Page 89 of The Blood Queen

Beira’s gift of stags is ours no longer.

Samson crosses over to me, the pad of his thumb brushing my cold-stung cheeks, wiping away a tear.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I suppose…I just wasn’t sure I’d see the castle again.” Ever.

But already, I feel the comfort and conformity of it washing over me. My shoulders are hunched, caving in on myself.

I’m used to hiding in plain sight here.

But Samson’s touch shifts from my cheek to my chin, and with a gentle pressure, he tips my face up, forcing my spine to straighten. “Don’t hide,” he whispers, his breath a cloud.

“Lady Alyth?”

I break from Samson and spin around to see Callum, a young Leth employed by the castle as a stable hand. It’s early, but he’s clearly been awake for some time. He’s alert, and in his hand, he clenches a horse whip. His eyes are wide, scared but conflicted as he looks from me to Samson.

It all comes flooding back—the last time anyone at Stirling Castle saw Samson, he was wanted for attempted murder.

Mine.

“It’s okay,” I say immediately. “Samson was controlled by a Red Cap weapon before, but he’s good and safe.”

“Thought as much,” Callum says, and his grip on the whip relaxes. He doesn’t let it go, though, his eyes roving over our tattered and bloodied clothes, knowing that we’ve returned for fae business, not courtly intrigue. He squares his shoulders as he turns to me. “Lady Alyth, we’ve been waiting for you.”

I blink, surprised.

“We knew you’d come back for reinforcements,” he says, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Excellent,” Samson says, eyeing the boy. “We need everyone.”

“They’re ready for you,” he says, gesturing toward the castle.

I eye the cold gray stone, unexpected trepidation seizing my heart. I am too used to being as unnoticed as the ivy growing on the wall. I already feel too exposed here. And besides…

I don’t like the way hope is welling inside me. Hope that I know will just be hollowed out again. Why did Samson insist we come here?

I am only meant for the shadows.

Callum leads the way, and as soon as we step through the servants’ entrance, he tells a brownie to bring the others to the Great Hall and adds that Samson is to be trusted.

My head is swirling at the signs of purposeful movement. We pass Joseph, Queen Mary’s secretary, and he pauses only long enough to give me a quick hug before running off, saying he’ll fetch the queen.

Fetch…the queen? The same queen who never woke before noon?

I’m in a daze by the time we make it into the Great Hall. James, the Earl of Moray, the queen’s half brother and a powerful noble, is at a table, commanding men I recognize from the queen’s troops—human, all of them. At the other end of the long table, the Leths are gathered, Captain Cockburn talking to Laird Strathglass and—the Green Lady?

Kitty’s got her hands on a tiny toothpick of a fae blade and seems to be training some of the other brownies and lesser fae on how best to stab a taller opponent, attacking a straw-filled dummy. The glaistigs are here and the brownies. And judging from the auras of everyone in the room, the glamours are down.

“Ah, Lady Alyth,” Captain Cockburn says, noticing me first.

Moray’s head snaps up, his hand going to the sword at his hip as he spots Samson, but before he can say or do anything, a Leth servant rushes to him, whispering. From the way the earl’s hand relaxes, I suspect word is spreading fast that Samson can be trusted.

The Earl of Moray shifts his gaze to me. He’s the son of a king—bastard, yes, but powerful. Still, when he bows, he bows to me.

Silence descends around the court.

I recognize almost all the Leths in the castle, nobles and servants alike, standing alongside fae and humans.

As I turn in a slow circle, I see them all mimicking Moray, sinking low, showing me respect.