Page 203 of Dare
Under the cloak, her pupils flickered to me and gleamed. Walking backward, she shrugged one shoulder. “Much obliged, Winter King.”
So indeed, she was leaving the premises. “You need a carriage.”
“Actually, I’ve never needed much.” Sauntering away and raising both arms in a what-can-I say gesture, she bullshitted, “I’m secretly a vampire who shapeshifts into a bat. No one will bother me in my dark form. How else do you think I completed missions for the Masters?”
“Rather tough to carry an axe that way.”
“The axe shifts too,” she called over her shoulder, not missing a beat.
I watched Aspen vanish down the lawn. She was hiding something. But whether it was related to Aire’s undisclosed sensory perception wasn’t clear.
Boots cut through the grass, the swagger familiar. I restrained a hiss as Poet materialized, his hands buried in the pockets of his leather pants.
Halting at my side, the jester’s silken voice inquired, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I scoffed. “Is it possible for us to share the same thought?”
Considering Aspen’s penchant for disappearing acts, Poet must have noted her absence.
Staring into the distance, he murmured, “Everyone has their secrets.”
And not every secret was nefarious. Likely, Aire had foreseen some manner of doomed fate for the girl. All the more reason for him to look out for her.
Though, Poet grasped something else about Aspen. “Broken hearts. Faults and fools.”
“It is a crush,” I dismissed. “She will recover.”
“Did you, sweeting?”
“Fuck off. What I feel toward Flare is not a passing fancy.”
“In which case, anything’s possible.”
I grunted. Fair enough.
Candles pulsed from the castle, with its brown masonry and shutters. For several minutes, Poet and I studied the landscape beyond. The Wandering Fields shivered, their pathways capable of leading intruders astray for an eternity, swallowing them whole until delirium and death came knocking. An effective yet macabre form of natural defense, especially for Autumn.
“Anything is possible,” Poet repeated. “Including whatever else you think Rhys is hiding.”
I almost respected the man’s shrewdness. Because we consulted each other before anyone else, I had spoken to Flare about this first. As for the clan at-large, I’d been pacing myself, waiting to be certain. Yet I had forgotten not to discount this jester and his resourceful wife. Likely, Briar suspected the truth behind my silence as well.
Not for the first time, I thought back to that day in Summer, when I’d met with Rhys in his throne room, and he’d emphasized a point that shouldn’t have needed emphasizing.
I have no other spawn.
In the rainforest, I’d neglected to share this comment with the clan because I hadn’t taken it seriously. The recollection had only prompted me to vocalize the broader notion of Rhys’s penchant for keeping secrets. But lately, I’d been thinking better of this.
“An heir,” I said.
Poet’s head whipped in my direction. “You mean, his son.”
Shaking my head, I drew out, “Not that one.”
A beat of silence followed. “That’s … not what Briar and I saw coming. You’re saying he has an illegitimate kid.”
“I’m not saying. I’m speculating.” I turned to face him, my fur collar scraping against my jaw. “If so, he doesn’t want the world to know about them. The enigma is why.”
It could be fear of his wife’s retribution, because perhaps Giselle didn’t know about the man’s infidelity. It could also be his pride for maintaining an untainted dynasty.