65. Veyka

"What the hell was that?"

Arran wrenched his arm away from me. "It was nothing."

I had meant to take us to the privacy of the bedchamber, but we landed on the battlements instead. One look at the Brutal Prince, and the guards scattered into the falling darkness.

I grabbed him back, my fingernails digging into the leather tunic and the steel muscles beneath. He was wet—sweat, rain, all Arran. My core began to pound. But my desire was no match for my anger.

He tried to shake me off, using what remained of his brutally superior strength. But I would not give him the satisfaction of watching me fall on my ass. I caught myself easily, planting one hand on each hip.

"It is not nothing," I seethed, my voice silky in its threat. Made for battlefields and bedrooms. "You said you were healed. I let you walk into that duel under the belief that you were at full strength."

"You do not let me do anything," he bit back, canines flashing. Even after nearly being defeated, the exhaustion lining his eyes, he was so ruggedly beautiful. I was so completely gone for him, that brutal slash of a mouth as he snarled— "I am fine."

My hands curled into fists. "None of this is fucking fine."

I spun away from him—had to get away. If I stared at him for too long, I'd start tracing the lines of his face. Cataloguing the curved lines of his muscles to reassure myself that he was alive and safe. The little indent in his chin where I liked to catch my teeth—

Fuck!

I started running along the battlements, desperate to get away. Night was falling quickly. So were Palomides' guards, jumping out of my way. At least something had come from the disaster on the plain.

Arran did not follow.

Only when I was clear of his scent did I let myself stop. I still hated running. But the feeling of air knifing in and out of my chest was enough to obscure the pain and worry.

Seconds turned to minutes as the moon rose, the first rays of white light hitting the top of the Split Sea and splitting across the smooth surface. I toyed with the ends of my hair, still damp, but bright white against the darkness. Just like the moonlight on the sea.

"You are angry with me."

I pressed my eyes closed. At some point, my legs had melted from under me. Now they hung over the edge of the Castle Chariot, reaching down to the endless darkness beneath.

Arran's voice was even. Conciliatory, even.

But I did not have it in me. I was so tired. "Go to bed, Arran."

He didn't, because that would have been too fucking easy. And nothing about this had ever been easy.

A low growl slid through my consciousness, languid heat unspooling inside my core in response. Except that.

He closed the physical distance between us, coming to stand at the edge of the turret. But he did not swing his legs over to sit beside me. He did not reach for me.

My heart fractured a little bit more.

I could feel the heat of him, mere inches away. I knew that if I turned my head, just a fraction, I'd see the outline of his familiar profile against the shining moon.

So instead I kept my gaze steadfastly fixed on the horizon. Perfectly still. Crystalline. What tempest raged beneath the unbroken surface of the Split Sea? How did it compare to the torrent inside of me?

I felt Arran's power before I saw it. He must have been mustering it for… I was not sure how long. But there was no life on this barren plane, one of the reasons that Palomides had insisted on Arran dueling instead of me. To pull the flora from the forest, all the way here to the castle itself… his way of insisting that he wasfine.

Vines crawled up over the stone ledge. Dark, snarling briars meant to hold enemies, to cause pain. A window into the state of his soul.

Guilt whipped through me, killing the vestiges of desire and leaving darkness in its wake.

"Who was the Black Knight?"

"No one." I'd said it on the plain, and meant it. "I did not recognize him. Neither did Lyrena."

"That means—"

"We cannot trust anyone. Why was Palomides' voice booming like that? Because he has a wind wielder somewhere around here. Elementals—my subjects—serving a terrestrial. And they are not even elementals I know to be traitors. They could be anyone. This is another new threat. Elementals, terrestrials, succubus. They are all coming for us. And you aren't even at full strength!"

"I did not ask for this," Arran said.

"You would not remember if you had," I snapped back.

I hated myself immediately. None of this was Arran's fault.

He recoiled, his warmth too far for even my senses. But those black vines twisted higher, higher, threatening to block out the moon entirely.

My fingernails dug into the flesh of my palms. "That was cruel." And I am sorry.

I am sorry for all of it.

And yet, I would do it again. Lose my mate again, if that was the cost of his life.

I waited for his retort. I expected and deserved every harsh word. He'd lobbed plenty of them in my direction during those first months in Baylaur, before…

Before.

Another step backward, too loud against quiet of the night. The vines stopped. I knew Arran was gone without turning to look.