Scout’s POV
"You dare stand in my house and accuse me of treason, you little fetch?" Nathan snarled, his chest expanding as he closed the distance between us.
The heavy stone floor of the chamber amplified the scuff of his leather boots. He smelled of old parchment and the sharp, medicinal tang of wintergreen, but beneath it, my nose caught the sour spike of fear sweat. I didn't back down. I gripped the thick glass neck of the brown apothecary bottle until my knuckles went white and the raised ridges of the glass bit into my palm.
"I am not accusing you of anything, Nathan," I said, my voice cutting through the damp chill of the room like a blade. "I am telling you exactly what you poured into this glass."
Across the room, Grand Luna Paisley surged up from her high-backed oak chair. Sh
