18. Xander

18

XANDER

T hough Xander had tried to prepare himself for the violence of Reese's face—a face that looked so much like his late best friend's—seeing it rendered him an absolute wreck. Grief ripped the air out of Xander's lungs the moment he laid eyes on Reese.

Isla noticed, of course, because she didn't miss anything, but there was no time to waste. They'd dragged Reese through the passages, out into the snowy night, and beyond the castle's walls, concealed by the blinding snow.

"How did this happen? How were you caught?" Xander asked.

"An honest mistake, Xan. I have a contact at Death and Fortune, so I go there to gamble and watch the fights at least once a week to check in," Reese said.

Xander clapped a hand to his head. It was his fault Reese had been hurt.

"Don't blame yourself," Reese said. "I should have made sure you knew all my hangouts the way that Evan does. That's on me. It was bad luck that I happened to arrive when they were watching," Reese said. His voice was almost lost in the howling wind. "Besides, it clears up where Lord Bidell's loyalties lie. Good news is he's so old he might die before we get to take a crack at him."

"Reese, I'm so sorry. If I had known, I never would have risked it." Xander shook his head. "Evan was probably watching you get dragged away."

Reese shrugged. The gesture was an eerie echo of Teddy. "I accepted the risks when I signed up for this job years ago. The fact that I've made it this far without running into any issues is miracle enough. Don't beat yourself up. You should know better than anyone after your years in Olney how we take on the risks and live with the consequences."

Reese might have forgiven him, but Xander wouldn't forgive himself as easily. "It's a lot to accept that I could have lost another Reynolds brother," he said.

Reese met his eye. "Isn't the loss of one punishment enough? Don't take this on."

They were all soaked to the bone by the time they made it to the meeting point where Chris Lamotis was waiting. He took one look at Reese and his posture withered.

Reese held up his hands. "Don't fuss. It looks worse than it is, but gods, am I glad you're coming with me," he said thickly.

Chris tucked Reese into a dark cloak, the movement reverent—almost tender. He leaned his forehead against Reese's and blew out a shuddering breath. "I was terrified."

The words were barely a whisper but Xander could tell from the way Isla shifted beside him that she'd heard it too.

Xander couldn't believe he'd missed it before when it had been right in front of his face. He'd not seen either of them do more than mildly flirt with the women at court. Xander had always wondered why two wealthy and handsome men on his council weren't at least courting when they were clearly so popular with the ladies.

But the way Chris tended to Reese, slowly helping him up onto the horse, so careful not to touch any wounds—it was the way one tended to a lover .

Chris turned back to Xander.

"You could have told me," Xander said.

Chris shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "It never came up."

Xander cleared his throat. "All the same, you would never find judgment from me. I'm just happy you'll both be safe."

"I can't thank you enough for getting us out, but we'll be mighty worried not being inside to have your back," Chris said solemnly.

Xander reached out and took his hand. "You two have been invaluable and courageous this whole time, but I won't risk you any longer. Besides, I'm sure you can still do plenty of damage from out here. You know where you're going?"

Chris nodded, pulling Xander into a hug before mounting his horse.

Isla stood next to Xander, watching as the men were swallowed up by the dark. The wind was beginning to slow, the cloud cover giving way to splotches of starry sky.

Xander wished he could feel the storm instead of just hearing it—like he could when he had access to his magic. He still had a sense of it, could feel it strengthening. It had always been like that for him—as if the wind was a language he could speak from the moment he was born in the heart of a storm. It wasn't the same when he couldn't feel the magic of it like it belonged to him.

He rubbed at the bracelet on his wrist.

"Do you miss it?" Isla asked, gesturing to the sky.

"Like an old love," Xander sighed, turning to meet her warm brown eyes.

"I know what it sounds like, but what does it feel like to you?"

Xander frowned, trying to think of a way to describe something so numinous. "Have you ever heard a symphony play?"

Isla nodded.

"It's kind of like I imagine it would feel to direct one. There's this disharmony when it starts, like all of the instruments tuning up before the first piece begins. The clouds that clash together, the change in temperature, the wind that barrels through as two discordant sounds connect, and then it starts and it's this perfect harmony, rain calling to wind calling to lightning and thunder or, when it's colder, to snow. And when I have my magic, it's like I'm conducting. I can bring it to this great, roaring crescendo, or I can keep it small and temperate. There's a beauty and grace to a storm and I can feel it in my whole body, like I'm part of the song."

He'd never spoken so openly about his connection to magic.

Isla's breath came out in puffy white clouds. "That sounds beautiful."

He nodded. "I've never been without it. It's one of the few constant things in my life. Even when I was young and didn't really know what I was doing, I could work with it. I got better so quickly. It was so natural I never even tried to reach for any other power, never thought I could until Cece taught me. It's fun to try new things, but there's nothing quite like the storm."

