Death Bound (The Soulsworn Chronicles #1)

Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Rhydian stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed, watching me with that familiar look of irritation mixed with begrudging concern. His eyes followed me as I rummaged through his belongings, pulling out one of his oversized shirts.

“What exactly are you doing?” he asked, his tone as gruff as ever.

I grinned, pulling the shirt over my head. “Making sure the king doesn’t get any wild ideas about this wedding night.”

The shirt was several sizes too big, hanging off my frame in a way that felt more protective than practical. I didn’t care—it was perfect. “This is an alliance, nothing more.”

Rhydian raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed as I fumbled with the shirt and grabbed a pair of his pants. They were enormous on me, the fabric hanging off my hips in a way that would have been comical if I wasn’t so focused on my plan.

“Really?” Rhydian snorted, shaking his head. “My clothes are too big on you. And they stink.”

“Exactly the point,” I shot back with a smirk, cinching the belt tighter around my waist. “Nothing says ‘do not touch’ like a little filth.”

Rhydian grumbled, stepping closer to inspect the mess I was making of his clothes. “You’re gonna trip over those pants before you make it through the door. They won’t do you any good if they fall off halfway through the night.”

He was right, of course. The pants sagged in a ridiculous way, and no matter how hard I tried to tighten the belt, they kept slipping down my hips. I sighed in defeat, tossing them aside. “Fine, you win.” I turned to grab a nightgown from behind the screen. “I’ll wear this. But it’s still not going to be pretty.”

When I stepped out in the least flattering nightgown I could find—long sleeves, high neck, covering every inch of skin—Rhydian gave me a once-over and let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, that’ll do it. You don’t look attractive at all.”

I rolled my eyes, though a small smile tugged at my lips. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Not that it counts, coming from you. You wouldn’t find me attractive no matter what I did.”

Rhydian’s gaze lingered on me for a beat too long, his usual harshness softening just a touch. “You don’t know that,” he muttered, as if the words slipped out before he could stop them.

I looked up, surprised by the shift in his tone. But before I could say anything, I turned to move, and my foot caught on the edge of the discarded pants.

I stumbled, losing my balance. Rhydian was there in an instant, his strong hands catching me before I could fall. His grip was firm, his chest solid against mine as he steadied me. For a moment, neither of us moved. His face was inches from mine, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.

“You’re a disaster waiting to happen,” he mumbled.

I tried to pull away, but his hand slid up, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face. The touch was gentle, almost tender, and for a second, the world seemed to slow down. His rough fingertips lingered near my ear.

Rhydian wasn’t one for tenderness. He wasn’t one for romance. But there was something in the way he looked at me now, like he couldn’t quite understand why he wanted to be so close.

“You’ve got a way of making everything difficult,” he said, his voice coarse, but there was a tension, a pull that neither of us wanted to name.

I swallowed, my heart racing. “You’re not supposed to care.”

Rhydian huffed, his grip on my waist tightening for just a second before he let go, stepping back, as if realizing what he’d done. “I don’t,” he grunted, though his eyes betrayed him. “You’re trouble.”

I forced a laugh, trying to ease the sudden tension. “Aeliana used to call me that.”

He shook his head, but the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips didn’t match the gruffness in his tone. “Yeah, well… maybe trouble suits you.”

The moment hung between us, thick and charged. I could feel the heat of his body lingering where he had touched me, and I didn’t know what to do with the sudden change in our dynamic. I didn’t know if he did either. Rhydian was supposed to be the hardened guard, the one who kept everyone at arm’s length.

But here we were, and neither of us could seem to break the tension.

A knock at the door was followed by a voice announcing, “The king has arrived.”

The tension between us shattered. I stiffened, my heart lurching into my throat. Rhydian’s expression darkened as he moved back, creating space between us, though his eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Go get him, trouble,” he muttered, but the usual bite in his tone was missing.

I shot him a sharp look. “The goal is not to get him. The goal is to avoid him.”

