The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Herne turned back to Dubheasa. “But I’m afraid I must insist that Marian remain here. She is my subject, and it is my belief that it is in her best interest to remain with me until I can assess the damage that’s been done to her during her time with…the humans.” It was obvious from the deliberate pause that “humans” hadn’t been what he meant. “I apologize if your time has been wasted.”

  Dubheasa twirled her spear between her fingertips, catching the lights with the polished tip. “My dear man, I have no intention of taking your subject from you. Marian is a member of your court, and as such, you are perfectly within your rights to demand she stay here.” She raised her free hand, pointed a slender white finger at Herne. “Never let it be said that I meddle in affairs that aren’t my own.”

  Herne opened his mouth, then seemed to reconsider. “I am pleased we understand one another.”

  “Perfectly. Though, with your permission, of course, I would like to share a few words with the woman who has so completely enthralled my foster son?”

  That shining black-eyed stare turned to Marian then. It was disturbingly similar to Herne’s gaze, though there was a unique element to the queen’s stare that suggested if you looked into her eyes for too long, you might fall in and be lost. It was unnerving and Marian redirected her gaze to Herne.

  Her king’s eyes were narrowed, the tightening of the muscles around his mouth and eyes saying that he knew the queen was up to something, and was just trying to figure out if he could call her on it without starting a political war. For a moment, Marian swore he would say no. She bristled at the thought that he might think he had any right to determine whom she could and could not speak to. She’d gone so far as to open her mouth when Dubheasa met her eyes. There was a warning there, a clear, concise statement that spoke without words—shut up.

  “You will share words only.”

  His voice wasn’t happy. Marian’s heart leapt. Whatever the queen was up to, it seemed she would get her chance.

  Dubheasa inclined her head, the picture of respect. “Of course.”

  Herne brushed a hand over his side as if touching an imaginary dagger. His hand clenched and unclenched, a reflection of his desire for a more simple way out of this conversation. Finally he sighed. “Very well. But if you would be quick, I would be most grateful. Our dinner is getting cold.” He shot an irritated look at Marian. “Again.”

  “I will be but a moment.” Dubheasa lifted a hand, beckoned to Marian as if urging a butterfly to alight on her hand.

  Marian hesitated for just a second. Stories of the Unseelie Queen were as frightening as those of the Wild Hunt. The only reason not to fear her right now was the fact that Herne posed a greater risk to her personally. A hand settled on her back. She looked up to see Robin smiling at her. He took her hand and gestured with his chin. Just like that, the unease slid away and she smiled back, letting him lead her to the Queen of Air and Darkness. Herne watched with blatant disapproval as she approached the queen, Robin’s hand in hers.

  “Would you give your life for my foster son?” Dubheasa asked.

  The starkness of the question sent Marian’s eyebrows into her hairline, the reassurance of Robin’s hand in hers the only thing keeping her from reaching behind her for an arrow. She forced herself to hold still, to think. The queen waited patiently for her answer, as though she’d asked if she liked sugar in her tea. Despite the question, there didn’t seem to be any malice in the sidhe. Once she got past the shock of the question, the answer came easily. She’d been thinking about it since the moment she’d been forced to leave Robin behind, forced to face the likelihood of his death. “Yes.”

  “Dubheasa…” Herne warned.

  She waved a hand at him without taking her eyes from Marian. “Only words, Herne, only words.” She stared at Marian a moment longer, searching her eyes, weighing the truth of her claim. Finally she nodded. Then she turned to Robin. “And you, my son. Would you give your life for this woman?”

  “I would,” Robin said immediately.

  “No!” Marian whirled, a sudden and inexplicable fear seizing her, digging claws into her lungs until it hurt to breathe. “No, don’t talk of dying for me, not here in this place.” She cupped his face in her hands, cradled the jaw that was so familiar to her now. “I don’t want you to die, not because of me.”

