Chapter 36

Late afternoon sun bathes the large, lavish room in golden light, spilling through an entire wall of tinted glass windows and warming the backs of my arms. The high ceiling is crowned with a gilded chandelier that’s dripping beads toward a lapis lazuli table twice the size of the one I used to eat at daily.

Stoic-faced servants file through the room, dressing the table in an array of heaped platters, among them seafood cooked in their shells and slathered in butter, deep bowls of spiced vegetables topped with crumbled nuts and herbs, and sweating urns of mint water.

Besides them and the finely dressed bard perched on a stool in the far corner of the room, it’s just us.

Me and Cainon.

He’s seated at the head, I’m along the side—the first seat in—and there’s a place setting opposite me that’s yet to be filled.

A male server with heavy steps walks into the room with a bottle of wine, making my heart leap into my throat—thoughts going to the bag stored beneath my chair.

To its contents ...

My wine flute is filled, and I tip it to my lips, taking a large, bubbly gulp, welcoming the buzz that settles in my gut.

Not that it really helps.

The hairs on my arms lift, and the next set of steps are unmistakably his—each foot landing with that resounding thud I know so well.

I keep my attention cast on a stack of glazed shanks, feeling his gaze upon me; tracking across my lips, the cut of my dress, the bare windows of skin it reveals.

All the places Cainon touched me.

Perhaps he doesn’t realize his walls are down. That I can feel how much it rankles him just by the string of tension stretched between us.

A shiver pebbles my skin. Makes my nipples squeeze into points, obvious through the thin strips of material barely keeping them covered. I feel him absorb the crude evidence of his effect on me—hating myself.

Hating the hot throb between my legs.

Lashes sweeping up, I catch his silver regard, breath hitching as his nostrils flare. I lift the flute, holding his eyes over the foot of my glass as I gulp.

And gulp.

And gulp.

He’s beautiful, dressed in the same black clothes he wore today, sans cloak—the same shirt that hugs his barreling chest, compliments his deep skin tone, and makes his eyes stand out in stark contrast; the same form-fitting pants that cling to his muscled thighs too well, still streaked with dust, like he’s boasting the evidence of our unsolicited rendezvous.

“Rhordyn. Right on time.”

Stalking into the room like some great, prowling beast with his hackles up, Rhordyn looks to my promised, then stops, looks down the table, up again, frowning. “No advisors? Masters or Mistresses? I thought we’d be using this time productively to discuss some pressing matters.”

Cainon reclines in his seat, leg cast over the arm as he assesses his nails. “Hard on such late notice. I figured you wouldn’t be opposed to an intimate setting unperturbed by political banter. Given we’re practically family now.”

I’m going to need more wine.

“Come,” he says, waving Rhordyn forward. “Take a seat. Let us share a meal together.”

Tense moments tick by while I grip the stem of my flute, willing it to magically refill.

Rhordyn finally steps up to the table. He lifts his seat, silently sets it down, then sits, watching me while my heart thumps harder than it ever has.

Cainon kicks his leg off the arm of his chair, leans forward, and plucks up a big, bloody strip of meat, slapping it straight on his polished gold plate. “Well, this is delightful.”

Someone’s overly optimistic.

A servant sweeps close and blessedly fills my glass almost to the rim while I drop my gaze to the spot where my ownplate should be, noticing for the first time that there is none. All I have is a knife, a fork, and a tiny spoon I can’t imagine a use for.

“Am I to eat off the table?” I mutter beneath my breath, looking to Cainon who I see is filling a second plate.

Ahh.

Still feeling the cold brand of Rhordyn’s stare, I clear my throat, cross my hands over my lap like a good little girl, and wait patiently for my meal.

Ladling some green paste upon a pile of flaked fish, Cainon says, “She looks good in blue, does she not?”

I choke out a cough, hand flying to my mouth.

“Orlaith would look good in any color.”

My gaze darts to Rhordyn, who’s watching Cainon with a warpath stare.

“Except black,” Cainon volleys, dropping the ladle back into the bowl of slop, scrunching his nose when he sucks a bit off his thumb. “Drowns her out.”

That’s the fucking point.

I bat my lashes at my promised. “My love, must you talk about me as if I’m not here?”

Cainon flashes the slightest raise of a tawny brow, a wicked half smile. “Apologies, my love.”

I don’t dare look at Rhordyn as Cainon makes his way around the table one slow step at a time, then sets the laden plate before me.

I stare at the oversized stack of food, heart sinking. No lamb shanks for me. Instead, I’ve got fish, green slop, fried bone marrow, a pile of steamed spinach bigger than my fist, and a few other things I can’t identify. Nothing I would have picked for myself, but my stomach still grumbles at the prospect of a feast I can enjoy without first sieving for life-threatening berries.

Though the tips of my fingers itch with anticipation to dig in—to feel my food yield and slip and burn as I work through it—I look at the golden fork next to my plate. Picking it up, I feel Rhordyn’s stare track my hand when I prod the fish, breaking off a piece that managed to avoid the slather of green goo. I bring it to my lips, eyes flicking up, watching him watch me with a force greater than the sun—unblinking as I drag the metal prongs against my teeth and start to chew.

