Page 68 of Fallen Nocturne
“Kharlis is my general,” I say, stepping closer. “My traitor. I have every right to be there when you expose him.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t care.”
He looks up at me, his expression hard. “Greenvale has been lawless since the war erupted. If something goes wrong...”
“Then you will protect me. That is what Uncle Rainer brought you here for, isn’t it?” I fold my arms, daring him to deny it.
His jaw clenches. “This isn’t a game, Rhianelle.”
The use of my name sends a shiver through me. I push it aside.
“You said it yourself. Kharlis is well trusted. If you bring him in alone, people will question it.” I step closer to the table. “They will claim the Nightwalker is lying and that you fabricated the evidence.”
He is silent, and I can see him weighing his options.
“You need me there. A witness they cannot dismiss. Their queen.” I lift my chin. “Besides, you cannot stop me. I could follow you. I am very good at not being heard.”
Something flickers in his eyes.
His gaze lingers on me for a long moment, perhaps remembering how easily I followed him all the way to his cottage without being detected.
“If you come, you do exactly as I say,” he says finally, his voice like steel.
“But I’m the queen—”
“You stay close to me, and if I tell you to run, you run immediately. No questions and no arguments. Understood?”
He waits, refusing to move until I answer. I bristle at the command in his tone and at being ordered around.
“Understood,” I say.
He nods once and shoulders the satchel.
We leave the cottage and step into the cool night air. Arescaine walks several paces into the clearing before stopping. His shoulders tense.
Dark shapes press beneath the fabric covering his back. For one breath, I think the shadows around him are moving. Then the seams of his coat separate, and a pair of vast membranous wings emerge from behind his shoulders.
They unfurl slowly, joint by joint, until they stretch wider than the cottage. The thin membranes catch the moonlight, dark and faintly translucent between long, curved bones. Unlike the wings of birds, these bear no feathers. Instead, they resemble those of some ancient creature made for darkness and storms.
I can only stare.
He glances over his shoulder. “Have you never seen wings before?”
“Not growing from a person,” I mutter.
Something almost amused touches his expression before disappearing.
He turns and holds out one arm. “Come here.”
I hesitate. “How exactly is this supposed to work?”
“I carry you.”
Of course he does.
I approach, trying not to think about how close I will have to be to him. He slides one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees, lifting me as though I weigh nothing.
