Chapter 35

“Are we almost done?”

My pretty, austere handmaiden steps between me and the ornate vanity, yanking a piece of hair like a leash, twisting it around a metal rod that’s been dipped in the flaming fireplace. “You have a lot of hair, Mistress.”

Izel releases the coil, separates out another lank tendril, then back-combs it at the base of my skull until it resembles a hen’s feather—her delicate, Bahari blue stone cupla dangling with every sharp jerk of her brushing hand.

I peer at her through fluffy, gold tresses. “I like your”—yank—”cupla. It’s very pretty.”

She glances at it, speaking through tight lips as she offers a curt “Thank you.”

I bite down on my desire to release a hiss of pain as she combs with a little extra gusto. “Are you coupled? Promised?”

She looks into the mirror, nailing me with an icy stare. “Widowed. My promised was on the boat you sailed here on. He didn’t return.”

My heart drops so fast I almost vomit. “I-I’m so sorry, I had no idea …”

She throws me a tight-lipped smile, eyes void as she says, “Your words won’t bring him back.”

Any response clogs in my throat.

She continues to fluff and smooth and twist and tame, coiling tendrils around the iron like she didn’t just drop a boulder on my chest. I lower my gaze, watching my fingers twirl around the ribbon of blue silk knotted around my waist rather than my coiffed reflection as she finishes taming my heavy, corkscrew mane, then brushes out the curls. She glides toward the mannequin to retrieve my gown—similar in style to the one Cainon had fashioned for me while I was still at Castle Noir.

The one Rhordyn shredded right before tossing me his oversized shirt that swallowed me stupid.

“I can dress myself.”

She catches my stare in the mirror’s reflection, then steps toward a bucket of water beside the fire that’s stuffing the room with unnecessary heat.

“I’ll do that, too.”

A small, tight-lipped moment passes, then she curtseys and exits without another word.

The door closes, my shoulders folding forward as I exercise my lungs in a way I barely managed while she was finishing my hair.

If she’s the one who planted the poisonous berries in my meal, I don’t blame her.

She probably didn’t step into her coupling the same way I did—with a stranger, on a single-minded mission to rescue lives and absolve her guilty conscience. Her story was likely a true fairy tale filled with all the lovely things I’ve read about in fantasy stories.

I took that from her.

Me.

The thought sits in my heart as I stand, swathed in a yard of blue silk that clings to every curve. I make for my knapsack perched on the floor pillow beside the fire and retrieve the books I found earlier, singling out the little one with the plain red cover.

It feels heavy despite its size, and I stare at it while the flames from the fireplace lash warmth upon my face and hands. Pressing my nose against the leather, I draw my lungs full of his barely there scent, remembering the way he handled this book—hand wrapped around the spine like he was clutching the throat of his enemy.

Mining the courage to open it, I flick through the delicate pages until I land upon the M section and slow my pace, letting my gaze drag up and down the columns as though I’m digging my own grave. Shoveling a little dirt with every tentative flick.

“Ma ... Ma ... Me …”

My chest is tight, hands shaking.

Flick.

Flick.

“Mg …”

Flick—I can’t breathe.

“Mh …”

Flick.

“Mi—”

I slam it shut and toss it in the fire so fast I shock myself—gasping, shuffling back a step when sparks explode and fire engulfs the leather in a blazing swallow.

The corners curl, red charring black as the pages singe and scold. I peel off my dressing gown and let it fall to the floor in a puddle of silk, standing naked before the bold flames.

Empty.

Emotionless.

Vigorous heat paints my body, and I feel it everywhere, feeding on it as if it’s the scalding lashes of his disappointment when he realizes my disregard for everything he’s tried to gift me.

I don’t want to know.

Prying my stare from the sizzling sight long enough to collect my Bahari blue gown off the mannequin, I continue to watch the book burn, dressing myself one gauzy strap at a time.

There’s a thick band around my middle that ties at the back, and I pull it tight … tighter …so tight my breath is just as cinched as my waist, the band imitating the support I’m used to around my chest.

I reach for the back of my arm and pinch so hard I’m watching the fire burn through a haze of unshed tears.

There’s a knock on the door, and I blink out of my reverie.

The book is ash; the fire reduced to nothing but embers pulsing with their waning life force.

“Coming,” I call, voice as dead as I feel inside. I spin, putting my back to the drowsy hearth, grabbing the shoes and reticule that match my dress. I hitch the silky drawstring over my shoulder and make for the door in a tinkling, skin-baring charge—the beaded tendrils of my gown slithering behind me like slack corpses of gold-encrusted snakes.