Rhydian chuckled, shaking his head. “Good luck with that,” he said, but the softness in his eyes betrayed the smirk on his lips.

Before I could respond, the door swung open, and King Ciaran strode into the room. His gaze swept over the scene before him, his eyes narrowing as they landed on me—standing far too close to Rhydian.

His smirk faded, and I could feel the shift in the air. Whatever brief moment of levity Rhydian and I had shared was gone, replaced by the king’s intense scrutiny.

“Leave us,” King Ciaran commanded as his eyes jerked to Rhydian. There was no question in the order, only a hard expectation that it would be followed.

Rhydian’s muscles tensed beneath his uniform. For a brief moment, I thought he might argue, but instead, he nodded, his gaze lingering on me for just a fraction too long before he stepped back.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” His voice was gruff, but there was an undercurrent of possessiveness that I could feel even as he moved toward the door. As he passed me, his eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, I saw the concern there—genuine and raw—though he said nothing. Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling the tension in the room turn to something more intimate, more dangerous.

“Well,” I said quickly, trying to fill the silence. “Let’s talk about the Dragon King, shall we? The sooner we get through this conversation, the sooner I can sleep.”

But instead of taking a seat in one of the nearby chairs, King Ciaran crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps and sat on the edge of my bed. The boldness of the gesture made my heart skip a beat. He was too close now—much too close.

I stiffened, feeling a nervous heat rise to my cheeks as he leaned back slightly, his eyes watching me with amusement, as if enjoying how flustered I was becoming.

“You’re nervous,” he said.

“N-no, I’m not,” I stammered, taking a step back from the bed, trying to maintain some distance. “I just want to get this over with.”

“Do you?” he asked, his smirk returning. “Or is there another reason you’re so adamant about this marriage being nothing more than an alliance?”

He wasn’t asking about the Dragon King. This wasn’t about strategy or politics.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. But my pulse was racing, and I was too aware of the bed, of him sitting on it like he belonged there.

“The guard,” he said, the words slipping out with a casual cruelty. “Rhydian, is it? Is he the reason you’re so determined to keep this arrangement… cold?”

The question hit me like a punch to the stomach. I blinked, stunned, my mind racing to catch up. Rhydian? What did he think was going on?

“No—no, nothing is happening between Rhydian and me,” I blurted out, taking another step back. “He’s just—he’s just my guard.”

King Ciaran’s lips twitched, his smirk deepening. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Oh? Good.”

I frowned, confused. “Good?” I repeated. “Why would you say good ?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied me, his eyes locking onto mine with a strange intensity that made my skin prickle. Then, after a moment of silence, he shrugged, his smirk never quite leaving his face.

“I don’t mind if my wives have lovers,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather. “I only ask that they don’t get pregnant.”

My mouth fell open, and I gaped at him, speechless. Did I hear him right? He said it so nonchalantly, like this was some normal arrangement he had with his other wives. Like it didn’t matter to him what they did, as long as they didn’t bear another man’s child.

My mind raced, trying to make sense of what he had just said. “What? You think—no!” I stammered, my cheeks burning. “Nothing is going on between Rhydian and me. I don’t—” I stopped, struggling to find the words. “We’re not… like that.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so!” I snapped, my frustration bubbling over. “Rhydian is my guard. That’s it. He’s not—there’s nothing like that between us.”

King Ciaran watched me for a long moment, his gaze dark and unreadable. Then, slowly, his smirk returned, more wolfish this time. “Good,” he said again.

I frowned, my heart pounding in my chest as his words sank in. There was something off about the way he said it, something unsettling in the way he seemed almost pleased. But I couldn’t understand why. Why would it matter to him whether or not something was going on between me and Rhydian?

I forced myself to take a breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “You don’t care if your wives have lovers,” I said slowly, piecing together his earlier words, “but you care about me and Rhydian?”

He moved toward the chair across from me, but instead of sitting, he lingered, his amber eyes locking onto mine with unnerving astuteness .

