Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

CLIO

Clio's gaze swung from Lyre to the Ra prince and back again. "But Lyre, what are you doing here?"

Sliding an arm around her, Lyre scooped her up onto her feet. She wobbled, clutching his elbow for balance. Her stunned disbelief was wearing off, and she had to fight back the crazed need to fling herself into his arms.

Lyre steered her past a sunken tub in the floor—what crazy architect would put a bathtub in the middle of a sitting room?—and pushed her down onto a cushioned lounge chair .

"Lyre, why are you here ?" A little volume came back into her voice. "How—I mean, when ?—"

Miysis passed her a crystal goblet brimming with water and ice cubes, interrupting her stammered questions. She automatically took it, staring at the ice.

Lyre perched on the lounge chair beside her. "I'm here because the little princess walked us out of a ley line and straight into a gang of royal soldiers." He rolled his eyes with more amusement than resentment. "As for why I'm still here, ask the prince."

"I offered to let him stay," Miysis murmured with a shrug. "He accepted."

Her gaze snapped between them, trying to read the undercurrents. Was Lyre a prisoner but unable to say as much?

"I regret it now," he groused at Miysis. "You're a damn bully, you know that?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

Clio hid her disbelief. How could Lyre talk to a Ra prince so casually? Didn't he realize Miysis was among the top dozen most powerful daemons in the Overworld? He commanded his family's personal militia and had partial control over Ra's main military, not to mention his influence among the highest-ranking nobles of not only his own kingdom, but all Overworld castes.

And why was the prince responding with equal nonchalance?

"Clio?" Lyre's voice softened again. "Are you okay?"

"You need cool, quiet, and water," Miysis told her. "Traveling in the desert during the day takes a heavy toll." He pulled a chair over from the nearby table and sat so he wasn't towering over them. "I need to review King Rouvin's letter again, but first, I wanted to ask—is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"Add?" she repeated cautiously.

"This began with you," he said. "Prince Bastian sent you to Chrysalis, and as a result, he has a weapon with which to attack my territory."

"The king wrote that in his letter?" she whispered in disbelief.

"Not explicitly." Miysis's gaze flicked to Lyre. "Your companion filled in the details. If not for the information he provided, the situation for Irida would be more dire than it is. "

Her shocked stare returned to Lyre, who smiled sheepishly, as though unsure whether she was about to yell at him.

Miysis frowned. "Clio, do you not know what King Rouvin's letter says?"

She shook her head. "It was for the Ras alone."

"I see." Miysis rose to his feet. "We will speak again at dinner—if you would be so kind as to dine with me?"

"Y-yes, of course. I would be honored."

"Excellent." He gave Lyre a sideways look. "You, however, are already the subject of enough rumors. I'll have dinner sent to your room."

Lyre sighed.

"Rest well, Lady Nereid," the prince said. As he stepped away, he gave Lyre an indecipherable look—and the incubus nodded in response.

She didn't remember she was supposed to return Miysis's farewell until after the door had closed behind him. Her brain felt like a pool of overcooked mush. Plucking the half-empty goblet out of her hand, Lyre refilled it from the brass pitcher.

"Drink it," he ordered, standing over her. "All of it."

Obediently, Clio brought the cup to her lips and drank. The cold water rushed down her throat to her middle, cooling the exhausting heat that felt as though the sunlight had embedded into her flesh.

Once she'd finished, he refilled the goblet again and returned it, but this time didn't command her to gulp it all down. Hands on his hips, he stared at her in an oddly appraising way.

"I can't decide if I like that costume. It's glamorous but kind of bulky …"

She blinked, then gave him a swift once-over. "What about your outfit? Why are you dressed like a griffin? I didn't even recognize you …"

Except part of her had recognized him—the part that had been instantly, obsessively drawn to him. She brought the goblet to her lips, hoping the ice water might fend off her new blush.

"It wasn't my idea." Arching an eyebrow, Lyre spread his arms. "How does it look? Miysis thinks I'm hot. "

She spat out her mouthful of water. Hastily wiping her chin, she set the goblet on Miysis's empty chair. "He …" She cleared her throat. "He said that?"

"He didn't say it, but he was thinking it."

"How do you know?"

Lyre smirked. "I'm an incubus."

"But he's …" She shook her head, too overwhelmed to fall down that rabbit hole. "It looks good on you."