My hand hits the handle just in time for it to swing out of my reach, snatching my breath.

Cainon fills the doorway with more than just his physical self, smelling like spume and sunshine. The vision of careless candor wearing a deep blue shirt that looks butter soft, a few buttons popped at the top, revealing a peek of his tawny chest. His sleeves are rolled, hair pulled back and knotted low, half concealing his undercut.

“I see you got my sprite.” He devours me with an appraising look that coats my skin like a drizzle of honey. “Now I’m wondering if we should call it off. Keep this sight all to myself rather than waste it on him …”

The silken compliment splats against my icy armor.

“I have a condition. For joining you at this … political dinner I have no interest in attending.”

He lifts a brow. “You’re holding me ransom?”

“Yes.”

He looks me over again, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “Smart girl. Have at it.”

I sweep my foot back and slip it into the strappy blue shoe with a very high heel—a shoe I want to toss in the fire with what’s left of that book. “I want to go to town. Tomorrow. I want to explore.”

In the daylight.

A frown chases away Cainon’s carefree demeanor. “That’s a tall order, petal. I’m needed on one of the islands again tomorrow.” He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Call me a blushing romantic, but I wanted to be the one to show you around the first time you visit the city.”

That ship’s already scorched.

I set my foot on the ground, kicking the other back and working the heel straps into place. “You’re not going to leave me locked in this palace the same way you accused Rhordyn of doing, are you?”

He watches me for a long, tense moment.

I set my other foot down and hold his eye contact, chin raised.

“Chaperoned,” he finally says. “You can see a lot from the safety of a carriage.”

“That’s not what I’m asking for.”

His eyes harden as he steps forward until all that’s separating us is a hair’s breadth of space. Until I’m marinating in citrus and salt and the prickling wrath of his brewing frustration. “And I certainly didn’t ask to have Rhordyn roaming around Parith like some rogue mutt pining after his lost bone.”

My breath snags.

That’s what this is about …

Him.

Seems ironic that Rhordyn spent so many breaths trying to coax me past my Safety Line, and now he’s here, keeping me trapped without even realizing it.

Or perhaps he does.

“Fine,” I blurt before Cainon uses his freshly flung weapon to slaughter the idea altogether.

“It’s settled, then?”

“A female escort,” I tack on, carving around him and shoving through the door into the lobby, smoothing the strands of my dress as he follows me out. He snatches my free hand and threads it into the crook of his arm before Kolden opens the door for us both, and we make our way down the hall and then the sweeping staircase.

“You’re extra sharp tonight.” There’s a long pause, then his arm muscles clench under my hand when he says, “You’ve seen him already.”

Him.

“Yes.” I keep my chin high. Keep my steps steady. “An uneventful reunion.”

Silence ensues, only dented by the tapping of my heels. “Well, I need you to be on your best behavior.”

“I’ll try to oblige.”

He shifts, latching onto my upper arm and spinning me to a stop, walking me back. I thud against the cold, stone wall, his body hot against mine, his strong scent everywhere.

Heart thumping in my ears, I look into his hardened stare. “I mean it, Orlaith. He’s a dangerous enemy to have. A dangerous man.”

“I can handle Rhordyn.”

His low, husky laugh ripples across my flushed skin. “Not alone, you can’t. But we’re in this together now.” His fingers thread around my cupla and my wrist. “I’ve got you.”

Not alone …

We’re in this together …

I’ve got you …

He tweets such perfect tunes.

This should be right. An easy love come to me on a gilded platter. One that doesn’t dig down enough to breach the vault of my deepest, darkest flaws. That doesn’t stare me down like he wants to disassemble me, then assess my broken bits.

This should be right.

I draw a breath to speak—

His lips slam against mine in a crushing kiss, deep and sensual and thought muddling, his hands painting the bare strips of my body with a blazing trail of attention—grabbing and kneading and tracing the lines of my ribs. It’s only when he pulls back and swipes the smudged lip lacquer from below my bottom lip that I realize I’m panting, chest heaving.

Drenched in affection, yet somehow parched.

“Come,” he purrs, brushing his knuckles along my jaw. He studies my face with a pleased glint in his eye that ignites the violet flecks. “I want him to see this blush in your cheeks before it wears off.”

Him …

I swallow the anxious pit in my throat as Cainon threads my arm through his and leads me down the stairs.