Gilded Serpent Danielle Jensen (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

The mimic fell silent, and Lydia asked, “If you could go back, if they’d accept your story, would you?”

“I don’t know.” Rising to his feet, he moved to add more wood to the perimeter, then came back to sit across from her. “Most of my life I’ve been doing what I’ve been told because the alternative is death. By noose. By Rufina’s mark. If I had a choice, it might be to walk a different path.”

“You’ve always had a choice, Agrippa.” A young woman’s voice filled the air, speaking in Cel but with a heavy Bardenese accent. “And you’ve always chosen to be the villain.”

As Lydia watched, Agrippa’s face twisted with grief, and he reached up to press his hands against his ears. “Go to sleep, Gertrude,” he said. “She’s going to berate me for the rest of the night.”

Lying back down, she curled up against Killian’s warmth. He stirred, pulling her closer. “Sleep, love.”

Her heart caught in her throat, but instead of heeding him, she lay awake for a long time listening to the mimic whisper in the Bardenese woman’s voice. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep were tears trickling down Agrippa’s face.

 83KILLIAN

Killian had slept heavily, barely stirring until Baird shook his shoulder in the wee hours of the morning, muttering, “Keep the fires burning and don’t let anyone leave the perimeter,” before flopping back on his bedroll, snoring within minutes.

The last thing Killian wanted to do was move.

Lydia was wrapped in his arms, her backside tight against his stomach and her hand gripping his where it was pressed between the soft curve of her breasts. Her head was tucked under his chin, the clean scent of her hair filling his nose. He could feel the soft throb of her heartbeat, and though he knew he should get up, should check the fires, instead he focused on the rhythmic beat.

What he wouldn’t give for her face to be the last thing he saw every night and the first thing every morning. To be the first thing she saw every morning.

Lifting up on his elbow, he regarded her in the glow of the fires. Her spectacles were clutched in her free hand, and without them, she seemed younger. The lashes framing her eyes were inky against her ivory skin, and her pale pink lips were slightly parted, her breathing steady. She’d always been slim, but the recent weeks had taken their toll, her cheeks hollowed and the skin beneath her eyes darkened by shadows. Exhausted, and yet she pushed forward. Not because she had anything to gain from this venture, but because she’d do whatever it took to save their people.

Gods, but he loved her. Wanted her more than breath. More than life. But she’d never be his.

Because he could never be hers, no matter how much he wished otherwise. He’d sworn an oath to Malahi to stand by her, to protect her, to be her champion, and he’d failed miserably on all counts. He owed his queen more than just fighting to get her free—he owed her his fidelity.

She might already be dead. You might be pushing Lydia away for nothing.

Shoving away the thought, Killian carefully disentangled himself from Lydia, murmuring that all was well when she stirred, then tucked the blankets around her. Other than the crackle of flames, the only sound was the weeping of the pair of mimics lurking outside the perimeter. The rest of the travelers still slept within the makeshift tent, a quick glance inside revealing that all of them had scarves wrapped around their heads to ward off the noises.

Adding a few logs to the fires, Killian extracted one of his knives and a whetstone, working it over the edge. His gaze flicked to where Agrippa slept, one hand gripping the hilt of his weapon, his brow furrowed. Killian still hadn’t decided what he was going to do about him. Agrippa was integral to Rufina’s plans for the future—killing him would damage those plans. Except he found himself recoiling from the thought of stabbing Agrippa in the back. Even stabbing him in the front had little appeal.

“Why?” Lydia’s voice cut the air, making him jump. “You’ve never shown any compunction against killing men before.”

His gaze jerked to where she lay, but her eyes were closed.

The mimic.

“You’re supposed to protect people,” it said in Lydia’s voice, her tone cool. “But the whole cursed kingdom knows you’re a failure at that. The only thing you’re good for is killing.”

Though he knew it wasn’t her, Killian still flinched. Not only because of the words, but the fact that these creatures could obviously see inside his head. Which meant they knew who he was. All it would take was one of them calling him by name and someone overhearing, and he’d have a fight on his hands.

“How fortunate that you like to fight so much.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, cutting and cruel. “But at least I know you’ll put my life first—you always do. Never mind that that’s what got us in this predicament in the first place.”

Scowling, he rose to his feet, shoving the whetstone into his pocket and sheathing his knife. Retrieving his bow and an arrow, he stalked toward the ring of fire, searching the darkness for the cursed creature.

It fell silent.

“Start up that yammering again and we’ll find out how you like an arrow between the eyes, you little bastard!” he snarled softly, searching for signs of motion.

“I don’t know why you are even here.” Malahi’s voice came from the far side of camp, and Killian whirled, lifting his bow.

“You never bothered making me a priority before,” Malahi continued, her voice moving through the trees. “There was always something else that mattered more: First the children in the sewers. Then her.”

“That’s not true,” he whispered, then cursed himself for answering the creature. For allowing it to know it was getting to him.

“Isn’t it?” Malahi’s laugh was bitter. “You swore yourself to me. You agreed to marry me. But