Mark of Betrayal (Dark Secrets #3)(113)
Author: A.M. Hudson

I folded my arms, too, smiling ruefully. “Hey, Mike?” He looked up at me, and I summoned my most authoritative voice. “Punch yourself in the face.”

“Damn it,” he said as his fist flew up to his jaw, sending him tumbling backward.

“Blood oath, huh?” I walked away with my arms folded. “No excuse.”

When I reached my bedroom door, Quaid looked up from his phone and frowned. “How did you get out of your room?” he said.

I pushed past him. “Do yourself a favour, Quaid. If Mike asks, you followed me this morning and I talked with Jason in the field, okay?”

His mouth popped open but I shut the door on him, sliding down it to the floor. The taps were still running in the bathroom, giving me a sudden pang of guilt for the water I would’ve wasted. I got myself up and headed in there to turn them off, but opted for a shower instead, and came out feeling almost human again. But the soft hum of Arthur’s violin flowed off the early morning breeze and came in through my window. And instead of feeling joy and radiance like I usually did with that sound, I felt only blind rage. He lied to me. He watched me cry over Jason. He held me while I grieved a person who wasn’t dead.

I stormed out of my room and down the corridor, with Quaid wandering behind in the cloud of my infuriation.

“Quaid. Unless you want me to tell Mike you weren’t there when I chatted with his arch enemy this morning, I suggest you stay here.”

He stopped walking. “I can’t. I have to follow you.”

“No. You don’t.” I pointed at him, stopping long enough to make my words as clear as the goddamn day. “I will compel you to stay put if you follow me. And I won’t order you to move for a week.”

“Where are you going?” he called.

“To see Arthur.”

“Well, he’s not in his room.”

I stopped by Arthur’s door. “Where is he?”

“Great Hall.”

“Thanks,” I said, and his round eyes watched me as I turned away. I felt mean, but he couldn’t know the subject matter I was headed to argue with Arthur. No one could.

Arthur spun around as I approached at a very fast, human pace, and his eyes lit with surprise at the obvious anger in mine. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I practically yelled, not really meaning to.

“Amara? What is it?” He placed his violin on the stand and reached for me.

I shoved him away, forcing my palms into his chest; he didn’t even stumble back, just grabbed my thrashing arms and held them.

“Ara, what’s wrong?”

“I hate you!” I shoved him again. “You lied to me!”

“My dear girl.” He cradled me against him as my knees went weak. “What are you talking about?”

“You told me he was dead. You told me you buried him!”

His chest sunk. “Jason came to see you.”

“You sat there—” I stepped away and looked up at him. “You listened to me grieve for him—confused about grieving for him, and you didn’t tell me.”

He took both my hands in his again. “I’m sorry, Amara, I—”

“I needed him.” I pulled my hands free, feeling hollowed out, breathless and so betrayed. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Because of the child.”

“What child?”

“The prophecy.”

“Because you think I wouldn’t have one with you if he was here?” I asked rhetorically, pointing off to the stairs. “Arthur, it wouldn’t matter if he were here or not. I won’t do that. I won’t have one with you. What makes you think I would ever let you touch me that way?”

“Do you think I want to! Do you think I want to betray my nephew, who I loved, by fornicating with his wife!” He turned away, brushing a hand across his brow. “The child of the prophecy is only that if she is your firstborn. And those scriptures, whether you believe it or not, Ara, say it must be conceived with a firstborn son of Knight.”

“Why does it matter to you so much—so much that you’d be willing to watch me hurt like this?”

“I want to be free. I told you this.”

I looked away from his wrists; from the way he presented the clear veins as if they were shackles. “And you think you’re the only one who can give me that child?”

“Amara, you know how I feel about you.” He moved in and grabbed the tops of my arms. “You are one of my dearest friends, and if Jason could father the child, I’d have brought him here already. He loves you, and you two, in David’s absence, should be together. But your child needs to be with me.”

I shook my head, sniffling, inching away from him. “Arthur. I can’t. I can’t ever do that with you. I don’t love you that way and—”

“I’m not asking you to love me, Amara—merely…” He looked away, shaking his head. “Merely give me one night with you.”

My lips went tight. “It would make me sick.”

His shoulders dropped; he looked away.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, you know I love you.” I touched my chest. “You know I do, but I can’t be with you that way. I never will.”

“Then all hope is lost.”

I took another step back, nodding to the ground. “Then I guess it is.”

Arthur, with a hand to his heart, bowed and walked past me at human pace; his shoulders stiff, his head held high.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” I whispered to myself.

Morgaine came up the steps outside then and practically skipped into the Great Hall. “Morg?”

“Oh, hey, what’s up?” she said, stopping beside me, the smell of summer grass and sunshine gently wafting off her skin with each pulse of her heart.

“Where did you put Jason?”

Her shoulders dropped. “I’m not telling. Mike doesn’t want you near him.”

“Morg. I don’t care.” I angled my head to the ground, the sound of impatience festering in my tone. “Mike is not the queen. I am. Now, where is Jason?”

“He’s in the west wing,” she huffed the words out.

“Thanks. Second floor, I imagine?”

“Yes.” She followed me as I headed up the stairs. “Mike tried to put him in the east wing—as far away from you as he could get, but we’ve run out of rooms. Jason got the last one in the entire manor.”

“What number’s his room?”

“It’s the one at the very end—no number on the door.”