Actually, "looks good" was an understatement of epic proportions. Lyre was already drop-dead gorgeous, but in the striking griffin garments, half his torso on display and each curve of muscle enhanced by ink designs, with similar patterns encircling his forearms and turquoise accents beneath his amber eyes, he was beyond description.

"Ah," Lyre breathed. "So you like it."

She looked up and found darkening eyes staring at her. Her lungs locked, his allure stealing her breath.

His hand slid into her hair, and he leaned down. His mouth found hers. The floor dropped out from under her, and she had to grab his shoulders as she was swept away in the flood of burning heat that the touch of his lips ignited inside her.

Sinking to his knees in front of the lounge, he pulled her hard against his chest, still kissing her. She clamped her arms around his neck, her mind blank, her need for him all she knew. He held her even tighter, crushing her.

In his kiss—in his touch—was a desperate edge. She felt it too. The urgent need to touch him, to kiss him, to meld with him after their separation. To feel, on every level and with every nerve in her body, that he was here, he was safe … and he was hers.

Pulling back, Lyre sucked in a deep breath, his eyes dark and pupils dilated. She panted, dizzy and clutching him. He brushed his fingers lightly across her jaw and over her lower lip, his touch slow and intimate.

Her heart raced, feeling twice its normal size. Did such soft, sweet touches go beyond sensuality or mere affection?

"I missed you." A catch marred his quiet murmur, as if he was unsure of what to say … or had never said those words before.

Without giving her a chance to respond, he swept her into his arms and stood.

She yelped in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"You need to rest. Aside from that pretty flush in your cheeks, you're pale as the moon."

"I'm always pale."

"You're extra pale," he clarified as he carried her toward a wall of drapes and pushed through a gap. On the other side was a huge canopied bed, shaded by the heavy fabric. The temperature dropped noticeably.

When he made to set her down on the silk sheets, she clung to his shoulders. "Not like this! I'm covered in sand and dust."

"You can get new sheets."

He tipped her onto the bed. She tried to jump up again but he pushed her back.

"Don't make me tie you down," he threatened cheerfully. "I'd hate to waste my free pass on restraints unless we're really going to have fun."

"Free pass?" she spluttered, her face flushing yet again.

He smirked and vanished through the drapes, returning a moment later with the refilled goblet and pitcher. Exhausted, she didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until she felt a tug on her foot. Opening them blearily, she discovered Lyre sitting at the end of the bed, pulling her soft green boots off.

"I can do that," she mumbled.

"You can relax." He wiggled her other boot off and tossed it onto the floor. "You need to recoup some energy before your fancy dinner."

"Oh, right." She closed her eyes again. "Why can't I eat dinner with you instead? "

"You're a real emissary now. It's part of the job."

She groaned at the thought. "I need to get Miysis to stop calling me ‘lady.' I'm not a?—"

Her whole body went ice cold, and she bolted upright so fast that Lyre sprang off the bed, ready to defend them from an unseen threat. Her breath came in a panicked wheeze. "He—he?—"

"What's wrong?" Lyre's face appeared in front of hers. "What is it?"

"He called me Lady Nereid ." She grabbed his arm. "How does Miysis know ? How did he find out? No one can know, especially not Ra!"

Inexplicably calm, Lyre sat beside her and, prying her fingers off his arm, took her hand in both of his. "You really don't know what was in that letter, do you?"

"No, but?—"

"King Rouvin identified you, his official emissary, as a member of the Nereid family."

"He … he did? Are you sure?"

"Miysis showed me the letter." Lyre squeezed her hand. "Your father didn't specify your exact rank or anything, but it looks pretty official. You're a Nereid for real now."

Emotions roiled through her, expanding until she couldn't breathe. She inhaled to speak—and burst into tears instead. Lyre wrapped his arms around her, and she pulled herself together as best she could.

Her father had named her a Nereid. It wasn't a secret anymore.

Lyre helped her lie back, his smile comforting. "Sleep, Clio. You've got a long evening ahead of you."

Even more exhausted than before, she let her eyes close. "Will you stay with me?"

"I'll be here." A note of amusement touched his voice. "And even if I'm not right here, my room is next door, so I won't be far."

She blindly slid her hand in the direction of his voice. His fingers closed around hers, warm and reassuring.

"Stay," she whispered. "I want you to stay with me."

She was already sliding into sleep, her thoughts fuzzy and disconnected, so when he answered, she wasn't sure if his soft, hopeless whisper was real or a shadow of a dream.

"I wish I could."