"I'd like to see it," Isla said with a grin.

"You will." He said the words with certainty, but he was beginning to doubt himself. "We should sneak back before someone important notices our absence. If we're caught, say you've never seen a snowstorm and I took you out to walk in it."

Isla nodded, weaving her arm through his. He led her back toward the castle. As they neared the entryway, Xander felt oddly vulnerable, like he'd revealed too much of himself.

Clearing his throat, he guided her back inside. They walked down the long corridor into the grand hall, where they found Grant waiting. He frowned at them, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Just going for an evening walk?" he asked.

Xander shrugged. "I am the Storm Prince. Should I not enjoy a storm with my lovely wife? Especially when I have no access to it myself."

Grant rubbed his chin, still eyeing the two of them with suspicion. "Vincent wants to see you."

Xander nodded. "Very well. I just need to take Jess upstairs."

Isla's arm tightened on his as he turned and led her up the stairs. "I don't like that man."

"Join the club," Xander huffed .

They rushed down the hall and into their room. Xander helped Isla out of her dress, letting his eyes linger an extra moment on her lower back. She strutted into the closet for a change of clothes. They'd given Jessamin the neighboring suite, which was connected to Xander's by a passageway. She needed her own space to rest, and Maren was always on her guard, ready for any attackers.

Isla had stayed with Xander in his rooms, and he was starting to get used to it. It was nice to have someone sharing his space again.

He changed into drier clothes and Isla reached to smooth his hair.

They both froze, as if realizing the intimacy of the movement at the same time. She drew her hand away but remained close, breathing the same air.

"I should?—"

Isla stepped away quickly, putting space between them to dispel the tension. "Of course. Just be careful."

Xander nodded, stashing his dagger at his waist. He darted into the hallway and down the hall to the grand staircase.

A shadow darted behind him. Hands shoved against Xander's back. The world slowed. His eyes went wide, and his body tipped forward.

Vincent's threat of a gruesome accidental death surged in his mind.

Of all the ways Xander thought he'd die, falling down the stairs had not even made the list, and yet there he was, panicking as he tried to assess the safest way to tumble down the long staircase.

If he had his magic, he would have summoned a great gust of wind to break his fall. The Unsummoner bracelet made that impossible.

At the very last second, a hand snatched at his tunic, dragging him backward. He landed on his back with a thud. Behind him, Isla sprang into action.

Xander hopped to his feet as she plunged a dagger into the man's chest .

"Who sent you?" Isla growled.

The guard's eyes darted to Xander. "He knows."

Isla yanked her dagger free and pushed the man hard, sending him careening down the stairs. She rushed to Xander's side, cupping his face in her hands. "Are you all right?"

Xander nodded. "Thanks to you."

He looked at the crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs, his heart still pounding, and something that had been growing between him and Isla seemed to overtake them both at once.

He pulled her into a kiss. It was savage, desperate, as if a kiss alone could shake the fear from their bodies.

Xander pulled away only long enough to guide her to the first room he could find at the top of the stairs. By the grace of the gods, it was empty. He closed the door behind them, locking it as Isla tore at his clothes.

Whatever sense of decorum had been holding them back was gone. She yanked off his tunic and undershirt. She ran her hands over his skin, her callused palms leaving a rush of goosebumps in their wake as she reached the button on his trousers.

Dropping to her knees, she pulled him free of his pants. Xander couldn't catch his breath as she stroked his cock. It was a practiced motion, as if she'd done it enough to know exactly what she was doing. A groan burst from his lips at the first swipe of her tongue, and his head fell back against the door, his body completely in her control.

He took a shuddering breath, looking down at her. She held his eye as she took him deep, hollowing out her cheeks.

"Fuck," he grunted, trying not to thrust his hips.

She moaned, bobbing her head as she pushed him toward a climax at an alarming speed.

"Isla." He brought a hand to the back of his head. "You have to stop or I'm going to lose it."

She pulled back, grinning up at him.

"Take off your dress and get in the bed right now. "

"Take off your pants and fuck me right now," she countered.

So that was how it was going to be—a battle of wills. Xander had become so accustomed to losing that he was delighted for a fight where both of them could win for once.

It was only a moment before Isla was naked, but it felt like an eternity. She backed toward the bed, sitting on the edge as he knelt in front of her. He drank in the sight of the fullness of her breasts, the strong lines of muscle on her stomach, and her full hips.

He ran his fingers up her inner thighs, following each line with a trail of kisses, before swiping his tongue over her clit. Her hips lifted off the bed as she moaned. He pressed them back into the mattress, holding her in place as he slid his tongue over her in slow, lazy licks, relishing the impatient whine that burst from her mouth. Her hand came to the back of his head, urging him on. Xander chuckled as he picked up his pace, devouring her until she was panting, fingernails digging into his forearms. Her toes curled into his back, and she gasped as she climaxed.

