Chapter 11

Calen

After sending Ela to Zetrea a couple of weeks ago, the anxiety coursing my veins has only gotten worse, and I’m in dire need of a break, or a way to drown my fears.

By the time I finish my third pint of ale, I’m inebriated enough to relegate the anxious thoughts that are my usual companions to the back of my mind. Naar is clinking glasses with his squadron and I spot Wyn dancing with a group of Fae, intoxicated and unable to step to the beat of the percussions. The scene draws a smile to my face, and the cold drink in my hand even makes me forget Vesta’s absence.

“Cheers, General.” Naar approaches, a smile plastered on the face of the usually reserved captain of Averion.

“We’ve earned this one,” I say as I clink my glass to his.

“We sure have.”

The captain looks around the room, pausing on each of his soldiers.

“Your mate didn’t want to join us tonight, did he?”

Naar’s laugh fills the air.

“Come on, you know how much Mor loves these gatherings.”

As much as I enjoy teasing about the healer and his love for decorum, he’s been a true ally and friend throughout the years.

Naar turns towards the door with longing in his eyes, reminding me of what I can never have—someone waiting for me in a place to call home.

“Get out of here, Naar. You’ve done your fair share of bonding with your squadron.” I wave towards the group at the back of the tavern, where Wyn has now taken his shirt off and is singing alongside the band while dancing suggestively for whoever wants to watch.

The captain gives me a small smile before making his way to the door. I consider making a discreet exit myself, but a familiar voice speaks up behind me.

“Don’t you dare leave without buying me a drink, General.”

A weight lifts off my shoulder as I turn and face Vesta.

I signal for a waiter to bring another round of drinks to my table, and my gaze lands on the redheaded Captain of the High Guard. Stunning as ever, she’s wearing an emerald corset and skirt that match her irises nicely.

“What am I good for, if not to buy drinks for gorgeous Fae?”

A flush darkens her cheeks before she regains her composure.

“We’re the lucky ones, to have you grace us with your presence.”

A laugh tears from my throat.

“You’ve never known how to take a compliment, V.”

She sighs dramatically at my comment.

“They’re far too boring.”

“Because you get so many, I suppose.” This time, I force my smile before raising my glass to hers. “Cheers.”

“What are you doing here, though, seriously?” Vesta raises an eyebrow before adding, “not that our General needs a reason to join his soldiers in a shitty bar.”

My gaze trails across the stuffy room, and I shrug.

“I needed a break too.”

She nods and sips from her ale.

“I’m worried,” I confess, the words unlocked by her presence. She’s the only one I could trust with this burden and who could understand my troubled mind. “The wildest conjectures cloud my judgment, stoking the embers of my fears.”

“You know as well as I do that nothing could have stopped Ela from going,” she answers as I stare into her green eyes. “I would have done the same thing.”

Her voice turns to a whisper, and I nod as she allows me to imagine the impossible.

However hard I’ve tried to break down the walls she’s erected around her heart after the loss of her mate, she’s never entertained the possibility of something happening between us. Over the years, she’s pushed away anyone wanting more than a few nights with her, but tonight, a sliver of hope lingers in my heart. I want much more than that with her, though I’m not sure I deserve it.

“Come on.” She cocks her head towards the back of the room, where a crowd has assembled near the musicians. “Let’s dance.”

She pulls me by the arm and I follow, too tired to argue, or too inebriated to care. Her flamboyant hair like a beacon in the mass of buzzed Fae, I let her guide me towards an empty corner.

The music is much louder here, and her arms raise above her head sensually as the notes reach her delicate ears.

Enthralled, I move closer to her, slowly rocking to the tune, until we’re inches apart. She doesn’t step away, and our bodies begin moving together, harmonizing. My hands go to her waist on instinct, but reason makes a comeback and I stop myself.

She looks at me through her painted eyelashes and I lose myself in her gaze. I don’t stop her when she grabs my hands and puts them on her waist this time, taking control.

My fingers brush her corset as her hips sway and my breath hitches in my throat. I grip a little tighter, needing to anchor myself after craving her for so long.

Moments later, our bodies are intertwined as we dance in a dark corner, away from prying eyes. Hell, I doubt anyone is sober enough to register what’s happening on this side of the bar.

