Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

NYRA

My arm pulsed with a deep, unrelenting ache that felt like it was reaching down to my bones, but I refused to look at it. I couldn’t bear to see the extent of the damage.

My eyes followed Dacre’s hurried movements around the cramped, unfamiliar room. It was my first time in this building, and I felt out of place as he rummaged through an old wooden cabinet.

The once grand building now stood in ruins, a stark contrast to the colorful stained windows that had somehow survived the years of neglect. Inside, makeshift beds lined the walls, and the sharp scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. Warriors littered the space, about a dozen in total, as Dacre guided me toward a private area. A healer was tending to various injuries, some more severe than others.

“Couldn’t we have done this at the springs?” I pressed the palms of my hands against the makeshift bed where I sat and let my fingers curl around the rough edge.

More pain sliced through my arm.

This place reminded me too much of home. It brought back memories of the dozens of times I had to visit my mother in a similar room when she had failed again and again to produce my father a rightful heir.

It was where I had watched her familiar face wither away.

It was the same damn room I had visited her cold, hard body in before my father had found someone new to replace her.

Dacre was moving a bottle of clear liquid and some clean gauze to a small table beside the bed. “Your wound needs to be cleaned first. My magic will only go so far, the last thing we need is for you to have an infection before I close the wound.”

I nodded silently, my teeth clenched as I watched him pull the stopper from the bottle. The sharp smell of alcohol stung my nose, and I winced, imagining its harsh touch on my skin. The words Wren said about him no longer healing lingered in my mind, but I held back from asking him.

Even though I was desperate to know if it was the truth.

I was desperate to know why.

I bit down harder on my lip to keep any questions from escaping.

My thoughts were a jumbled mess as I stared at him. The lingering sensation of his hands on my skin from the night before taunted me, and I hated that he had avoided me at our morning training session. But I could also still feel his father’s hand wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air supply. I could feel the panic rising in my chest.

He was threatening me because he didn’t trust me, and he was right to do so.

They had no reason to trust me, but the memory of his threats made me feel completely exposed and vulnerable in front of Dacre.

I was a traitor.

A traitor to my family, a traitor to my kingdom, and he would despise me when I became an even bigger traitor to him.

I was the true heir to my father’s throne, and despite how he was touching me last night, I knew that he would raise a dagger to my neck if he knew.

I was the advantage to this war that they needed.

And I was allowing them to suffer as I hid who I was.

But I couldn’t ask him any of the questions that were haunting me, so instead I asked, “Is this going to hurt?”

Dacre placed himself directly in front of me, the stool scraping against the rough stone floor. He paused before speaking, his eyes flickering with hesitation before he spoke. “It might sting a bit, but it can’t be worse than the pain you’re already feeling.” He gestured to the supplies at his side and said, “Once we clean it up, I’ll get you healed the best I can. Then Wren can take you to the springs.”

I tilted my head slightly, a silent agreement as he spoke. He avoided making eye contact with me and instead focused on the bottle in his hand. My stomach churned with shame as I remembered his touch from the night before.

I had been desperate for him. I had begged him.

And now he couldn’t even look at me.

With sure hands, Dacre squeezed the dropper and carefully placed several drops of liquid onto the clean gauze. He then raised my arm, exposing the angry, red wound. I clenched my jaw in anticipation as the cold liquid hit my skin, sending sharp stinging sensations through my body. I struggled to keep a stoic expression, not wanting to show Dacre how much it hurt. My breaths came out in short gasps as I fought to control the pain.

“Breathe, Nyra.” He pressed the gauze deeper into the wound, and I cried out. “The wound is deep, but it’s a clean cut. We just need to get any dirt and dried blood off your arm before I can heal it.”

I opened my mouth and swallowed down an audible breath as I tried to nod. My mind raced with memories of his cruel words cutting through me like knives the night before. But I couldn’t seem to hold on to the anger, and I felt a familiar pull toward him, my body responding to his closeness despite my better judgment.

“Where were you this morning?” My gaze fell to the floor as I mustered up the courage to ask the question.

Dacre’s calloused fingers paused on my arm briefly, then resumed their meticulous movements over my skin. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for his answer, afraid of what it might be.

“My father won’t do this again. Don’t worry,” he said sternly, setting the soiled gauze down on the table before grabbing another.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dacre rubbed his lips together as he continued to work without looking at me. “What did you mean then?”