  “My dear girl, do not interrupt.” Dubheasa rapped her spear on the floor, the sound loud in the silent room. “I didn’t ask him if he would die for you. I asked him if he would give his life for you. A world of difference.”

  Robin put his arms around her and pulled her close, careful to keep her on the opposite side of his body from his injuries. “I would,” he repeated, this time looking into Marian’s eyes when he said it.

  “If you die, I will never forgive you,” Marian rasped. She clutched his shirt in her fists, wrinkling the cotton beyond hope.

  Robin chuckled and leaned down to nuzzle her forehead. “I will try to be my usual accommodating self.”

  “Excellent.” Dubheasa beamed and clapped her hands. “In that case, Robin Goodfellow, do you take this woman Marian LaFey to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “What?” Herne bellowed.

  The creatures at the tables behind him erupted in a hiss of whispers that buzzed against Marian’s skin. Herne tensed. He didn’t look over his shoulder, but nevertheless managed to convey his displeasure. The room immediately quieted. Marian’s stomach turned. Did Herne have control over all his court like that? Or had he just summoned the most obedient here for her first night?

  When he spoke again, his voice was low, full of warning and just the briefest hint of a growl. “Dubheasa—”

  Dubheasa cut him off with a wave of her spear, the shining tip once again drawing the light, highlighting the deadly point. “You said I could have words with Marian.” Her dress and throne began to ripple, darkening, edges turning to black mist. It flowed forward, just an inch or so, like a pet asking permission to inspect a visitor. “I have done nothing beyond what I was given your blessing to do.”

  “I gave no permission for a marriage.” There was a definite growl in Herne’s voice now, a predator’s only warning.

  He’d dropped his head, angling his antlers toward Dubheasa’s spear, but Marian couldn’t be sure if that had been intentional or not. Her pulse throbbed against her skin, adrenaline trickling through her veins like a promise. She could practically smell the blood in the air. She blinked, realized what direction her thoughts had been going in, and pressed harder against Robin. Will’s words echoed back to her.

  Robin curled an arm around her waist. He looked down at her and if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn he was reading her mind, knew exactly what she was feeling. He bent down and kissed the top of her head.

  “You’re going to be all the excitement I can handle, aren’t you?” he whispered into her hair.

  Marian’s spirits lifted and she leaned her head against his chest. “You have no idea,” she murmured.

  “You gave up that right a millennia ago,” Dubheasa snapped back. She stood from her throne with a flourish, sending a wave of tension rolling over the room as the people gathered there watched her face off against their king. “As I recall, it was part of why you left my court, why you created your own little domain here. You thought the politics of my kingdom were barbaric, that no monarch should have a say in the mating of her people. Well, you’ve made your bed. Now go lie in it while I finish speaking with Marian.”

  Marian’s jaw dropped. Herne sucked in a breath, eyes sparking with real fury. He took a step forward.

  “I do.”

  Robin’s voice fell into the silence, drew the attention of the two monarchs. Herne bared his teeth and Dubheasa beamed. The words echoed in Marian’s head, growing louder and louder until they ate her world. The full realization of what was happening finally dawned on her, finally registered.

  “And do you, Lady Marian, take this man Robin Goodfellow to be you
r lawfully wedded husband?”

  Dubheasa’s voice was gentle, a jarring change from the anger that had sharpened it a moment ago. Marian groped for Robin’s other hand, needing an anchor as her emotions swelled, threatened to toss her about like a rag doll. He took it in his, held both of their hands clasped together.

  “I… I do,” she whispered. A tear slid from her eye and she realized she was nodding, over and over. “I do, of course I do.”

  “In that case, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Marian didn’t know what expression was on Herne’s face now, what level his rage had attained. Her entire world was consumed by Robin’s face, that handsome, pale face that she’d never thought to see again. His eyes glittered as he leaned down, and she let hers drift closed as his lips touched hers.

  It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was the first they’d shared as husband and wife, the first since he’d found out her secret, knew what she was. Part of her expected him to hold back, even though she knew him far too well to think him so shallow.

