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He gave me a sharp nod and tried to school the stricken look on his face. Through the bonding, my wings had slipped back beneath my skin, leaving my shoulder blades raw and oozing. Theodore helped me keep my balance, gaze averted, while I removed the blanket and my wet chemise. He did not see the wounds my wings had left behind and I said nothing of how they hurt before I swung the robe over my shoulders and cinched it at the waist.
A soft knock at the door made me jump. Theodore permitted his guards in and this time it was his full retinue of six. One of them carried a vase that had been in my room—the scent of seawater met my nose. And trailing them all, with wild, knotted curls, flushed cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips, was Agatha.
Theodore looked at her and his mortification was complete. “Hello, Agatha.” He glared at the tall, smug-looking soldier standing beside her. “Lachlan, I’ll gut you.”
“Yes, I know,” said Lachlan. “Agatha informed me that she’s coming with us.”
Theodore shot me a scowl. “Blessed by the bloody Gods tonight, aren’t you?” He pointed to the vase of seawater. “Give her that.”
I cradled it to my chest and straightened under the king’s dour gaze. It was dark and stern and the sheer intensity of it turned the cool air in the chamber stifling.
“You got past my men, my lady,” he said, “now get us past Nemea’s.”