I can’t take my eyes of her, needing to engrave this moment in my brain. As I blink, I half-expect to wake up from a dream, but when I open my eyes, she’s still here, pressing her body against mine, letting her hands travel my shoulders.

Each touch of her hips against mine sends a rush of heat through my spine, and my heartbeat accelerates.

“Vesta,” I growl in her ear as she returns her brightest smile. She will be the death of me.

A commotion followed by cheers sounds behind us, and the energy in the room changes as everyone’s attention is drawn to a drunken patron making a heartfelt speech.

When I return my attention to Vesta, her face is inches from mine, her warmth breath a caress on my neck. I lower my gaze and find hers set on my lips. Hypnotized, I watch as her mouth parts, inviting me.

My palms shake as I cradle her face, still scarcely trusting this gift she’s granting me.

As soon as my lips touch hers, my body craves all of her. Reason escapes me and every fiber of my soul is consumed by her soft lips.

The music’s quick tempo echoes my frantic heart as my soul communicates through hungry lips, relishing in her touch, which I once despaired of knowing outside tortured dreams. I need to sample every inch of her skin. I hunger for her body like a starved man, drunk on her taste.

She meets my kiss eagerly, her palm resting on my chest, opening her mouth, welcoming mine like its true home.

I lose myself on her lips until cheers echo behind us once more.

A Fae bumps into me hard enough to separate us, and I shove him away, my body screaming from the loss. Several people grab hold of the drunk Fae before sitting him down, and when I turn back, Vesta is gone.

The following day, I walk into the garrison around midday for my usual training session with Vesta. She’s not here yet, but that’s not unusual. Punctuality is rarely her priority.

After acknowledging the soldiers present, I begin warming up. Every now and then, I glance at the door, waiting for the Captain of the High Guard to stroll in, proudly sporting a mean hangover.

I move on to training when it becomes clear she’s not coming, and I stop checking the entrance. A pang of disappointment flickers briefly within me before logic reasserts its cool control, my pragmatism rising to dampen the sting.

She made the first move yesterday, approached me, invited me to dance, and I made the second move. I kissed her and she let me, encouraging me to widen the cracks in her armor.

I wield my sword relentlessly across the room, not bothering to hold back my blows. After an hour of this dance, I’m sweating profusely, but my mind is calmer.

When I take a quick break to switch from my long sword and train with two short sabres instead of my long sword, I overhear soldiers chatting in a corner.

“She’s a wild one, I’ll tell you that.” One of the Fae winks at the group gathered around him, eliciting muffled laughs.

“She’s certainly not shy,” another one adds. “She danced with half the bar last night.”

I get closer, my jaw clenched hard as they utter these idiocies. Judgmental fuckers.

“Bars, you mean? I hear she didn’t make it back until sunrise,” the first soldier counters. “She’s a captain I’d like to take orders from, if you know what I mean.”

“Me, it’s her red hair I’d pull as I—”

A growl tears from my throat, silencing the room as I storm towards them, sabres in hand.

“One more word, and I’ll tear those forked tongues from your mouths with my bare hands,” I snarl at the unworthy fools whom Vesta would never even glance at. “That is no way to speak about your superior, or anyone for that matter.”

Their gazes flee to the ground as they freeze in place. Vesta holds more power over their narrow minds than they have over themselves.

“Return to your posts.”

My voice is so loud, it must have been heard throughout the barracks. They scatter like scared animals.

I rarely use threats for those under my command, for there is usually no need. But I’m not above it and I certainly won’t have squadrons circulate ignorant bullshit.

We didn’t fight for unity and freedom in the Fae realms to reserve it for a select few who deem themselves better than others who live differently. Respect is due to all, or it holds no meaning.

My anger restored tenfold, I storm out of the garrison and into the palace. I lock myself in Azran’s office and only emerge hours later once the overwhelming amount of bureaucracy has tamed my rage.

I stop by the kitchen to have dinner sent to my room before making my way to my quarters.

This late at night, the corridors are empty, but when I turn a corner, I stop dead in my tracks. Vesta stands at the other end of the corridor, her gold and red armor hugging her curves, her hair tied in a braid. We lock eyes, and even from a distance, there is no mistaking the look on her face—ready to flee at the smallest hint of danger, yet intrigued.

My stomach twists at her sight, but I don’t give her time to say a word. I turn on my heels and take the long way to my rooms. If I push her too far too soon, she will slip through my fingers and I might never get her back.