“I’m aware.”
There was a knock at the door. Quinn jumped to his feet and turned to the door. Was he concerned who might see them together?
“Who is it?” Becka called out, her voice faltering.
Brent opened the door and walked over. “Good evening, Becka. Enforcer Quinn.”
“Brent.” She nodded, continuing to alternate sips between water and hot sauce.
“Alain is in the hall, asking if you’re up for company.” Brent raised a brow, his gaze drifting to Quinn and then back to her.
At Becka’s request, her shifter guards had been giving excuses to Alain for weeks. She knew Brent understood she was avoiding Alain and so she attempted to come up with a fresh reason each time.
“I literally just got back,” Becka said. “And I’m too exhausted to deal with him.”
“And I’m here in an official capacity, I’m afraid.” Quinn frowned. “I need time to question Becka about the incident.”
“Uh huh.” Brent’s hands went to his hips as he looked back and forth between them. Finally, he shook his head. “At some point you just need to come to terms with the Alain situation,” he said to Becka. “Discomfort is meant to be faced head-on.”
“That’s a perfect shifter saying, Brent, but I’m not dealing with my situation right at this moment. Can you please tell Alain I’ll speak with him tomorrow?”
He shrugged, hands up in the air. “May I suggest instead of hiding, that you rise to meet the challenges of your life? Own it. Putting off action is perpetuating this never-ending drama.” He turned and strode out of the room, closing the door on his way out.
“Heck yeah, it’s mine. I’ll put off Alain for as long as it takes, thank you very much,” she said under her breath. Becka set her now empty glass on the table. “At least I’m never left wondering what he’s thinking.”
“Direct is the shifter way.” Quinn’s lip twitched and he took a deep breath, as if he was debating his word choice. “I hear you’re still engaged?”
Becka sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately I haven’t found my escape clause yet, but I will.”
Quinn’s single raised brow paired with tension in his lips. “Even if you were to find a way out of your engagement to Alain, don’t you think your mother would find another marriageable prospect befitting her heir?”
A heavy weight settled in her gut. “Yes, Maura definitely will. But I’d have the opportunity to try and talk some sense into her before she signed the next one.”
His eye twitched. “You’d school the duchess using your fine understanding of fae customs and then she’d just come around to your way of thinking?”
Becka groaned. “I may be Rowan’s heir, but my gift is too dangerous for most potential partners. Maura must see reason. Once she’s released from the current contract, of course.”
“Do you have a list of houses who are immune to your gift?”
“Besides your house?” she asked, and he nodded. “Not yet, but the testers have been debating it at length.”
“I would think Duchess Maura would have a list of potentials, even if she has not yet made you aware of it.”
“Contingency plans?” Becka replied. “Yes, I suppose she would. But it’s not only my gift. I’m a bit unconventional. I’ve had a difficult time winning over those in my own house, not to mention strangers.”
The corner of his lip twitched upward. “Some wouldn’t consider your unique character a detractor. And even more would be willing to overlook it for the sake of custom and potentially powerful progeny.”
“Ugh,” she replied, scrunching her nose at the thought. “Can’t I just donate some eggs? I’m sure someone would be willing to carry the future heirs of House Rowan.”
He frowned. “The fae don’t practice surrogacy, Becka. It’s believed power transfers from mother to child during the pregnancy.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been gone too long. Humans do it all the time, but I forgot that fae don’t. It’s too bad; it would broaden our fertility rates. And besides, that argument makes no sense, as children get the father’s powers too.”
‘Yet it is the custom. I can see you’ve thought this over.” Then, his tone curt, “Did you want more water?”
Becka bit her lip, feeling like he’d shut down the conversation. But what did she expect him to do? He’d warned her that he wasn’t interested in someone who wasn’t available. The chemistry between them had become some sort of cruel joke.
“No thanks, I’d better take it slow with the water… my stomach is still queasy. And thank you for the sauce. My head is already improving.”
He gave a terse nod. “You’re welcome. Are you up for some questions?”
He’d gone all business on her, and her heart ached. To have Quinn back but distant was almost worse than having him not back at all.
“From you,” she smiled, “anytime.”
He flipped open his notebook to where he’d left a handy pen as a place keeper. “Tell me what you remember about the day of the poisoning.”
Becka took a deep breath and then recounted that day, including her morning training with Astrid, the muffins and sliced melon she’d had for breakfast, the ridiculous floofy ombre dress, the trade banquet and socializing, her bottle-dropping incident, and finally her end-of-day tea and poisoning with Vott. Everything.
Quinn silently listened to her tale. When her words ran dry, he sat contemplatively jotting down notes.
“Just so I know I have this down right: you weren’t there when the tea was delivered?”
“No. Vott had all that in order when I arrived.”
“And you didn’t see the tea brewed? Or the set put out?”
“Nope.”
“And you didn’t like the tea, so you poured it into Vott’s mug?”
Guilt flip-flopped in her stomach. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Did it taste funny?”
“I hadn’t tasted it first. I just hate that tea with a passion. His mug was empty, so I gave him mine and got water instead. I only had a little of the tea left in my cup.”
“The tea wasn’t poisoned.”
Becka leaned forward. “But all I drank was tea and