“Were you avoiding me after…” I couldn’t force myself to say the words out loud.

“After what?” Dacre glanced up from his work, the piercing intensity of his dark gaze freezing me in place as I fumbled for an answer to his question.

My voice trembled as I spoke, barely above a whisper. “You know what,” I said, trying to mask the vulnerability in my words. But deep down, I hated how weak and small it made me feel.

“Say it, Nyra. After what?” Dacre’s hands carefully ran the gauze along the skin outside the wound, and I dug my fingernails into the bed.

“After you…” My voice quivered as I spoke. “After you did that,” I said, my eyes fixed on the ground. The weight of the memories flooded back, and I couldn’t stop the shame I felt.

Dacre carelessly tossed the soiled gauze onto the table and then leaned in close to me. His breath was hot on my face, and I instinctively leaned back, but he pressed closer. “When I made you come on my fingers while Eiran was frantically searching for you?”

I stared up at him in shock, the rawness of his tone contrasting with the gentle touch of his fingers as he ran them over the edge of my elbow. It was as if he was punishing me for my desires, for succumbing to the forbidden pleasure he had offered me.

His words lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of what I had done.

“Dacre,” I began. I swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “It’s not…”

“Not what?” he murmured, his voice laced with temptation. “It’s not like you begged me for everything I gave you?”

His words sent a rush of desire through me, battling against the pain and shame that still clung to me like a second skin. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to find my voice.

My arm was tingling where he was touching me, but I couldn’t look away from his eyes. I took a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his body mixed with the hint of the sterile alcohol. The room seemed to shrink around us as I clenched my fists at my sides, desperately trying to regain control over myself as the sensation in my arm got stronger.

“Dacre,” I said, my voice rough. I turned to look at my injured arm, but Dacre’s fingers met my chin and brought my gaze back to meet his.

“What are you…”

“It’s almost over.” Dacre’s voice was low and filled with a mixture of intensity and concern. His eyes bore into mine, searching for something beyond the physical pain.

My muscles clenched and spasmed as his hands moved over my body, channeling powerful magic that stitched me back together. With each surge of energy, a wave of intense adrenaline shot through my veins, making my heart race and my skin tingle with electricity. It was both exhilarating and agonizing to feel his power in such an intimate way.

I could almost taste the electricity in the air, a subtle metallic tang that reminded me of a late summer storm.

I gasped, my body arching involuntarily at the burst of energy. This was different than when he had healed me before. That injury hadn’t taken this much of his power.

His magic was familiar, yet unlike anything I had ever experienced before, a blend of pain and pleasure that felt like it would leave me craving his touch whenever he stopped.

His gaze never wavered from mine, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and torment. His eyes were darker than I had ever seen them, and it was impossible not to be affected by him.

As the intensity of his magic subsided, Dacre slowly withdrew his hands from my body. He took a small step back, and the air around us crackled. Remnants of his touch lingered on my skin.

My body trembled, unsure of how to process the conflicting emotions that swirled within me.

I ran my trembling fingers over my arm. There was still a dull ache that remained there, but the sharp pain from before was gone, and my skin was stitched back together as if the gash had never been there at all.

Dacre’s voice was husky and filled with emotions he refused to give away as he took another step back. “Meet Wren at the springs.” He ran his hand over one of his daggers. “You need to let that finish healing so you can get back to training tomorrow.”

Training.

Was that really all he cared about?

“Of course.” My cheeks burned as I dropped my hands to my sides and balled them into fists to stop myself from reaching out for him. I was still reeling from the intoxication of his magic, but his words were sobering.

“Tomorrow we are training with a bow and arrow.” He turned his back to me, and I stiffened.

“What? Why?” I quickly climbed off the table and stepped toward him. I had never even held a bow and arrow, and gods only knew that I would be worse with that than I was a dagger.

He barely glanced at me over his shoulder. “Because apparently you can’t dodge a dagger or pull your own in time to protect yourself.” He spat the words, and every bit of the buzz I had been feeling only a moment ago bled from my body. “Maybe you’ll be better with a bow in your hand.”

“Wren can teach me.” I crossed my arms as I moved past him and toward the door.

“Wren is shit with a bow,” he said dismissively.

“Then I’ll find someone else.” I pulled the door open, and the sound of the warriors milling about the healing quarters flooded the room.

“Over my dead body, Nyra.” He spoke so casually as I walked away from him. “You’re with me.”