56. Veyka

The image of the Black Knight followed me up the stairs to the richly appointed bedroom that Palomides had prepared. It was a royal suite, obvious from the jewel-studded border along the vanity mirror and the gold-flake in the paint adorning the wooden headboard. Palomides had known we would come eventually. Maybe not me and Arran, specifically. But this room had been waiting for the High Queen and King's arrival.

Palomides knew the value of the amorite in his mines. He must have known it when he killed the previous occupants of the castle. Which meant he'd encountered the succubus and figured out that the amorite was key to defeating them. There was no other plausible reason for his posturing.

But what did he hope to achieve through a duel? If either Arran or I was killed, entirely new heirs would have to be appointed. It would throw Annwyn into disarray, and then there would be no one to buy his amorite or whatever else he mined, because everyone would eventually be turned or devoured by the succubus.

There was a piece missing to this puzzle.

But Palomides would not offer answers of his own free will. Every scrap of information would have to be bartered for.

The willowy young female led us into the suite as she'd been bid. But instead of waiting with downcast eyes, she watched our reactions. No doubt, she would be reporting back to Palomides at the first chance.

Lyrena tossed down our travel packs, snapped her fingers to light a fire in the hearth, and surveyed the rest of the room. Whether it was her years in Baylaur or her excellent elemental skills, she looked thoroughly unimpressed.

Synora looked past Lyrena to me. "His lordship has gifted me to you for the duration of your stay, Your Majesty." As she spoke, she swayed her hips and dragged a hand down the centerline of her bodice.

I did not want to know everything that offer entailed.

"We will manage fine on our own," I said, walking to peer out the window. Parting the drapes gave me the opportunity to scan for any obscured entrances. I knew that Lyrena was surreptitiously doing the same. We'd both lost too much to the hidden passageways in Baylaur to take such things for granted.

When I glanced back over my shoulder, Synora had not moved. I rolled my eyes. "You are relieved," I said emphatically, layering my voice with the command I'd seen Arran use—the one that had elementals and terrestrials shaking.

The young female's dark eyes flared with anger, but she could not gainsay me. She may be used to having her way as the lady of the castle, but when I was in residence, she was nothing and no one. But she was not afraid of me, either. I let myself enjoy the chagrin on her face.

Lyrena only waited until the door was closed before tipping a painting forward to check the stone wall behind it. "Glad you said it, so I didn't have to. That one is a snake."

I sighed, my eyes drifting to the sweet oblivion of the bed. "They are all snakes." I paused, rethinking. "Vipers."

That earned a smirking chuckle from Lyrena. How she still managed it, after everything we'd seen and endured, I'd never know.

She must have deemed the bedroom secure, because she crossed to the travel packs she'd shucked on the floor and began unlacing the top of mine. "Cyara gave me annoyingly thorough directions on how I should tend to you—"

"Lyrena." She only stopped because I used the same tone with her as I had on Palomides' niece. Unlike Synora, Lyrena did not retreat. She lifted her golden brows and gave me a look that dared me to push her. Of course, I did. "You are my Goldstone Guard, my Knight, my friend. You do not have to unpack for me or dress me," I said firmly.

She dismissed that argument and went back to work. "Cyara does it."

"As if I could ever get her to stop." I did enjoy being pampered. But I did not require it. I'd spent twenty years locked away in the water gardens with only my nursemaid and my torturers for company. I was perfectly capable of dressing myself.

I closed the space between us and kicked the pack hard, sending it sprawling across the floor and out of Lyrena's reach. She flashed a menacing smile, all gold teeth, letting the warrior show. I crossed my arms.

"I know you will not consent to sleep anytime soon. But talk to Vera and set the watch outside my door. I can manage for myself in here."

Her desire to argue was so deep, so visceral, that I thought she might not be able to control it. I hardly expected blind subservience from my Knights. But she recognized it for what it was—an order. And despite her preference, one she did not have a good reason to fight.

