Skye
“When everything is crazy, when people are dying, prophecies are being told, friends are becoming enemies and enemies are becoming friends—this is our beacon.”
That pledge, made hours ago, played on a mental loop as I lay beside the man who spoke it. The dagger he handed me months ago rested near my hip, and I traced the etchings along the hilt while my eyes drank in Xander’s sleeping form.
After weeks of separation followed by weeks of believing he was dead, he’d returned to me. The flicker of candles and lanterns cast a warm glow over my bed. His features weren’t nearly so haunted while he slept. I was savoring this moment of togetherness, our first since he and Mother walked into the castle two days ago and shocked us all. Two ghosts back from the dead.
With a long exhale, I pressed my palm over my heart. When Xander and I were near each other for long periods of time the pulse signifying our bond slowed in my chest to a steady purr, the vibration was reminiscent of the rumbled purr Janelle’s old tabby cat made when I stroked her back.
I purred.
The notion brought a trembling smile to my lips as tears dampened my eyes. I missed that old cat. I missed the tiny house I shared with Janelle and Rex. Rex. Another name on the ever-expanding list of lives lost because of a prophecy. And Janelle, the one true friend I had before coming to Tyalbrook. Contemplating her fate filled my chest with an aching pang. I’d held onto hope, preferring to think her safe and sound back home, but somehow I knew that wasn’t the case. I feared for her the way I feared for Amandalyn. The way I feared for everyone in Tyalbrook. They were pawns in a madman’s scheme. And for what? For power? For me? No one knew, which made what was to come all the more dangerous.
Xander stirred and reached across the bed, tangling his fingers deep into my hair as he tugged my face his way. “Have you had your fill?” he mumbled beneath a yawn.
I tucked his dagger between the layers of my bedding and shifted toward him. “My fill?”
“You were staring. I felt your eyes on me. I’m a Guardian. I’m trained to know this stuff.”
His teasing grin warmed the blood running through my veins. “You could not feel my eyes on you.” I propped up on my elbow, taking his hand, still tangled in my hair, with me.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “I was staring at you first.”
My breath lodged in my throat as his heavy-lidded electric blue eyes pinned my own. Oh, how I’d missed him. He grinned and released my gaze, and I released the air trapped in my lungs. His strong fingers delved deeper into my hair, massaging my scalp, as he twisted his upper body toward the lone window in my room. His forehead furrowed.
“It’s dark out.”
“Yes.” My gaze followed his to the unshuttered window. “You fell asleep on me. I was a bit offended by it, to be honest.”
When he entered my room hours ago, the sun rode high in the sky. It was past twilight now. Supper came and went with us locked in there. Not that I complained. My gaze touched on his profile and I lapped up the opportunity to study him this way. I’m astonished by the depth of my feelings after the past months of separation. I’d forgotten the strength of the connection between us. How could I have forgotten?
“I’m sorry.” He flipped to his back again and looked at the ceiling. “I’d intended on us talking when I came in. You never should have allowed me to lie down.”
I forced my hand not to reach for him. “We did talk,” I said not so subtly, referring to his calling me out for the kiss he witnessed between me and Nickoli outside. “Besides, you looked exhausted.”
That was the truth. His body had thinned while we were apart, and his once tanned skin was sallow. He looked healthier than he did when he arrived at my coronation, but he still looked like he could use a long vacation. Too bad we weren’t likely to get one of those any time soon.
“We talked about your marking”—he rolled his head my way and his eyes flared as he scanned my face—“and we discussed its meaning, but we didn’t discuss you. Tell me about your time here?”
I’d planned on asking him about the cave and the last few months when he first arrived at my bedchamber door, but he’d waylaid my questions with his own about Nickoli. Once he mentioned my markings, everything spiraled out of control until he’d thrown himself on my bed and fallen asleep. Now, here we were. We’d shared so little time together since his return. While he’d slept the last forty-eight hours away, I’d spent my time alternating between sitting at Mother’s—do I even call her Mother? Mom? Kerra? It’s odd, I barely knew her—bedside and pacing my room waiting for news of Amandalyn. Questions about Xander’s injuries and falsely presumed death plagued me. Questions about Mother’s disappearance and captivity mounted. Answers were scarce the past few days. I was tired of waiting.
“What if you tell me about the cave instead?” I countered.
A lonely ache sparked within the depths of his eyes, and though I longed for the information, I regretted the question.
“I’d rather not.” His face turned back to the ceiling.
This was the third time he’d refused an explanation. Tucking my legs beneath me, I leaned over him. His gaze remained focused on the beamed ceiling while I hovered. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and I moved closer. He was determined to ignore me. I was determined to hear answers. I cleared my throat and batted my eyes, but he didn’t so much as flick a glance my way.
“Xander?” I plead.
He swiped the back of his hand over his forehead and maintained eye contact with the ceiling.
Releasing a sigh, I withdrew. “The moment I walked away from Sheridan your presence within me faded.”