  He didn’t.

  He kissed her like he needed her air to breathe. His lips slid over hers, teased her, leaned closer, then back, making her chase him. She grabbed his shirt, hauled him closer, anchored him to her. She kissed him with an abandon she’d never allowed herself, holding nothing back. When it ended, both were breathing heavily, and Marian’s head spun with a delirious rush of hope. Robin gathered her into his arms and she tucked her face against his chest, breathed in the scent of him.

  “Does this mean I can leave with you?” she whispered.

  His arms tightened. A cold wash of fear poured over her, his body language telling her what the answer was before a single sound passed his lips.

  “No.”

  That one word was pained, but that was little comfort. “What?” She pulled back, looked at Robin’s face, saw it twisted with frustration. She turned, stared at Dubheasa. “You mean… I still have to stay here?”

  The Unseelie Queen’s face was serious, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “If that is Herne’s will, then yes.” She smiled. “But if he does insist you stay here, he will have to acknowledge Robin’s right to stay here with you.”

  “Stay here with me? But…”

  Marian trailed off as Dubheasa turned her head to face Herne. She followed the queen’s stare and took a stumbling step back.

  Herne’s face was twisted in pure, unmitigated fury. His tan skin was three shades darker, blood filling his face, giving it a red tint that made his eyes blacker somehow. He looked from Marian to Robin and back. Then his gaze landed on Dubheasa. “You…you…”

  Dubheasa beamed at him, twirling her spear like a parasol. “I am something, aren’t I? You can thank me later. I’m sure you’ll have all manner of fun with my foster son. Of course, I’ll be visiting more too, you know we’re very close. You’ll have to join us for tea.”

  The creatures in the room were still silent, but the weight of their attention pressed against Marian like a physical weight. She blinked, realizing that at some point she’d started holding her breath. She was watching Herne, watching the vein in his temple bulge, his jaw so tight she was certain she’d hear his teeth shatter at any moment. She took a step, angling her and Robin’s bodies so that she was between him and the Master of the Hunt.

  The gesture wasn’t lost on Herne. That furious black-eyed gaze landed on her, stole her breath for one agonizing second. Then he glowered at Robin. “Think hard on this, boy. If you end this marriage for any reason, if you dishonor this marriage in any way, she will be mine again.” He smiled, but unlike Dubheasa’s grin, this expression held no humor. “Forever is a long time, sidhe. I will be waiting.”

  “You will wait a long time then,” Robin said easily, his grip on Marian’s hips tightening. “You will die waiting.”

  Herne slid his attention to Marian. The anger faded then, leaving his face haggard and…sad. “And you, my child. You’ve only just tasted the life you would have here in my court. I know the loneliness you’ve felt, the restlessness. You felt that way because you had no pack, because you were alone. You would have been happy here if you’d only given it a chance.” He took a step forward, but there was no threat this time. “You are always welcome here. Remember that when you find yourself circling, spiraling, searching for your pack.”

  Now it was Robin’s turn to put himself between Marian and Herne. He looked down into her eyes and she looked away from the grand hunter to face the man she’d taken as her husband.

  “We will be your pack, Marian.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, caressed her jaw. “If you let us in, we will be there for you. And I will never try to make your choices for you again.”

  She stared at him for a long time. Then, slowly, she draped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down to hers. He tasted like home.

  “Get out,” Herne said, his voice thick with disgust. “All of you. Get out of my court.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Oak leaf, cypress needle, rowan.”

  Robin held his breath, watching Marian’s bare breasts shift as she drew back her arrow. The moonlight bathed her pale skin in the most becoming, come-hither way. It wasn’t the glow of a sidhe’s skin, but somehow the extra brush of shadows only seemed to outline every curve, create interesting little patterns that just begged for more…focused attention.