Lyrena stepped back, her orange-gold cape billowing behind her. How she kept her goldstone armor gleaming even when we traveled in snow and muck, I'd never know. She was every inch my glorious golden knight as she nodded. "Stay out of trouble, Veyka." She softened it with a wink.

After days of close contact, with Arran in proximity and my nerves near fraying, I exhaled a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her.

As I expected, the travel pack I'd carried with me for the last several days was a treasure trove. I'd only needed to breach the top several inches over the course of our journey to the coast. It was too damn cold to change clothing or bathe. But now that there was a fire roaring in the hearth—I'd have to remind myself to feed it, since neither of my fire-wielding friends were here to tend it for me—I was warm enough to strip out of my layers of travel-worn clothing.

I almost regretted sending Synora away, if only because she might have drawn me a bath. But I made do with a soft cloth and water heated in a kettle by the fire. By the time I changed into a soft nightgown of translucent dove gray silk and reached for the silver gilt hairbrush, my mind had quieted.

The last hurdle was my hair. At least it did not reach all the way down to my waist these days. I untangled the plait and began to work the brush through the layers. It took an inordinate amount of time. I allowed myself to get lost in the repetitive strokes. It was not quite as soothing as Cyara brushing my hair, but it helped. One stroke, another and another. My eyes drifted closed. Maybe, just maybe, tonight I would actually be able to sleep.

Then the door opened.

The scent of spice and earth accosted my senses before I'd even managed to get my eyes open. But after I'd grabbed the dagger off the vanity.

My first instinct was to scream into his mind, to snarl right back at the beast. But he'd asked me to stay away. So it was my voice that demanded for the second time in only a few days, "What are you doing here?"

His own travel pack was slung over his broad shoulder. He'd taken the time to brush his own dark locks, tying the back in a neat knot at the base of his skull. I wanted to drive my fingers into it and muss that perfection. And then perhaps I would wrap my fingers around his throat and strangle him.

Arran dropped his pack and kicked the door shut behind him. I imagined whoever guarded our door cringing in the corridor. Not our door. My door. Whoever it was, they had not barred his access.

I should have expected this. It was exactly the sort of thing that the Arran who had arrived in Baylaur all those months ago would have done. Except that neither of us was that person any longer.

He crossed his arms and planted his feet, ready for a fight. "You have made a point of reminding me that I am the High King of Annwyn."

"And?" I leaned down to pick up the brush I'd dropped to the floor, still clutching the dagger in its place, though I loosened my hold. Any stabbing would be premeditated at this point.

When I straightened, Arran's eyes were burning with black fire. I hadn't meant to do it, but I realized immediately. The nightgown had long sleeves, but its only closure was a single clasp situated at the midpoint between my navel and breasts. And when I'd leaned down to retrieve the brush...

It was almost laughable. How many times had I used my curves against him, to try and manipulate him into doing what I wanted?

I wanted was him desperately.

And I knew that if I had him, my heart might never recover.

Physical joining would not restore what we had lost. Arran had seen the darkness within me, the scars left by the water gardens, and loved me through it. Because of it. Now it felt like darkness and scars were all I had left.

That brutal scowl was back in place on his face. I knew what that meant. He did not want me to know how he was feeling. How much he wanted me. "The High King sleeps with the High Queen," he growled.

My heart stopped entirely. "Like hell."

He advanced a step, his beast's growl rolling through me. My head tilted back like it was a fucking caress. He might as well have licked my throat. I clamped my thighs together, but knew it was useless. I was soft and weak when it came to Arran Earthborn.

"You expect me to believe that my beast allows you to sleep in your own chambers?" As he spoke, his elongated canines flashed. I wanted them sinking into my veins, nipping at my clit.

"We don't share a bedroom," I choked out. Which was almost the truth. In Baylaur, he'd joined me in mine without any formal discussion. But he'd never added any personal belongings or tried to change the arrangement of my things. Other than the time he'd burned my bedsheets after finding Parys in them. A spurt of wet heat slid between my legs at the memory.