I couldn’t ask for his story if I was unwilling to share my own. “I was outside the Inn in Sheridan, aware our enemy was inside and knowing I was turning myself over to them, but what truly scared me in that moment was the fading of our connection.”
Taking those first steps away from Sheridan had haunted me ever since. Xander blinked away the film of indifference before his gaze returned to mine. After a long, quiet stare-down, he sat up and took my wringing hands from my lap. The hard edges of his jaw softened, and with a deep inhale, I began my story. I filled him in on meeting Amandalyn, on my run-ins with McClintock, on the way Tabor behaved. I explained every bit of what life at Montibello was like. He listened intently, his expressive face conveying the appropriate emotions, depending on the tale. He balled his fists until his knuckles were bone white when I described Tabor’s attempt to pull me from my window.
“He used magic on you?” A dangerously mad fire lit his blue eyes.
“He did. It worked, at first. I fought him.” I grappled with putting the tugging sensation of Tabor’s magic into words. My body and mind had been in a war too difficult to explain. The terror of that moment assaulted me like a fist gripping my heart and squeezing.
Xander’s fingers rubbed against mine, pulling me out of the memory, and I returned to my story.
“Ultimately, it was Nickoli who saved me. His presence distracted Tabor, or maybe Tabor let go because he was worried he’d be caught. At the time, he still played the role of innocent consultant to McClintock,” I mused, uncertain what the man’s motives were back then. “Nickoli patched me up and insisted on training me to fight after that.”
A flurry of emotions flickered across Xander’s face before a frown twisted his lips. “I suppose I owe him.”
My mouth twitched at his reluctant admission. “You do. The wounds were superficial cuts and scrapes. We don’t think his intention was to kill. That came later.”
Xander’s gaze flicked to where my gown covered the scarred shoulder I showed him earlier. “When he stabbed you?”
I tugged at the bodice of my dress. “He … he actually stabbed me twice.”
“What do you mean, twice?” He leapt from the bed, a man unable to contain his fury. “Where else did he hurt you?”
He paced the floor maniacally and I steadied my voice in hopes of soothing him. “Xander, it doesn’t matter. You should have seen what I did to him. Nickoli’s training came in handy.”
My attempt to lighten the mood failed. His breath hitched as his hands formed fists again. “Skye.”
Sliding off the bed, I touched his forearm. “I’m fine. I survived.”
The muscles beneath my fingers flinched as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared me down. “Show me,” he said with a no-nonsense scowl.
Did my reassurances mean nothing?
Arguing was futile, he would get his way. Eventually. “It was a scratch,” I reassured and lifted my skirt.
“Just a scratch, huh?” He huffed and nudged me to the edge of the bed. My skin warmed as his hands hovered over the healed wound scarring my calf. Xander’s face was a mixed bag of emotions. “How deep was it? You don’t have a limp, so I assume it doesn’t pain you to walk?”
“Not nearly as much as it pains me to look at it,” I replied lightly. “Bathing suit season is officially ruined.” I grimaced at the bright red mark. The scar would forever adorn my leg, an angry reminder of this life.
“I’m finding it hard to see the humor in this,” he warned with a black look.
“It doesn’t hurt any—”
Nickoli’s voice, mixed with those of my guards, cut me off as my door opened without warning. “Skye, I can’t—”
Nickoli hesitated in the open doorway as his gaze took in the innocent, but compromising, position of Xander kneeling before me on one knee with my skirts hiked to the top of my thighs.
My pulse leapt when hurt green eyes met mine. I wiggled out of Xander’s touch and pushed my skirts down.
Xander straightened and threw a glare at the doorway where Nickoli stood with two red-faced guards. “Do you have a habit of letting yourself into the Queen’s room without permission?” he asked, his tone scarily controlled.
The air thickened with hostility as green eyes clashed with blue.
“Not that it concerns you, but, yes, I do.” Nickoli’s voice was as equally controlled as my Guardian’s. His light brows arched in disdain and I steeled myself. The Prince I met in Sheridan had returned.
“You son of a—” Xander launched toward the doorway.
“Whoa!” I lunged for his tunic. “Xander, stop!”
“Does the truth hurt, Guardian?”
“Nickoli!” I choked, furious at his innuendo, as my grip tightened on Xander.
Anticipation wreathed the guards’ faces. Had they placed bets on this happening? No doubt the entire castle foamed at the mouth as they waited for an altercation between the two men pledged to protect me. Disgusted, I waved the guards—Barda and Thomas—from the room before they witnessed anything worth sharing with the rest of Montibello.
Xander jerked free of my grasp and stalked forward. “Not as much as my fist will hurt,” he said in a dangerously low voice. Angry red splotched his cheeks as his gaze locked on Nickoli.
I rushed to the rescue again. “Do not even think about hitting him,” I warned, hooking my hand around Xander’s bicep. His muscles tensed beneath my fingers.
