21. Hector

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

HECTOR

I followed Killian's lead, waited for his touches to guide my own. When I'd promised not to push for more, I'd meant it.

All I needed was what he could give me, and gods, but it was a relief to have him close. The distracting trail of heat his fingers left across my skin made it impossible to worry or spend hours overthinking.

I'd never slept better than after I thrust against his smooth skin, his grip flexing tight on my hips, and came messily between our bodies—when I collapsed against his chest and felt the hammering of his heart against my forehead and knew that I'd sated him too.

In bed beside him, I was lost to the world. I finally had a place that felt my own, that felt earned, even if it was all delusion.

In truth, it was his room, his palace, his country. There was no reason to think I was anything more to him than a clever distraction.

We couldn't have more; I could only return what he gave, and I was most enthusiastic to do so.

Whether caused by love or proximity or something else, Avianitis was a mystery, beyond that my brother had survived it. As his half-sibling, I was not convinced that I'd be as lucky, and right then, I didn't want to risk losing everything.

What I wanted was . . . more.

More of Killian. More of his hands on my skin and his quiet, hitched breaths and the weight of his hair, threaded with all those feathers, when I lifted it to kiss his neck and—and more of whatever came next.

More of this sense of belonging. More support and conversation and understanding.

A buzzing, bubbly kind of hope had suffused my chest, and it should've terrified me.

I'd watched my father fall apart after my mother's passing, and while I did not mistake a bit of fumbling for a bond like they had had, my connection to Nemeda was more tenuous than my father's had been to Urial. So much hinged on what Killian thought of me, whether or not he valued what I had to offer.

To find out that his estimation of me had lowered would shatter the ground beneath my already unsteady feet.

And I was no fool. Killian had been frank when he'd said he didn't believe love was a factor in Avianitis, and I'd seen no proof that he believed in love at all, beyond a sense of duty and service to his people. That wasn't to say?—

Well, the feeling in my chest was strange and light, but that didn't make it love . I wasn't that fanciful.

It was a physical sensation of relief, knowing that I'd brought something of value to Nemeda and, perhaps, at least for a little while, earned my place here as something other than a burden. That relief had just gotten twisted up in the pleasure of seeing the shrewd tilt of Killian's head before he smiled or tasting his tongue against my own.

So I was determined to prove myself ever more valuable. The days that followed, I spent in the forge with Abram, working with the other smiths on bolts and weapons and—and whatever I could make that might give the Nemedans an edge in their unending war. We planned the wagon to transport the bolt thrower with as little trouble as possible.

And after the day's work ended?

If Killian was free, more often than not, I ended up in his bed, admiring every inch of his bare skin. Each scar was like a masterstroke, interesting and bitter and beautiful all at once.

He let me run my lips across each one and said nothing, his eyes swimming with emotion I couldn't begin to name. Nevertheless, I felt it, heavy and thick in my chest.

I might've wished to wipe away those scars, if they hadn't made the man before me.

And if Killian was busy? Well, Orestes wasn't getting out of training me quite so easily.

Yes, I was looking forward to learning from Killian, sparring with him. He'd been an exquisite dancer, and I could only imagine that power coiled to strike at me in battle.

I'd stand no chance, but we'd already established that I had lost myself to him already.

Still, he preferred that I only do a full day's work, not press to train after one. Orestes wasn't so particular, so even if training with him was a bit like fighting a polar bear in a blizzard, I meant to improve.

I thought I was getting better. Of course, when I asked, Orestes laughed and said that I was, and I could never quite believe him.

In a moment between bouts, as we caught our breaths, he leaned back against a rock wall. "I hear you'll be joining us at the clan meeting?"

"I haven't decided yet." Orestes frowned at me, so I felt I had to elaborate. "I'm not sure whether it would help Paris and Helena for me to put myself forward, or if it'd just draw attention to us."

That, and I wasn't sure that I had much worthwhile to say to the clan heads. What Abram had said had stuck with me—he'd been questioned about his relationship with Killian's mother, and wasn't I in a similar conundrum?

Paris was married to a clan chief. Helena had caught the eye of one. If this affair with Killian was made public, my family might earn a reputation for seducing powerful Nemedans away from duty and focus on their own people.

It was the kind of thing the courtiers in Urial would've whispered about. Loudly.

"Anyway, Abram is perfectly capable of explaining the bolt thrower. It's... truly, it's not that complicated. The mechanism is the same no matter who presents it."

Orestes rolled his eyes. "To you, perhaps, but if you're worried about Paris and Helena, don't be."

I scoffed. That didn't even warrant a real response.

"Nemeda appreciates those who contribute to our wellbeing. There's no reason not to put forward your accomplishments. It'll only help them."

That shouldn't have sounded strange, but thinking back to how things had worked in the court in Urial, it was unseemly to appear a braggart. Too much pride challenged the king, or your father, or?—

Well, it was simply strange, to stand before anyone and... boast?

I wasn't intending to boast. I didn't think what I'd done was that special. I would simply be there to impart useful information.

There was no harm in that.

I could go—see my siblings at the meeting. Get away from the palace for a bit. And yes, if that meant spending more time with Killian, rather than going for days or weeks without him, all the better.

"Someone will need to travel with the bolt thrower, I suppose."

Orestes grinned. "See? There you go, proving your value to the endeavor already."

The next swing I took at him with the practice spear was, perhaps, harder than it needed to be. He only laughed.