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice soft but carrying authority, “about what my informants have told me. About the crypt. About you.”

I swallowed, my pulse quickening at the sudden turn in conversation. My mind raced to keep up, unsure of where this was going.

Ciaran continued, his gaze unrelenting. “It’s not every day that someone survives not one, but two encounters with the Dragon King.”

I forced myself to hold his gaze, refusing to let my nerves show. “I got lucky,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even, though the tension in the air was thickening with each word.

“Luck,” he repeated, his tone skeptical, almost amused. “Or perhaps something more.”

He took a step closer, his presence heavy, filling the space between us. “You survived the destruction of the crypt, escaped a second attack on the ship, and walked away from both without a scratch.”

I felt the weight of his scrutiny, like a blade hovering just above my skin, waiting to cut through the thin layer of deception I was hiding beneath. “I didn’t escape without a scratch,” I corrected. “I barely survived.”

Ciaran tilted his head, his amber eyes narrowing. “Is that so?” he asked softly. “And yet, here you are. Alive. And unscathed.”

I looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer. He was getting too close to the truth, too close to uncovering the lie I had carefully woven since the moment I stepped foot in Emberfall.

Ciaran’s presence was commanding and unnervingly calm. His eyes never left mine as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You see, Princess,” he said quietly, “there’s something I value above all else. Something I hold more dearly than power or wealth.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “And what’s that?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“The truth,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering. “Truth is the foundation of everything—alliances, kingdoms, trust. Without it, nothing can stand.”

His words hit me like a blow, the weight of them pressing down on me, suffocating in their simplicity. The truth. It was the one thing I couldn’t give him.

I tried to steady my breath, tried to regain control of the situation. “I’ve told you the truth,” I said.

Ciaran’s eyes darkened, the playful smirk he had worn earlier slipping away entirely. “Have you?” he asked. “Because my informants also told me about the destruction of the crypt. How you were there, in the midst of it all, yet somehow emerged… unscathed.”

I froze, every muscle in my body tensing. He was getting closer—too close. My mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that could divert him from the path he was heading down.

“I barely made it out alive,” I said again, the lie burning in my throat. “The Dragon King… spared me.”

Ciaran’s gaze sharpened at that, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Why?” he asked, his tone smooth but insistent. “Why would the Dragon King, a man known for his ruthlessness, spare you? Twice.”

I bit my lip, my mind spinning as I searched for an answer. The truth was, I didn’t know why Valen had spared me. I didn’t know why he had taken me on his dragon, why he had let me live when he had every reason to kill me.

But I couldn’t tell Ciaran all that. Not now. Not when the truth would unravel everything I had worked so hard to protect.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t understand why he let me go.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he said softly, his voice a caress. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

He closed the gap between us in two slow, deliberate steps. His presence was staggering, his gaze heavy with something I couldn’t quite name—something that made the space between us feel suffocating, charged with tension.

“You’re hiding something,” he murmured. “Something important.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m not hiding anything,” I said, but even to my own ears, the words sounded hollow.

Ciaran’s eyes glinted with amusement, as though he could see right through me. He reached out, to brush against my neck, his fingers lingering against my skin just long enough to make me tremble. “You’re a terrible liar, Princess,” he whispered, his voice soft but laced with a dangerous edge.

My breath caught in my throat, my pulse pounding in my ears. I wanted to pull away, to put as much distance between us as possible, but my feet refused to move.

“I don’t mind secrets,” he whispered, his voice a seductive murmur. “But I don’t tolerate lies.”

I shuddered, every nerve in my body on high alert. He was testing me, pushing me, trying to see how far he could go before I broke.

“I haven’t lied,” I managed to say.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto mine with a predatory gleam. “You’ve caught his attention,” he said, his voice softer now, more intimate. “He didn’t kill you because he wants something from you. He’s toying with you, testing you.”

“Toying with me?” I repeated, my mind struggling to keep up.

“He’s courting you,” he said, the words laced with something almost like amusement. “The Dragon King doesn’t spare lives. He collects them.”

