s beautiful in the otherworldly way most full-blooded elves are but there’s something rougher around the edges.