Gods, he liked that sound almost as much as he liked feeling her at his mercy for once.

He climbed up her body, barely waiting for her to catch her breath before meeting her warm brown eyes.

"You are beautiful." The whispered admission was reckless and accidental.

The moment stretched out, the silence between them heavy with unspoken things. He was torn between levity and honesty because he felt so much that he could not find words for.

"Xander, please," she rasped.

He rubbed his cock over her slowly, teasing. He wanted her to beg, but he was also impatient to get inside her.

"Xander." Her voice was more urgent, her hands on his hips, pulling him closer.

Without warning, she rolled him onto his back and sank onto him in one swift, practiced motion.

"Fuck!" Xander's hips flexed instinctively.

Her pussy clamped down around him. She paused for a moment, her fingernails raking down his chest, her hands coming to rest on the scar over his heart.

She rolled her hips and Xander gripped her tighter, pulling her down farther, grabbing at her as if touching more of her was the only way to possess her.

She moved fast, frantically, rocking against him, chasing another release. Her gaze locked with his. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't stop his hands from shaking because he could see in her eyes that this was not some fleeting attraction. For a year he'd been alone, but he wasn't alone in this—in the terror of surprise affection. Isla felt what he felt.

Xander knew the feeling brewing in his chest acutely, the way all hunters had an instinct for danger. How many times had he stood on the edge of some dark forest, wondering if he'd enter and find victory or ruin? He'd hoped his days of risking oblivion were over and yet here he was about to do it again. If he went in alone and she wasn't there to help guide him back out—he didn't know if he'd survive that.

Pushing the thoughts away, he focused on her, moving in rhythm with her until her whole body tensed, her back arched, and she cried out, carrying Xander over the edge with her.

They stared at each other, breathless and fearful in the afterglow, until finally Xander drew away.

He lay beside her, tracing a finger over the lines of her stomach. "Why did you follow me out of the room?"

She was quiet so long he thought she might not answer. "It didn't feel right letting you go alone after the day you'd had. I was worried about what Vincent had planned. I don't—" She sighed shakily. "I don't know how you bear the constant threat."

Xander frowned. "But you've guarded the princess of Novum your entire life. How do you not understand the feeling of eternal vigilance?"

Isla shook her head. "All women know. The understanding of Vincent's kind of violence is so instinctual it's perhaps the first thing any woman understands as she comes of age. But to see someone like him relish in his cruelty, take pleasure in the mental warfare as well as the physical…" She shuddered. "I was never under the impression that the world was kind. Even in a queendom such as ours, you come to understand the brutality of nature. I think that's why my cousin has come here. Sometimes you need to be in a place where you can do something about that cruelty. But that's also why I couldn't let you walk into that—to face a man like that—alone."

Xander swallowed thickly. "Why?"

Isla ran her fingers through his hair. "Because you hold on to your loneliness like it will save you, when really it's a boulder that will drag you down to the depths."

"My whole life relied on instinct and these past couple years have made me doubt all of them. Before I met Cece, I was eternally an optimist—always able to talk myself out of problems. I did not know how to risk my heart. I did not even acknowledge that I had one."

Isla propped herself on an elbow, running her fingers over the scar over his heart. "Why did Cato stab you?"

"Because I tricked him. I hid Cece's weakness from him to keep her safe—or rather to keep Rainer safe. I knew what an impossible task I'd set before myself with her. But I live for the rush of a challenge. And so, I saw her look at Rainer that way and I wanted her to look at me the same. I really thought I was charming enough to have that. But I learned better. I learned when he nearly died and she screamed like she was dying too. And so, I protected that weakness of hers from Cato. I let him twist me in knots and ruin my love for her to protect the love of her life. But I'll never know if I did it as some self-sabotage or to atone for being the selfish enough to manipulate her."

Isla stroked his cheek. "You learned from a mistake, Xander. People cannot expect a king to be perfect. All they expect is that you will learn from your mistakes."

A lump formed in his throat. "I also didn't know the extent of my father's mistakes until this whole ordeal with Vincent." He met Isla's gaze. "I worry that I'm more like Damian than I would like to be. If I was taught to think in the same extremes, what's to keep me from being just as harsh?"

She pressed her palms over the scar on his chest. "We are not our parents. For better or worse, we make our own way in this world. Even us royals."

He hesitated, but he wanted so badly to tell her the secret he'd been holding on to most of his life. The same one that had left him with an eternal chip on his shoulder and something to prove.

"What if—" he started but his chest was so tight he could hardly speak. "What if I was only half a royal?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, then you're quite reckless with your pillow talk."

"It's not pillow talk. I've made quite a few mistakes in the past. I thought maybe I'd try starting with honesty and see how it goes."

