Forbidden Warrior (Midsummer Knights)

Her father laughed.

But his words solidified the sensation she’d had a moment ago, the joy of saying exactly what she thought. Doing precisely as she wished.

It was sad, having so recently discovered the experience, she was now going to leave it behind.

She had no choice.

Or rather, she did have a choice. And she would make the honorable one.

If she went with Máel, they would hunt him down. There would be no reason not to. Her father’s men would attack with overwhelming force, encircling Máel, forcing him to give up everything that mattered to him.

T

he only way to save him was to leave him.

She stepped over the sword. It was raining harder now, which was good, for it mixed with the tears filling her eyes, disguising them.

Máel stepped with her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Rain poured off his hood. The arrow was still pointed at her father’s chest.

“If anything, ever, happens to Cassia,” Máel said to her father in a low voice,“I will come for you. I will hunt you down. And I will kill you.”

“Run,” she whispered vehemently. “The moment I am with him, you are in danger.”

He jerked his gaze to her, his eyes more furious than she’d ever seen. Then he moved.

With a few leaping steps, he disappeared back up the hillside, gone in the woods.

The word was like a hammer in her heart.

Gone.

Chapter 30

The rains lasted the whole ride back to Rose Citadel, Cassia ensconced in a horde of Ware soldiers and her silent father. They did not speak.

They did not speak during the ride. They did not speak when they arrived at the keep as night fell. They said nothing as they entered the castle. Nothing as they strode through the revelers in the great hall—the music and dancing would last far into the night—nothing as they climbed the stairs to her room.

She sat on the bed, the room fairly rocking in its stillness, while her father paced, then inhaled a deep breath and looked at her.

“Let us put all this behind us,” he said in his best diplomatic voice.

Ah. So he’d decided which route offered the best chance of success: a lie. Then shape the world around the lie. The bigger the lie, the more chance it would be believed.

Loyal king’s man.

Devoted father.

Noble man.

“Yes, let us,” she agreed dully, staring at the whittled carving in her hand, the one Máel had given her.

He gave a curt nod. “Very good. Well then…” He cleared his throat and started to walk out, then saw the carving in her hand.

He stopped short. “What is that?”