I’d become so used to being the center of his world that anything less felt like a heartbreak.
“We did, your highness,” Imelda said, bowing her head forward respectfully. I quickly averted my gaze, staring at the ground next to my feet to follow suit. I didn’t know how to play these games of politics.
I was fucked.
“Good,” Caldris said simply, moving down the line. He stopped in front of the Fae Marked as the Sidhe male finally abandoned his pursuit of searching the tents. He strolled up beside Caldris, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. The move was so familiar, so like a friend, that I grimaced. Knowing Octavian hated Caldris for being favored by the Queen they served, I saw it for what it was—a blatant disrespect meant to grate against Caldris’s nerves. But my mate only regarded Octavian impassively, showing not a hint of emotion as the other male was left with no choice but to abandon his useless endeavor to irritate him.
Octavian’s hair hung below his shoulders, an almost human-like shade of chestnut that I wouldn’t have been surprised to find in Nothrek—had it not been for the bright copper strands that gleamed in the early sun. His features were refined, his cheeks hollow against the sharpness of his bone structure. His ethereal nature was all-encompassing, lacking the rugged beauty of Caldris. The red of his Mark twined up the side of his neck.
His clothing was all black, the stark coloring striking against his sepia skin. Imelda elbowed me in the side subtly, forcing me to turn away from my peripheral watching. It was painful not to look as he made his way down the line, his hands clasped behind his back. His posture was at ease, as if he possessed not a single care about the fear he created in others.
If the others hadn’t proven to me that they deserved none of my compassion, I might have felt bad for them. They were unaware of the serpent that had slithered into their company, taking what they would have described as Tartarus and turning it into the pits of torment.
His footsteps continued, his easy swagger stopping when he laid eyes on Imelda. “Hello, Little Witch,” he said, and it took everything within me to remain still. When Holt called her witch, it felt like banter. It felt like something playful, resembling foreplay, but this reeked of insult, the disrespect practically dripping from his tongue.
Imelda didn’t move her body at my side, but I felt the moment she tilted her gaze up to meet his. “Hello, Pet,” she returned, her voice frosty and disinterested all at once. “Such a shame these last centuries did not get rid of you.”
“I am not so easy to kill,” Octavian said with a scoff, leaning forward to touch his lips to the corner of Imelda’s mouth. She didn’t flinch back, allowing him the contact with nothing but boredom on her face. Holt took a step toward the scene from where he watched at the edge, but seemed to catch himself with a confused, disgruntled look on his face that brought me far too much amusement under the current circumstances. When Octavian finally straightened to full height, he grinned down at Imelda.
She tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Aren’t you really?” she asked. No part of her moved, not her mouth or her hands at her sides, but a strangled sound bubbled up Octavian’s throat in response. His hands flew to his throat, nails digging in on either side as he dropped to his knees. I watched in horror as his face turned red. “What’s that? Witch got your tongue?” Imelda stared down at him, turning her head to the side and leaning forward as if she would be able to understand the babbles coming from him.
He coughed suddenly, the color returning to his face as he gasped for breath. “You fucking bitch—” he started.
“I would say that you’ve forgotten how to spell from lack of oxygen getting to your brain, but let’s be honest. You never really had one of those to begin with,” she murmured and looking down at him as if he was a sad little puppy.
“Mab will kill you. You cannot get rid of me so easily without facing the consequences from her,” he protested, beginning to push to his feet.
Imelda put a single finger on his forehead, pressing him down softly, yet his body collapsed beneath him anyway. “She’ll want you alive, but I highly doubt she’ll care if I take a few pieces from you along the way, hmm?” she asked, twisting that finger against his skin. Her nail cut into him, leaving blood to well in response. It dissolved as soon as it touched the air. “A Sidhe will always be a Sidhe. You do not change or evolve, but we witches do. I am not so little anymore, Octavian. You would do well to remember that.”
“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be holed up with the rest of your kind, hiding from the wrath of the Queen of Air and Darkness for the role you and your kin played in stealing her daughter? She’ll kill you all if she finds you,” he said, finally pushing to his feet. He swept a one thumb over the injury Imelda had made on his forehead, his gaze shifting from Fallon to me.
She’d lifted her cloak up in the same way as me, making us a matching pair even though she had no Fae Mark to hide.
Something passed over Imelda’s expression briefly, and not for the first time I wondered what had happened to the rest of the Lunar Witches. She’d been the only one I’d seen at the Resistance in my time spent with them, but I knew a majority of the clan had come to this side of the Veil when they’d erected it. “I am precisely where I was always destined to be,” she returned simply.
Octavian grunted his frustration, turning back toward where Caldris watched with a bored expression. “Can we continue our journey now, Octavian? Surely you’ve seen what you must and can understand how anxious we are to return to Alfheimr,” my mate said, the words carefully crafted to avoid an outright lie.
“So where is the darling Princess then?” Octavian asked, staring around at the group of us. He reached forward, tugging Fallon’s hood back to reveal her face as she slowly lifted her gaze from the ground to meet his eye. My breath caught, feeling the intent behind her boldness. Fallon was entirely capable of making herself small—blending into the background and nearly disappearing in a crowd. I’d seen her use those skills often in our limited time together, as if she could slip into the shadows themselves.
She challenged him because she wanted to, and because she knew that I would not be able to remain small for long. I was not willing to be put into a corner and left to wilt forever, and the longer we spent in Octavian’s presence, the more likely I was to draw attention to myself. To put my foot in my mouth and make him look too closely.
If she and Imelda were both a challenge to him, it would be easier for me to blend in amongst them.
Fuck. I hated that oath already.
“It’s one of those two,” Caldris said, waving an impatient hand toward where Fallon and I flanked Imelda. “The witch can’t be certain, so I’ve brought them both. Does that meet your approval? I would hate for Mab’s messenger boy to disapprove of my methods.”
Octavian tore his eyes away from Fallon’s challenging stare, stepping to the side and carefully passing Imelda without touching her. He reached up with both hands, tugging the hood back off my face as I raised my eyes to glare at him the way that Fallon had.
He studied me, his eyes, which were the green of leaves just before they turned to brown, roaming over my face. He raised a hand, lifting the underside of my chin to tip it higher before he glanced back toward Fallon. “They could be sisters,” he said, his lips pursing as if it greatly displeased him that we looked similar.