Merrilyn picks up her cup and sips her tea, clearly settled in for a continued chat, and I’m a little discombobulated by her audacity. On the flip side, I also find myself curious about her too. What type of woman had Bastien’s interest while I was gone? I certainly can’t be mad at him when he felt nothing for me. There was no reason to expect him to remain celibate. I guess I’m just surprised he’d be with someone who thought it okay to come into my home and throw the relationship in my face. Bastien is not a cruel man and would never abide cruel people.
“Excuse me,” I murmur and push up from my chair to move to the door.
When I open it, I’m surprised to see Archer. I haven’t seen him in weeks as he’s been off recruiting fighters outside the royal families. “Archer,” I exclaim, throwing my arms around his neck. “You’re back.”
“Just arrived and thought I’d come see you. News has been scarce to come by, and I wanted to know how it went with your visit to Heph.”
I pull him inside and shut the door, having completely forgotten I’ve got a guest. When I turn around and see Merrilyn there, I freeze at the awkwardness.
“Um, Archer… this is Merrilyn.”
“I know exactly who she is,” he replies softly, giving me a very meaningful look as he dips his head to murmur, “And I wouldn’t be sharing tea with her if I were you.”
My gaze snaps to the cup I’d yet to sip from. She’d handed me a separate packet from what she’s drinking.
Would she dare poison me?
I move to the table, gathering up her cup and mine. I take them into the kitchen, keeping my tone light. “I hope this doesn’t seem rude, Merrilyn, but I really need to catch up with my cousin on important matters of state, so we’re going to have to cut our tea party short.”
She stands and smooths her skirt. Eyes darting to the teacups I’d set on the wooden counter, then back to me, she smiles. “Perhaps we can get together again soon.”
Archer stands behind Merrilyn, watching intently.
“Maybe,” I say with a tight smile. “But thank you again for the tea.”
“You should drink that,” she says, tipping her head toward the cup. “It will make you feel better.”
My stomach tightens… perhaps in warning, but something pulls at me that feels insidiously dark. Almost like the feeling I get from the spell book, but more intense.
I think Archer feels it, too, as he takes a step toward Merrilyn, approaching from her rear. She doesn’t sense him, her eyes glued to mine, and she doesn’t even try to hide her dislike of me. I see it as well as jealousy… consuming her.
Archer moves another step, and I relax. He’ll insist she leave, and then I’ll need to talk to Bastien about keeping his psycho ex-girlfriend away from me.
With Archer looming behind her, Merrilyn finally must sense him as she tenses and starts to turn.
I frown as Archer pulls a knife from a sheath at his hip, the sharp edge winking in the sunlight coming through the window. It happens quickly, and yet also feels like it takes a million years but I have no power to stop it.
Archer takes one more step toward Merrilyn and before she can face him fully, he fists his hand into her curly hair, jerks her head back hard and drives the knife deep into the side of her neck.
I stagger in horror as Merrilyn’s eyes go round with surprise. Her mouth opens and closes like a gasping fish, and she reaches a shaky hand out to me for help.
Gripping the edge of a chair to steady my shaking legs, I’m revolted when Archer pulls the knife out and a stream of blood sprays the wall.
Merrilyn’s eyes roll into the back of her head, and she starts to sag to the ground, but Archer holds her up as he slides the bloody knife back into the sheath. With his hand free, he cups it under the wound in her throat to capture her life force as it drains.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, taking another step back.
Lifting his gaze to mine, Archer smiles, and within it I see a stranger. His mouth twists in a deranged sneer as he lets Merrilyn fall to the floor.
He moves toward me, and the dark feeling I’d thought was coming from Merrilyn intensifies. Treachery radiates from Archer, and my stomach pitches as if riding turbulent seas in a dinghy.
Rattling off words under his breath that I cannot hear completely, he rubs his hands together, smearing the red blood over and in between his fingers as the excess drips off. Frozen in fear and partial fascination, I watch as inky tendrils of smoke slither out from his fingertips to hover for a moment before shooting toward me at a speed far greater than I can outmaneuver. I try to throw up a shield, my magic clumsy and inefficient from my confusion over what in the hell is happening, but the ribbons of darkness wrap around me.