Jennifer Armintrout - Queene Of Light

Sinking to her knees beside the table, she viewed the fare uneasily. “Garret, what is this about?”

“I have had a wonderful day, Ayla.” Instead of sitting across the table from her, Garret took a seat beside her, almost too close.

She inched away a bit, tearing off a chunk of bread to focus her attention on instead of Garret’s unusual nearness. “A good day? Then you must have heard better news than I gave you this morning.”

She chanced a look at his face then, and saw a shadow flicker across it. But he smiled, a bit forced, and held out one of the berries for her. “I must talk to Cedric about that, still. But you and I have much more pleasant business to discuss tonight. My sister, the Queene, has granted my petition.”

“Your petition?” She opened her mouth and let him slip the berry inside.

“Yes. I asked her permission to make you my mate.”

Her breath hitched. She choked on the berry.

Garret slapped her back until her spasms passed, and gave a dry chuckle. “That was not the reaction I had hoped for.”

“I am sorry.” Ayla fumbled for a cup on the table and sucked down the honeyed wine within. “You surprised me.”

“It should not come as so great a surprise, Ayla. You have known for some time how much I’ve wanted you.” His words ended on a desperate whisper, raw and a little frightening.

Ayla looked away from the intensity on his face, the pleading in his words. There had to be a way to remove herself from the situation with grace. But when she opened her mouth, the words, “But why?” came out, and she felt the current in the air change. She glanced up at him, at the antennae laying against his hair, fluttering in irritation. He could put on all the charm in the world now, and she would know it false. She had angered him.

The beginnings of many tentative smiles twitched his mouth as he tried to find sincerity. “There are many women at Court who would throw themselves on such a change, Ayla. To be mated to the Queene’s brother…it could one day mean a throne.”

It could, if the Queene were to die. And among their mortal race, death occurred only in battle. Or assassination. She pushed the evil thought aside. What she needed was time to think, to weigh the benefits against the risks in this battle. “I do not mean to offend. You’ve taken me by surprise.”

His demeanor softened in earnest then, and he rubbed a comforting—at least, it was meant to be comforting—hand down her arm. “What have I been thinking? Here you are, worried about your position in the Guild with your recent transgression looming over your head, and I make you a silly offer, thinking only of myself.”

Ayla swallowed. Had she been unsettled by the consequences of her experience with the Darkling, or by the experience itself?

Garret rambled on. “Only, think of what this means. Ayla, if you were my mate, you wouldn’t need to worry about your future in the Guild.” He paused to let the point sink in. “Your future would be secure.”

So, he was not above playing his wealth and status as an incentive. And why should he be? Ayla had lived at Court long enough to know that wealth purchased many opportunities. Were she to ally herself with Garret, despite her lack of passion for him, she would purchase a life away from the barracks, more leniency within the Guild. Perhaps, even greater favor with the Queene, though Garret already said his sister held her in high esteem. All of these things would make her way easier. Why choose the difficult road, when a clear path lay before her?

Garret pushed her braid from her shoulder, brushing elegant fingers across her skin. She shuddered, and hoped he would mistake it for more than it was. He did not disgust her, but he made her uneasy. It was not a thing she would overcome quickly. Guild training had taught her to disguise her emotions in battle, and she called on it now as he pressed his lips to her neck.

“Say yes,” he murmured against her skin, tracing the line of her Guild tattoo with his tongue. The pattern burned into her memory under his hot, wet mouth. She would never again need a mirror to recall what the mark looked like. “Say yes,” he urged, and his palm curved over the top of her thigh, stroking upward as though nothing separated his flesh from hers. Her body, not aware of the emotional distance between them, urged her closer, craving more touch to feed the aftershocks of touches already received.

Her rational mind broke in with a jolt of memory. The rolled parchment clutched in Garret’s hand. “I thought you were inviting me here to discuss my next assignment.”

He went still at her side and pulled back, his face serene, but his antennae betraying his agitation with a florid display. “Yes, well, had I not spoken with my sister on your account, there might not have been another assignment.”

As he rose, Ayla scooted around to watch him stalk to the chest at the end of his bed. In the Astral, Faeries had slept on mossy banks or in the crooks of trees. At least, that was what the stories spoke of. At the Guild, Ayla slept on dank blankets piled atop a wooden plank bunk. Garret had a real mattress, imported from the surface, with funny metal coils that made the whole contraption shift and bounce. That kind of comfort was hard to come by, and Ayla added it to her list of reasons to accept Garret’s proposal. But she did not answer him now, while he still silently fumed with agitation. “Was the Queene very upset with me?”

“More than you know,” he replied, but it seemed more for himself than for her. “I must meet with her again tomorrow morning. That will give us the night, if you’ll have it, and you’ll be able to set out on this in the morning.”

She took the parchment from him and unrolled it, though it did her no good. “What does it say?”

“It comes straight from Mabb’s hand. She requires the deaths of five Demons. It seems there has been some…encroaching of the Demon population on locations in the Lightworld, at the Southern borders where the Strip does not separate us from the Darkworld. She wants to send a message to the Demon king.” He paused. “If you’d rather not take the assignment…”

Not take the assignment! An assignment from Mabb’s own hand was a higher honor than Ayla had ever received.

“I’ll have a messenger bring over your things in the morning,” Garret continued. “We can sleep a bit late, perhaps visit Sanctuary. It would be appropriate, to begin our life together there.”

She forced herself not to cringe at his words. Instead she smiled. “I would not wish to keep Her Majesty waiting.”

He nodded. “Her Majesty. It is a post you might one day hold, Ayla. If you would accept me.”

“It would be far in the future, if the day even came. You know as well as I do that your sister is immortal. And to speak of her death, even in speculation, is treason.” Ayla looked furtively over her shoulder, as if one of the Queene’s spies would jump from the trunk at the foot of Garret’s bed and drag her to the dungeons.

Or perhaps Garret was one of Mabb’s spies, trying to trick her? No, that was ridiculous. Garret had never given her any cause to doubt his loyalty. Living at Court had allowed the seed of suspicion to grow into a sinister garden in her, and she cursed it.

Garret’s palm closed over the back of her neck, his tongue snaked over her earlobe. She pulled away. To distract herself from the throbbing in her veins, she congratulated herself on her foresight in bringing a weapon. She could start off for the Darkworld immediately.

“Ayla, I wish you would not go,” Garret tried, but he broke off, helplessly indulgent. It was a practiced expression, Ayla was sure, but it did not annoy her. So many at Court perfected their mannerisms in that way, and it was often difficult to drop them when outside of the Palace walls.