Page 16 of The Scouts

Absent-mindedly, I kissed the tips of his fingers. Miraculously staying—and sounding—calm, I said, “And lastly?”

Clearly uneasy once more, he glanced away. “She made me pose for her.”

“Pose? As in for a painting?”

He nodded. “A series of drawings.”

“What kind of drawings?” I squinted.

I soon got a pretty solid idea about the art involved without him answering, given the suddenly rosy tips of his ears.

Gracious lords in the heavens.

Well, at least that explained the shedding of clothes.

My mind still reeled from all the developments. I cleared my throat. “You’ve had quite a night, eh?”

“So did you.”

That, I couldn’t dispute. “What did you make of her, then? The baroness?” I found myself curious now that jealousy had quit crimping my reasoning.

“Ine—”

Perhaps I’d spoken too soon. “Ine, is it now?” I quirked an eyebrow, teasing. For the most part.

That earned me a poke under the ribs. “She’s…”

“What?”

Controlling? Unbalanced? Deranged?

“A character. A little damaged, perhaps. But not vicious.”

The way he spoke about her suggested an affinity of sorts. Gut instinct told me I wouldn’t understand that bond even if he explained it. I didn’t begrudge that, nor did I expect him to elaborate further.

Yet he surprised me by muttering, “She seems hollow. Like there’s a void inside her. She fills it by feeding off art and the emotions of others.” His brow creased. “I think she’s still in love with the queen.”

I couldn’t resist a smile. For Lochan, that was one long-arse speech.

“Hm. Do you reckon it possible that she got involved with the Magic Supremacists on purpose? To protect Her Grace?” I asked. “This entire very-public breakup and the animosity between them could’ve been a ruse.”

“It’s crossed my mind. Although the resentment is genuine. Something went wrong there, for sure.”

“You really liked her, eh?”

“I didn’t dislike her,” he offered after a pause.

“Admit it. You have a thing for fairheads. Like Aryhanna.”

I couldn’t say where that came from or who seemed more astonished by my mention of that name. I must’ve been more shaken by the course of the events than I’d realised.

His wide-eyed gaze riveted on mine and I cursed myself for choosing this moment to air this old, ugly sore. How deep had it still festered inside me?

“Aryhanna?” Lochan repeated, prolonging the word.

“Aye. The archer girl from the camp. One you took up to the hill that day I saw you. Don’t tell me you don’t recall.” The words spilt from my tongue before my brain advised against it.

He lifted himself off my chest. “I didn’t take her anywhere. She followed me.”