44. Killian

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

KILLIAN

T he day ended up being mostly idle, but that was acceptable.

I still wasn't allowed to do half my work because of the healing wounds, so lounging on a hillside with Hector was something I could afford to do for a change. Then taking dinner in my quarters, and eating with him as well. I could do that.

Even better, it was . . . surprisingly lovely.

We sat on my bed with our food, feeding each other more than eating off our own plates.

He smiled more than I'd seen him smile in the entire time I'd known him, and something about that lifted my entire soul up. I felt more like I was flying than when I actually took to the air.

Of course he'd been a beautiful bird. It wasn't a kind of owl I'd seen before, with enormous feathers on top of his head that looked almost like horns, but it had been very impressive. Like his siblings, yes, but just as in his human body, bigger, more substantial. The earthy tones just fit in with that, not that I would tell him I thought brown suited him.

Not many people found brown an exciting color.

Me? I was coming to love the color. Hector's eyes, Hector's hair, Hector's feathers... hell, even his pert nipples when I managed to slide him out of his shirt. All brown. All my favorite things in the world.

Yes, brown was an inspired color. Maybe my favorite.

Speaking of sliding Hector out of his shirt, after dinner, I decided it was time. In the afternoon, it had been to get him to change, and so he wouldn't get trapped inside his clothes and panic when he did. I'd seen young people hurt themselves on their first shift, because the feeling of one's shirt twisting around feathered wings was wrong and stifling and awful, and sometimes made it hard to breathe.

But Hector hadn't panicked. He'd just glared down at himself like the most adorable grumpy owl I'd ever seen in my life.

"We'll have to get you some clothes that are easier to get off," I mused to him as I undid the row of buttons down his front. "These Urial clothes are too constricting. I don't know how you breathe in them."

He lifted a brow, somehow both amused and unimpressed with my trying to get rid of his wardrobe. "I hardly think I'm going to spend that much time changing into a bird. Not much call for flying in the smithy."

I scoffed, tossing his finally open shirt off to one side. "I can't imagine why you think my motivation is to make it easier for you to fly."

His second brow lifted to meet the first, and his lips quirked in a near-smile. "Then why would you want to change my wardrobe, when it's already perfectly serviceable?"

I leaned away, pulling the tie on my own shirt and letting it fall from my shoulders in a single sinuous movement. "Because, my dear, it will be so very much easier to strip you out of traditional Nemedan clothing. Besides, you're Nemedan now. No reason to hold onto buttons and such."

His expression melted into that same carefree smile as it had in the afternoon, and I made a mental note to remind him, as often as possible, that he was entirely Nemedan. It seemed to make him truly happy.

It made sense. It was everything to Esmerelda, too. It was something she'd worked hard for; something she'd almost died for. It had to mean more to them than it did to one like me, who'd been born to it, like stumbling over a treasure and not comprehending its value and importance. Admittedly, I understood better than some, since I fought for it nearly every day of my life, but still. I would never understand the gift of belonging the way people like Hector and Esmerelda did, because they were forced to.

I doubted Paris truly understood it, even, because he'd never felt the odd man out in either nation. Never had to fight for everything he was given. And Hector wouldn't have wanted it any other way, as much as it hurt him to have to fight for his own place.

Forcibly, I shook off my worries about Hector and belonging. He did belong. He belonged here, with me. At my side. For as long as he was willing to stay.

So I stripped him out of the rest of his clothes and spent half the night worshipping at the altar of his golden body, kissing every inch of him until he was squirming, complaining that I should get a move on and fuck him already. Or let him fuck me, something.

So I laughed and rolled onto my back, letting him have his own way. He happily took over and took all he wanted.

When I woke some hours later with the daylight filtering through my bedroom window, though, I was alone in bed, the sheets where Hector had been the night before cold and empty. I wasn't sure why, but it felt wrong. I'd been sleeping in the same bed, alone, for most of my adult life. But it wasn't right anymore.

Nothing was right without Hector.