But it does make sense, my wolf said. It’s a good question.
I mean, yeah, logically it makes sense, but when he’s in a temper, he hates listening to random shit with no relevance. It usually gets his rage up. That’s a good one to use for annoying him. I have to hang on to it.
I slowed the horse near the stables as the master was pulling his leg from across the stallion.
“Sir, no. Wait.” I swung my foot over Bella’s back and hopped off while still moving, hitting the ground too fast and stumbling forward. I didn’t fall, though. Ol’ Hadriel still had it. “Sir, wait. No, you can’t do that.”
I caught up with him as he made his way across the brittle grass to the castle. Everything in me wanted to grab his arm and pull him around to face me, but I knew that would get me bodily tossed across the grass. I didn’t much feel like going flying. So I half jogged to match his long-legged stride.
“Sir, all due respect, and usually you are a rock of sense, but your batshit crazy idea would undermine everything she has gone through.”
“She isn’t as strong as when she went,” he bit out, taking the steps two at a time. “She’s weaker. She needs more of my power to sustain her. She is hungry all the time—they are starving her. Not letting her get enough rest. She’s wilting.”
It felt like a hole had opened up in my chest and consumed me. I hadn’t known that about Finley. He hadn’t spoken of it.
“This is my battle, not hers,” he continued, his voice hard and rough, filled with rage. “I will not let her fight it anymore. It is my pain to bear, and I will trade myself for her. She will understand in time.”
“But sire…” I huffed and panted, trying to keep up with him. “Roses don’t wilt, sire.” I sucked in a breath and grabbed the door to keep it from closing in my face after he went through. “I mean, the bush doesn’t. The flowers do, but those are just bee food. The actual plant gets brittle and shitty looking, but it holds up. It weathers the storm. And then, when you least expect it, those fuckers get three drops of water and come back to life and grow wild again.”
“Roses do wilt. They do die. My mother was proof.” He turned left toward the stairs.
“Your mother didn’t have any support. She had a fuckstain of a husband who made her life hell and a son who was suffering. It was draining the life out of her. When you got out, she stopped fighting. She went to her room one night and that was it. She gave in. Finley is not in the same situation. She has a mate who would die for her. She is in hell, but she knows you have her back. So she will not wilt. She will not die. She’ll go straggly and ugly and maybe all fucked up, but at the first drops of water, that bitch will grow wild, just you wait. She’ll fuck up any garden the demon king has cultivated. I mean, I’m really running with this metaphor, but mark my words. She will make it back to us. If anyone could escape her cage, Finley can. That woman breathed life into this ruined kingdom.”
He stopped outside of his door, his back straight and broad but his shoulders hunching just a little. I paused behind him, not sure where this was going. This was all new territory. I’d done a few pep talks, sure, but never this impassioned.
Then again, he’d never mentioned trading himself before.
“I’ll give her two more months. If she’s not back by then, I will summon the demon king and take control of the situation.”
“Four more,” I said, not sure any of us could last four more months of this torment. Actually, Finley probably could. She was stronger than all of us. “Give her four more months. She’ll make something happen by then, I know she will. She just needs time. I can feel it.”
He turned his head a little, as though he might look back. “Three. Three more months. That’s it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, beg, or maybe just cry, who fucking knew anymore, but he crossed the threshold and slammed the door in my face.
“Fuck.” I turned and started jogging down the corridor. “Wait, why am I jogging? I’m not the one on a timeline. Where the fuck am I even going?”
I slowed as the master’s valet walked down the hallway, chest puffed out, back straight, exuding an air of arrogant importance. He wore a tailored suit with a white waistcoat and white bow tie, old-school style. He was the prince’s original valet, and the only reason he hadn’t been killed or kidnapped was because he hid within the castle or the wood every night to keep an incredibly low profile. I admired the brass balls on the guy.