His chest expands, deflating slowly.

Cainon sits before his meal, drapes a napkin across his knees, and glances at Rhordyn’s empty plate. “Is our food not to your liking?”

Rhordyn doesn’t bat a lid. “I’m not hungry.”

“Ahh.” Cainon shoves a piece of meat in his mouth, chewing. “How’s the fish, Orlaith?”

I swallow, washing down the mouthful with a numbing swig of wine before letting a smile touch my lips. “Delicious. Caught locally?”

“Correct. Tropical perch. One of our more perishable delicacies we’re unable to ship down the river to Ocruth. It’s a shame you’ve never traveled far enough to taste it.”

His words are flaming arrows aimed to maim the stoic man sitting across from me, but I doubt he realizes they thud into my chest instead.

I had plenty of opportunities to leave the castle grounds before my mind was plagued by the carnage of my past. Opportunities I didn’t take.

And now this delicacy tastes like ash, much like the air I pull into my lungs.

“Well. Now I can have it often. Along with …” I skim my fork through the green slosh he slopped all over my meal, “this. It smells”—like spew—”delicious.”

“Malaweed. Nutrient rich. Important if we’re to produce an heir.”

My insides clench.

Silence.

Bone-chilling silence.

My breath comes out like a blow of smoke, and I stuff my lungs full in an effort to kick-start my heart again, letting my gaze drag halfway to Rhordyn before I think better of it, not wanting to feed the beast.

Cainon shoves another bloody strip of meat into his mouth. “What about you, Rhordyn? Are you and Zali planning to conceive?”

The words peck at old wounds I’ve tried to convince myself were healed, and my throat constricts, threatening to return the fish and wine to the table.

Rhordyn leans back, fingers steepled. “I’m seeing a lot of your father in you lately.”

Cainon stops chewing, eyes glazing over. “Is that a threat?”

“An observation,” Rhordyn answers, thumping the word down like a meat cleaver.

Suddenly, the room feels too small, the table between these men too fragile.

That war I’ve been trying so hard to avoid? It’s waging right before my eyes. The chilling prologue to a mass demise. If I don’t intervene, I’m not entirely sure they won’t launch across the table and feast on each other.

Perhaps I should let them have at it. Sit back and watch them bleed each other—like they each want to bleed me in their own twisted ways.

Maybe that’s taking it too far.

Clearing my throat, and with the chilled brand of Rhordyn’s stare attacking my hand, I shovel the fork into the lump of fish most drenched in sauce, encouraging the sharp metal tips to drag across the plate.

I don’t even flinch.

“Orlaith.” Pounded by the full force of his attention, I look him in the eye. “You don’t have to eat that.”

He’s not talking about the food. Precisely why I shove the mouthful past my lips and chew, cheeks bulging, nose blocked, and breath held as I masticate the metallic-tasting crap like I’m fanging for it. Like I’m desperate for Cainon to give me everything he wants to give. For him to drive past that chaste barrier Rhordyn so bluntly shied away from when I begged him to take me on my balcony in Stony Stem.

He swallows—a crack in his armor.

Cainon chuckles. “Looks like she doesn’t care what you think, Rhordyn. She’s too smart these days.”

“She’s always been smart,” Rhordyn mutters, holding my stare, a spark in his darkening eyes like a single surviving star.

A squire jogs through the door, breathless, bowing at the waist before he speaks. “High Master, forgive the intrusion—”

“Not now,” Cainon snaps, but the man steps further into the room.

“With all due respect, it can’t wait. There’s”—his shrewd gaze nips at Rhordyn for a beat—”a messenger in your office. He insists on seeing you right away.”

Cainon groans, shoves to a stand, chair scraping across the floor before he storms toward the door.

I shovel another mouthful past my lips, the underside of my tongue tingling, stomach cramping as I chew—gaze cast on the mound of food Cainon served me.

Fuck me. Getting through all this is going to take some gall, but I’m too committed now. In over my head in more ways than one.

“Milaje.”

Tucking a loose tendril of hair behind my ear, I look up. “You’re still here?”

There’s a long, frosty pause, and I swear that flare in his eyes intensifies, even as his irises deepen into a darker, stormier gray that pinches my defiant nipples and sparks my blood with a strike of thrill.

Some small, fucked-up part of me—a part I loathe—is feeding off this toxic game of chase.

“Did you read the book?”

“No.” I set my fork beside the plate and dab at my lips with a napkin. “But it made fantastic kindling.”

His eyes widen.

The blow of satisfaction it punches me with is intoxicating.

I reach toward a plate of sweet-looking sticky treats dripping with a sunshine glaze, shoving one in my mouth and licking the residue off my fingers. Slowly. Precisely. Cleaning all five before I say, “There was something so satisfying about watching it burn.”

His chair groans as his knuckles whiten, scouring the musician with a threatening perusal the poor man must surely feel.

“Something you want to say, Rhordyn? Or do?” His stare hits me like a stone, and I lift my chin, pushing the cascade of curls over my shoulder. “Choke me, perhaps?”