“That is a command!” I added for good measure, terrified of the ferocity in both their eyes.
Nickoli dared a chuckle as Xander’s fist dissolved. His smug grin made me long to slap him. I hated this version of him, the Prince, this caricature of the real man I’d come to know since arriving at Montibello.
“You”—I wagged a finger at Nickoli—“Stop it. Do I not have enough to deal with without the two of you acting like silly schoolboys?”
Nickoli’s forehead wrinkled, my reference undoubtedly going over his head, but I was too worked up to clarify. Xander slipped into the role of a soldier at ease, relaxing his arms at his sides, though unleashed malice remained on his face.
Keeping his scowl firmly planted on Xander, Nickoli asked, “Why is he in here?”
Xander didn’t hesitate to reply. “I don’t know how you two did things before, but let me assure you Skye, as the Queen, does not answer to you, nor does she have to explain herself. What we do behind closed doors is no one’s concern but our own.”
My neck turned hot. Xander’s cryptic explanation was infinitely more incriminating than the scene Nickoli witnessed, and Nickoli shook his head, letting it be known.
“The Queen’s reputation is most certainly the concern of everyone in Tyalbrook, Guardian. I would have thought you were aware of that.”
I was torn between mortification and anger. This petty game they played was about them, not me.
“Nothing happened.”
Nickoli returned his attention to me, his brow arched in an unspoken question, but again Xander interceded.
“Was her reputation your concern when you were sleeping in her room?” Xander’s words dripped with disdain.
My gut dropped as I pressed my palm to my stomach. Was he guessing or did he know Nickoli stayed in my room? The cot against the wall offered itself as proof that someone had shared my room. Only, Nickoli hadn’t used the cot in weeks. He’d relocated to my bed after the news came of Xander’s death. For the most part, it was platonic. Nickoli’s way of comforting me when nothing else would. Would Xander see it that way? Burning acid seared my throat.
“Xander, please?” My fingertips touched his forearm tentatively and his shuttered gaze turned to me. I studied his granite features, beseeching him to hold his tongue. With a biting glare at Nickoli, he moved toward the window and dismissed us both.
Relieved, I addressed Nickoli directly. “Did you need me?”
Unlike my Guardian’s stone emotions, Nickoli couldn’t mask the torment seeing me with Xander caused him. He’d exuded indifference when he first entered the room, but with Xander’s back turned, the effects of my perceived betrayal marred his normally warm features.
“I came to check on you,” he said in a low voice. “You did not appear for supper, nor did you send word.”
His gaze touched on Xander’s back before he continued. “Cillian returned with his search party. There was no sign of Manda. I assumed you would want to know, but clearly you have other things to occupy your mind. Pardon my interruption, Your Majesty.” My mouth went dry as he executed a curt bow and he took his leave.
His implication stung. “Nick!” I called after his stiff back, but no other words followed. He didn’t stop, but only stood taller and continued out the door.
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples. The mess I’d created pounded within my head. How could he think I didn’t care about Amandalyn? About what was happening? Sighing through my nose, I opened my eyes and found the same betrayal Nickoli wore staring back at me in Xander’s eyes.
“Nick?” Xander asked with dead calm and I winced at my mistake. “It’s late. You should get some sleep. I’ll check in with Cillian.”
Xander was exhausted, defeated in a way I could never understand, yet he squeezed my arm as he passed by, as though his touch could infuse me with what little strength remained within him.
“I’ll go with you,” I offered.
“No.”
His firm denial chipped at my sanity. “No? She’s my friend. I’m worried about her.”
The blank slate remained intact as he stared at me. “You will remain here. Am I clear? I can deal with security issues and finding your friend. I want you to stay put.”
Stay put? Like a dog waiting for her master’s orders? I rolled my shoulders back. He should know better. “Funny, I thought I was in charge here. Did you not tell Nickoli that I didn’t have to answer to anyone, that I could—”
Xander’s entire countenance changed before he drawled my name in frustration. “Skye.” His jaw tightened as he swiped his palms over his tired eyes. “Please don’t argue. Let me deal with things tonight, without worrying about you.”
Worrying about me? I’d assumed his request was a form of punishment due to Nickoli. I should have known his concern was for my safety, as it always had been.
“Fine, I’ll remain here.” I agreed and his shoulders relaxed. “For now.”
“Do I dare ask you to explain that?” His shadowed gaze held my weary one.
I didn’t want to argue, but I was no longer the scared girl who’d entered Tyalbrook with him months ago. He needed to see I’d changed.
“I plan on having Cillian personally answer my questions tomorrow. We will find her, Xander.” I tilted my chin, daring him to deny it, though the promise was for my benefit more than his. I could not fail her.
“Of course we will.” He agreed before he bade me goodnight and shut the door behind him.
My blood ran cold. There was little conviction in his words. Tabor and McClintock hid my mother away for fifteen years. Was Amandalyn destined for the same fate?
Could I dare stand around and wait to find out?