  He sat up from where he’d been lying in the grass, edged closer to the large rock that was currently serving as his wife’s perch for tonight’s archery face-off. The cool grey stone was a shock against the growing heat of his skin, but he ignored it. He braced one hand on the rock and stretched out the other to trace one particularly promising slash of shadow—

  The bottom curve of Marian’s bow jerked sharply in his direction, making sudden and painful contact with his temple. The nerves on his scalp shrieked in protest and he snatched his hand back, nearly slipping off the rock in the process. He recovered his balance and fixed his wife with a reproachful glare.

  “What was that for?” he demanded.

  Marian narrowed her eyes, already settling her bow and arrow back into position to take her shot. “Were you even listening?”

  No. “Yes, but it’s awfully hard to hear you when you’re mumbling and facing the opposite direction.”

  The arch of one red eyebrow told him just how much water his excuse held, but he didn’t let being caught in a lie affect his confidence. He eyed her bare breasts again, tilting his head as he noticed the way she worked her right arm, trying to get the bow at the perfect angle despite the pressing curve of her breast.

  “It never occurred to me they might get in the way.”

  Marian let out a frustrated huff and looked down at him, her bow sagging. “What?”

  “Your breasts. That one’s a bit in the way when you fire the bow.” He nodded absent-mindedly. “Makes your aim even more impressive.”

  “Good enough to beat you,” she agreed. “Now, as I said, oak leaf, cypress needle, rowan.”

  Robin settled down on the rock, then jerked up with a hiss. Cold stone against his hand was one thing. Cold stone against his naked lower half was something else. “And how will you know if the arrow passed through the cypress before the rowan?” He eyed Marian’s pants, his usual appreciation for the way they outlined her body mitigated by the fact that she shouldn’t be wearing them at all. “I still think I was robbed of that last shot.”

  “Are you questioning my nose?” Marian looked down the shaft of her arrow, lining up her shot. “I can tell. Now if you could try to quit hissing like some great dragon, that would be grand.”

  “Well excuse me if I was a bit startled to feel cold stone pressing against areas of my body that should never be pressed against stone,” he grumbled. “Or cold.”

  “You’re the one who decided to strip your pants off first.”

  Robin crossed his arms, renewing his glare at her pants as if he could somehow will them
away. “If I’d known you’d stick to the game this long, perhaps I would have made a different choice.” He plucked his pants from the ground and laid them over the rock, protecting vulnerable skin from another unfortunate stab of cold lest the stone ruin his plans for the night. “When I suggested this game, I expected the disrobing to interest you more than the archery.”

  “You’re just mad because I’m winning.”

  “Says who?” He struggled to keep the thread of the conversation in his mind as his gaze hungrily devoured the smooth curves of Marian’s shoulders, the swells of her breasts, and the tempting muscles of her stomach.

  “I still have pants, socks, and boots. You’re down to just a shirt.”

  “And bracers,” he murmured.

  Marian had just let go of her arrow, the faint hiss of the projectile through the trees the only sound in the still night air. She whirled on him as soon as the feathers left her fingertips, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What? You’re wearing bracers?”

  “Yes. Why do you think I kept the shirt on?”

  “That’s cheating!”

  “You never said not to wear bracers and you never asked me if I was wearing them. It’s not my fault you’re new to this game.” He groped for his bow, his eyes unwilling to leave Marian’s bare skin a second sooner than he had to. “Oak, cypress, rowan you said?”

  Marian was glowering at him, but there was no red spark in her green eyes to suggest true anger. She crossed her arms underneath her breasts, pushing them up. Robin’s bow sagged in his arms, his attention completely focused on the way her smooth brown nipples hardened in the night air.

  “Robin!”

  Her shout startled him so badly he nearly fell off the rock. He blinked, regaining his bearings, forcing himself to concentrate on the trees around him instead of his wife’s alluring form. Instead of following her shot, he took the time to search the forest edging the meadow, looking for a combination of the trees he needed in the right order. He found what he wanted a little northeast of where Marian had fired and quickly lined up his shot.