His heaving chest stills.

I look down my nose at him as I trace a trail with the tips of my fingers from my bottom lip down, down … over my throat, all the way to the chain encircling it.

The obscure curse he shackled me with.

“Burst my flesh with your teeth?” I purr, and a low, primal growl vibrates from his chest to mine, making my skin prickle.

It stirs me up and untangles me in the very same beat. Makes me want to dash out of this chair just to see if he’ll chase.

No.

I punch the underside of my fist onto the table hard enough to clatter the cutlery. “Lock me in your fucking den?”

There’s a challenge in my voice because I want him to yield. I want him to bend so much he fucking snaps.

He exhales, swallows, then, “There is something I want to do, yes.”

“By all means.”

I tip the flute to my lips, his punishing stare skimming my throat as I swallow.

His eyes lift, striking mine, baring a brash confidence that’s utterly charged. “I don’t think Cainon would be particularly pleased to walk back through those doors and see his promised spread across the table while I feast between her thighs.”

I choke, sputtering wine down my chin.

Between my breasts.

An ember throbs to life deep inside my core as I fight to erase the mental image of him charging around the table, taking chase.

Catchingme.

Clearing the food with a swift swipe of his arm and dashing me across the marble. Gripping me by the thighs—brutal, yet tender as he splits my legs apart and bares my flushed, naked core, humming at the evidence of my twisted arousal before he laves at it like he’s fucking starved.

I swallow.

Try not to squirm.

His gaze continues to punish me—hurting in a way that feels good.

Too fucking good.

“But by all means, Milaje. You wave that white flag, and I’ll choke the life out of the consequences in the blink of an eye.”

His savage words rip a hole through my composure, dousing the heat between my thighs.

War.

Cainon was right … Rhordyn wants his land.

I stand fast.

He stands slow.

Our stares clash while I breathe hard and shallow, half tempted to flee. Half tempted to fight.

He garnishes me with a look that suggests he’d relish both options and plants his fists on the table, leaning forward, watching me from beneath that flop of sable hair as he cocks his head to the side. “So, what’s it to be?”

Cainon stalks into the room, pausing for a moment when he notices us both standing, then moves to his chair and flops down. “Apologies. Why don’t you fill me in on whatever riveting conversation you were having?”

Rhordyn opens his mouth and my heart riots, words erupting from my own lips. “I was just telling Rhordyn that I can’t wait to seal our coupling.”

His eyes flare like twin moons cast in a pall of black.

Eclipsed.

I almost feel bad for what I’m about to do.

“Is that so?” Cainon asks, and I look at him, heart beating so hard I swear it’s about to thump a hole in my ribs and thud onto my plate in a bloody, sloppy mess.

“Yes. And on that note—” I drop low, retrieving my reticule from beneath the chair and loosening the drawstring. “I have a gift for you, my promised.”

The air stiffens. The light pouring through the window dims, as if a cloud just blew over the sun.

Cainon lifts a brow, flashing Rhordyn a swift, gloating look. “Really?”

I nod, wrapping my hands around the small mug stashed inside, questioning myself for a split second before revealing the nest of thriving bluebells.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, I extend the gift toward Cainon, feeling the pulse of Rhordyn’s attention like a pickaxe knocking around the edges of my fortified shield. As though he’s desperate to pry me from this picture so I can thump into the palm of his hand like one of my blank whispers.

I’ve realized he likes gifting me precious, well-thought-out things. It’s his own illusive way of showing he cares.

So does he see the symbolism I’m shoving in his face?

This is a personalized attack meant to hurt us both. Meant to bleed this twisted thing that is us.

I look at Cainon with love-glazed eyes and bare him a honey-suckle smile while I let the hurt douse me. Let my message blare loud and clear.

I don’t need my crutch anymore.

Don’t need him.

I’m fine.

If I repeat it enough, I’ll eventually believe it.

Cainon takes the weight of the gift, flashing me a full smile. “Wow, for me?”

It takes all my will not to snatch it back and cradle it close to my chest. “Yes. I collected these myself.”

Rhordyn steps away from his seat, lifting it, setting it down close to the table before he spins and stalks toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Cainon’s belted words echo through the space, and Rhordyn stops, casting a glance at me over his shoulder. There’s ... something in his eyes I’ve never seen before.

Something that looks a lot like hurt.

“I’ve seen enough.” He goes, leaving a hole in the room’s atmosphere that makes me picture a hollowed-out chest cavity.

I tune into the music. Realize how loud it’s blaring in the back corner, the sharp notes slashing against my skin like the swipes of a talon.

I lift my chin, plant my ass on the chair—keeping my spine straight as I pick up my fork—and continue to eat, refusing to look at the bells, convinced they’ll no longer appear naturally droopy … but sad.

“Orlaith?”

I glance at Cainon, watching me with a regard warm enough to thaw even the iciest heart.

Unfortunately for him, mine’s not ice.

It’s ash.

“You did good, my love.”

“I know.” I shovel my mouth full, avoiding the empty chair opposite me.

Too good.