Arran's hand rose, his fingers curling toward my chin. "We do now."

He was going to touch me. His fingers would skate along the soft column of my throat, then he would take my chin in his powerful grip. He'd hold me steady as he brought his lips down to mine with punishing force that I would meet thrust for thrust. Then there would be nothing but us. Hot limbs and soft curves and perfect rightness—

Arran stepped back.

I wished for cold air to rush in between us. But the room was hot from the fire Lyrena had lit. And the space between us would surely have ignited into an inferno if exposed to even the barest hint of a spark.

I thought I might die, but somehow I managed to get the words out. "Sleep on the floor."

"No."

I closed my eyes. If I had to look at him for a second longer, I would lose control. Maybe if I deprived one of my senses of him, I might be able to claw my way back to rationality.

"What are you so afraid of, Princess?"

I sank my teeth into my lower lip so hard it drew blood. I heard Arran shift on his feet. The scent of it must be doing things to him, to his beast. I could not care about that. I had to preserve myself. Cyara had urged me to let him in, but it hurt so much. And if he saw me now, if he saw who and what I was and did not want me... I crushed the thoughts into oblivion. There was no place for them here and now.

"Do not call me that," I said softly. "Just shut up and let me go to sleep."

That brutal mask was back in place, so I could not tell if Arran was hurt or disappointed or just as frustrated as me. With half a thought, I could have followed the bond that connected our hearts, that precious golden thread, and bathed in his feelings and emotions. But he'd asked me to stay away. So I would.

I walked to the opposite side of the bed. Arran groaned as I retreated. Yes, the translucent nightgown and the swish of my hips was torture. I buried myself under a mountain of blankets and knew it would not be enough.

Arran moved around the room. I'd spent enough nights with him to recognize the movements. But I did not let myself roll to my back and admire the broad outline of him as he completed his evening ablutions. He always slept without a shirt. The sight of a bare-chested Arran might very well kill me.

Eventually he sat, the mattress bowing under his weight. When he didn't lie down, I knew we weren't finished.

"We should talk about the Black Knight," he said, voice carefully devoid of the heat that had almost incinerated us minutes before.

I kept my back to him. "What is there to talk about? Tomorrow, I will face him in the ring, defeat him, and we will have our amorite."

Another pressure on the mattress. He'd leaned back on his fist, was digging it into the soft fabric. If I looked, would I see wolf's claws digging into the thick quilts and blankets?

"Palomides gets to set the terms. They will not be favorable. They may even be impossible."

He wanted to say more. I could feel it, the words he did not say, in the charged space between us. But just like Arran was fighting his physical attraction to me, I was fighting opening up my heart.

The words burned out of my throat. "We could kill Palomides, his family, and all of his guards. Summon terrestrials to man the mines, establish supply lines. We could waste weeks arranging all of it." I had thought through the possibility again and again. But after what had happened with the terrestrials and Isolde, I was not even less sure. Even the terrestrials at Eilean Gayl could not be counted upon for loyalty. "Do you think that a better plan?"

He sucked in a breath, exhaled it slowly. Anger wouldn't have been so easy to diffuse. So, this was something else. I could not decipher it in the simple syllable he gave in answer. "No."

I did not respond.

Arran shifted, stretching his legs onto the bed.

Despite the weight of what was between us, and the worry over the battles the next day would bring, my eyes were heavy. As my thoughts became cloudy, I vaguely wondered if it was Arran's presence in my bed. Wearing his tunic had been a comfort. But the weight of his body mere inches away... it inflamed me, but it also spoke to something else deep within my soul. With Arran here, I was safe.

Just as sleep took me, Arran spoke again. This time, it came out as a low growl, so deep I could have sworn he said it into my mind rather than the fraught air between us. "I do not want to see you hurt."

But that was impossible, of course, because he had asked me to stay away.