Book 4 - Page 107 (1/2)

But there was already someone in Lorcan’s face, blocking the warrior’s path into the queen’s bedchamber. Lysandra.

“May I help you?” the courtesan had said sweetly. Her dress was in shreds, and blood both black and red coated most of her, but she held her head high and her back straight. She’d made it as far as the upper levels of the stone castle before the gla.s.s one above it had exploded. And showed no plans of leaving anytime soon.

Rowan had thrown a s.h.i.+eld of hard air around Aelin’s room as Lorcan stared down at Lysandra, his blood-splattered face impa.s.sive. “Out of my way, s.h.i.+fter.”

Lysandra had held up a slender hand—and Lorcan paused. The shape-s.h.i.+fter pressed her other hand against her stomach, her face blanching. But then she smiled and said, “You forgot to say ‘please.’”

Lorcan’s dark brows flattened. “I don’t have time for this.” He made to step around her, shove her aside.

Lysandra vomited black blood all over him.

Rowan didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe as Lysandra, panting, gaped at Lorcan, and at the blood on his neck and chest. Slowly, too slowly, Lorcan looked down at himself.

She pressed a hand over her mouth. “I am—so sorry—”

Lorcan didn’t even step out of the way as Lysandra vomited on him again, black blood and bits of gore now on the warrior and on the marble floor.

Lorcan’s dark eyes flickered.

Rowan decided to do them both a favor and joined them in the antechamber, shutting the queen’s bedroom door behind him as he stepped around the puddle of blood, bile, and gore.

Lysandra gagged again, and wisely darted to what looked to be a bathing room off the foyer.

All of the men and demons she’d wasted, it seemed, did not sit well in her human stomach. The sounds of her purging leaked out from beneath the bathing room door.

“You deserved that,” Rowan said.

Lorcan didn’t so much as blink. “That’s the thanks I get?”

Rowan leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and keeping the weight off his now-healing leg. “You knew we’d try to use those tunnels,” Rowan said, “and yet you lied about the Wyrdhounds being dead. I should rip out your G.o.ds-d.a.m.ned throat.”

“Go ahead. Try.”

Rowan remained against the door, calculating every move of his former commander. A fight right here, right now would be too destructive, and too dangerous with his queen unconscious in the room behind him. “I wouldn’t have given a s.h.i.+t about it if it had just been me. But when you let me walk into that trap, you endangered my queen’s life—”

“Looks like she did just fine—”

“—and the life of a brother in my court.”

Lorcan’s mouth tightened—barely.

“That’s why you came to help, isn’t it?” Rowan said. “You saw Aedion when we left the apartment.”

“I did not know Gavriel’s son would be in that tunnel with you. Until it was too late.”

Of course, Lorcan would never have warned them about the trap after learning Aedion would be there. Not in a thousand years would Lorcan ever admit to a mistake.

“I wasn’t aware that you even cared.”

“Gavriel is still my brother,” Lorcan said, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng. “I would have faced him with dishonor if I had let his son die.”

Only for honor, for the blood bond between them—not for saving this continent. The same twisted bond was leading him now to destroy the keys before Maeve could acquire them. Rowan had no doubt that Lorcan meant to do it, even if Maeve killed him for it later.

“What are you doing here, Lorcan? Didn’t you get what you wanted?”

A fair question—and a warning. The male was now inside his queen’s suite, closer than most people in her court would ever get. Rowan began a silent countdown in his head. Thirty seconds seemed generous. Then he would throw Lorcan out on his a.s.s.

“It’s not over,” the warrior said. “Not even close.”

Rowan lifted his brows. “Idle threats?” But Lorcan had only shrugged and walked out, covered in Lysandra’s vomit, and did not look back before disappearing down the hall.