Isla was silent for a moment, studying him as if she was trying to solve a riddle. "How do you know for sure when there are no records of it?"

Xander sighed and flopped back on the bed. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the memory and failing thanks to the bracelet on his wrist. "Before I left for Olney at fourteen, my mother, Juliana, pulled me aside. I assumed she was going to try to talk me out of it. She and the king had been arguing about it for weeks. Instead, she brought me into her private sitting room and told me the truth. That my true father was her consort, Arthur Randal. I insisted that she was mistaken; that there was no way to know for sure, but?—"

His voice broke as he remembered the look on his mother's face—sheer desperation. She had been so afraid for him.

Isla tucked his hand between hers. "But?"

He blinked his eyes open and turned to meet her gaze. "But she told me how, despite the fact that there was magic in her family line, my grandmother and her family were mostly earth witches, but Arthur, though he didn't have magic himself, came from a long line of talented storm witches. And it explained so much—why Damian hated my magic so much and wouldn't let me use it. Why I had nothing of his temperament. Why I'd had such a knack as a hunter, and why Arthur Randal had paid special attention to my training, not directly training me himself, but making sure I had men he trusted to work with. "

Isla squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry that you found out that way."

Xander took a shuddering breath. "Do you remember the first day you felt grown up? That was how I felt. Like I'd gone from being a child one moment to an adult the next. Because then my mother got on her knees and begged me not to spy in Olney because if anyone discovered who I was and I was caught, King Damian would dismiss me for what I was and let them do whatever they wanted with me. It wasn't the first time in my life I'd known that no one was coming to save me. The Storm Prince story is true, after all. But it was the first time I wished my mother would have lied to me about it."

What he left out was that his mother had brought in Arthur Randal after that, and he had pleaded with Xander as well. But Xander hadn't listened. He was young and angry and so certain he could make it on his own. Then, they'd summoned Magdalena, who had taken the memory of what had happened from him so he would forget it all and no memory witch could pry the truth from him. It wasn't until he had looked into the truth mirror that Xander had remembered it and there was no one left alive to aim his fury and hurt at.

He had left for Olney early the next morning without even saying goodbye to his mother.

"You are the only one who knows this."

He watched the understanding wash over Isla. He'd given her something entirely personal and valuable. She wanted to know that he'd moved on, and he was trying to offer her something he had never given to anyone else.

Isla ran her fingers through his hair. "I'm so sorry that the man who raised you was an ass, but you are not him, just like you are not the man who didn't bother to raise you. You are not their neglect or their mistakes. You are what their secrets forged you into, which seems to be a flawed man with a good heart."

Warmth spread through his chest, the feeling of acceptance both wonderful and terrifying. He kissed her.

Isla pulled back and leaned her forehead against his. "In my experience, perfection is boring and overrated. We all have a past, but if we aren't careful it can become an anchor. I think you should be sure you've made peace with it before you charge into the future."

The message was clear. He'd had his closure with Cece, and he'd made his peace with it, but now the memories remained, filling him with fear and confusion when Isla wanted certainty.

Part of him wanted to surrender. How nice it would be. But a bigger part of him couldn't stop remembering the year after Cece, when he'd felt so lost, so heavy with unspent love for her, he'd barely survived. He wasn't certain that he could let himself love again at all.

For the first time he understood Cece's conundrum. Xander had always been second. Deep down, he'd always known Rainer was first, and it frustrated him to no end. How could she want them both? How could she not remove that part she reserved for Rainer and give it to Xander when he'd been her husband?

But now he was the one who felt haunted by something unfinished. He did not want to put Isla second, especially to a memory. His love had been so stubborn, slow to shift into a new form, but he was learning it was okay to be haunted as long as he didn't force Isla to banish those specters for him. He felt he'd lost some piece of him to Cece; that although he was healing, he would never quite be the same.

For the first time since he'd left Cece in Olney, he wanted to give himself to someone else. But a woman like Isla did not seem the type to be satisfied with less than all of him, or maybe she was not convinced that she had it yet.

He'd been far less aware of what was happening with Cece, having never been in love before, having been completely swept away by the inevitability of loving her.

Now he felt himself treading water, waiting to be sucked out to sea in the undertow. So much about love was still dangerous and unknowable.

His timing, as always, was terrible. The last time he'd felt this, he'd been about to accomplish his life's work. This time he was trying to save his kingdom from a maniac. Everything he'd learned about love was messy, wrought, filled with chaos—and yet he wanted it again, like a dog who couldn't stop returning to a master who did nothing but kick him.

Perhaps Xander had learned nothing at all and was cursed to forever be reckless when it came to matters of the heart.

Falling in love was an unbelievably foolish thing to do, but he'd never been terribly wise.