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teeth. Forced herself to work past the scent of
Cairn’s blood. What it did to her. Her magic
thrashed, howling.
And she made herself say to him, to her
prince who smelled of home, “Is he alive?”
Cold rage flickered across Rowan’s eyes.
“No.”
Dead. Cairn was dead. The tautness in her
body eased—just slightly. Her flame, too,
banked. “How?”
No remorse dimmed his face. “You once
told me at Mistward that if I ever took a whip
to you, then you’d skin me alive.” His eyes
didn’t stray from hers as he said with lethal
quiet, “I took it upon myself to bestow that
fate on Cairn on your behalf. And when I was
done, I took the liberty of removing his head
from his body, then burning what remained.”
A pause, a ripple of doubt. “I’m sorry I didn’t
give you the chance to do it yourself.”