Page 208 of A Touch of Poison
My trail through the city to the Hall of Healing left more ripples of shock. Whispers from the grand hall followed with news of my speech.
Elthea admonished me as she cut the iron ring off my swollen finger. “There’s a reason I didn’t give you iron.” She said it with such fury, I almost thought she cared. The healing took energy, she explained, but that once I’d recovered, she had a cure ready for my poison. Dazed, I barely registered the comment as she healed all my injuries and catalogued them, including the bruises on my neck.
When the city guard arrived and saw her notes, they had to accept my story. Self-defence. No need to arrest me. No charges for murder. I could’ve collapsed with the mingled exhaustion and relief.
By the time we returned to our rooms, the door had been fixed, the floor cleaned, and there was no sign of Robin’s body. It was like it had never happened, except for the blood staining my clothes, matting my hair, stuck under my nails. Bastian ran me a bath and washed my hair—all I could do was lie there and let him.
I slept long and deep that night, but the ripples kept spreading. News would reach Albion soon enough. So the next day, I wrote to the queen and Morag, hoping to get ahead of it and stake my claim on the estate. Bastian sent his own letter, corroborating my story and explaining that some misfortune had befallen Robin’s body and it wasn’t available for burial (I didn’t ask, but I had suspicions). He signed it as the Night Queen’s Shadow, lending that weight to my innocence and my claim.
A couple of days and several visits from my friends later, I brushed my hair at Bastian’s dressing table as I got ready to face the world once more. I still wasn’t sure if that speech was the right decision. It had felt right at the time—righteous, even. But part of me had cringed small and tight when I’d spotted Uncle Rufus in the crowd.
I had been anything but silent and dutiful that night.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Bastian’s hands cupped my shoulders and he nodded to me in the mirror. “I saw that little grimace.”
I touched my cheek. I was getting too comfortable around him, forgetting to control my reactions as well as my magic.
My arm was mostly fine, just a little achey. Elthea had told me that would fade after a week or two. She’d found a couple of cracked ribs and some internal bleeding, but they too were healed.
Certainly no reason to miss this meeting.
I smiled at Bastian in the mirror and dipped a kiss to his hand. “The bride-to-be specifically requested me—I’m not about to turn down her offer.”
Zita had claimed she wanted input about the wedding ceremony from a fellow human. Bastian suspected it was a goodwill gesture towards Dusk, but I noted she’d only asked after I’d killed Robin. From what I’d heard, she was… unusual. Maybe killing a man made me more interesting in her eyes.
Bastian’s grip tightened, and I raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t declining cause offence to Dawn?”
His shoulders sank. “You’re right. You’re getting too good at fae politics.” But his smile belied his grumbling tone, and he pushed my hair back, bending close. “Far, far too good,” he said against my skin, lighting up my nerves.
I tilted my head to one side, letting him kiss my neck, each touch somewhere between ticklish and exquisite. “What time is this meeting?”
“We have time.” He nipped the point between shoulder and neck, making me jolt with pleasure. “Barely.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t, then.” But I reached back, fingers threading through his thick hair. “We wouldn’t want to be late.”
“Mm-hmm.” The sound rumbled into me as he removed the brush from my grasp and placed it on the dressing table.
He sucked over my pulse, and it was a struggle to get out my next words. “It would cause offence.”
“Your clothing offends me.” He slid the night-coloured dress off my shoulder. “Too much of it,” he growled and bit my earlobe as he palmed my exposed breast.
I stared in the mirror, both watcher and watched, cheeks flushed, eyelids half closed as I let my head fall back on his shoulder.
“You like to see this almost as much as I do.” He smirked, catching my reflected gaze.
With that smirk, I should’ve expected it, but when he pinched my nipple, it still made me cry out and arch.
Need flooded me, raw and hot.
“I do. It’s like I’m really seeing myself.” My voice came out husky, not quite my own… or maybe it was entirely my own, just freed from a weight I’d carried too long. “When you’re touching me, no one else’s rules exist.”
“Good. Fuck their rules.” He ran a canine down my throat, right above the vein. It could’ve been a threat—from anyone else it would’ve been. But here, now, him—it was a demonstration.
However vulnerable I made myself in his hands, I was safe.
And that mattered. Good gods, how it mattered.
Since Robin’s attack, we’d kissed and cuddled in bed, but I’d been too exhausted—and perhaps rattled—for anything more. Now, though…