I shook my head, my heart pounding. “That’s not true,” I said, but the doubt was already creeping in.

Ciaran raised an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving mine. “Isn’t it? Think about it, Princess. He could have killed you. Twice. But he didn’t. He spared you. And he’ll keep sparing you… until he gets what he wants.”

I stared at King Ciaran, my pulse racing as his words hung between us, charged with insinuation. “He wasn’t courting me,” I shot back, the idea absurd. The Dragon King—Valen—couldn’t have been… interested. Could he?

Ciaran’s smirk deepened, his amber eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement. “Oh, Princess,” he drawled. “There’s an easy way to find out.”

I frowned, taking a step back as his gaze held mine, unyielding. “Find out?”

“Every man gets jealous,” he murmured, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “Even a Dragon King.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” Ciaran’s words were laced with shadowy promise. “If you want to know the truth, make him jealous. See how he reacts.”

I scoffed, trying to hide the nervousness creeping into my tone. “And how exactly would you propose I do that?”

His smirk deepened, the amusement never quite leaving his eyes. “Simple,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “I’ll do it.”

I stared at him, stunned into silence. “You?” The idea of Ciaran trying to provoke the Dragon King was almost laughable. Almost.

His eyes flickered with amusement as if he could sense my doubt. “It’s not as ridiculous as you think,” he said. “A man like him is possessive. He craves power, control… and those who defy him.”

“And you think this”—I gestured between us—“would draw him out?”

“It would,” he said. “Believe me, Princess. Men like him hate competition. Especially when it involves something—or someone—they want.”

The words sent a wave of unease rolling through me, but there was something else there, something more dangerous that I couldn’t name. I tried to shake it off, focusing instead on the question that had been gnawing at me since the moment I arrived in Emberfall.

“Why do you hate him?” I asked. “Why does the Dragon King matter so much to you? I know he’s a threat, but alliances between Icespire and Emberfall are rare. You’ve never wanted to work with us before.”

Ciaran’s smirk faded, his expression hardening into something colder. He crossed his arms, his gaze narrowing as he regarded me with a new intensity.

“You’re right,” he said. “Emberfall and Icespire have never been friends. We’ve been at odds for centuries—sun and ice. Our kingdoms don’t mix.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of that truth settle between us. Emberfall had always been a kingdom of light, warmth, and the power of the sun, while Icespire thrived in the cold, ruled by the biting winds and frozen landscapes. We were opposites in every way.

“Then why now?” I asked, stepping closer, my voice tinged with curiosity. “Why work with us?”

“Because the Dragon King is a threat to everything. Not just Emberfall. Not just Icespire. But to every kingdom.”

For a brief moment, I thought I saw something flash in Ciaran’s eyes—pain, perhaps, or anger—but it was gone before I could be sure. He turned his back to me, walking toward the grand window that overlooked the sprawling kingdom of Emberfall. The golden light of the setting sun cast a warm glow over the landscape, a perfect contrast to the icy cold of my homeland.

“He took someone from me,” Ciaran said finally. “Someone very important.”

I stiffened at the gravity of his words. His tone wasn’t casual or distant—it was personal, rough with emotion. “Who?” I pressed, stepping closer, but his answer never came.

Ciaran remained silent, his jaw clenched as he continued to gaze out over his kingdom, the tension in his shoulders making it clear that whatever—or whoever—the Dragon King had taken from him was a wound still fresh.

After a long moment, he turned to face me, his expression hardening. “I’ll let you keep your secrets if you allow me the courtesy of me keeping mine.” His voice was penetrating now, filled with the authority of a man who had built an empire on his own terms. “Once I can trust you, I’ll tell you.”

I couldn’t help but think that Ciaran would never trust me. My entire existence here was a lie.

“This kingdom,” he continued, gesturing out toward the horizon, “didn’t rise from nothing. I built it to be strong, to withstand any threat. Emberfall is not a kingdom that waits to be saved or protected by someone else. We don’t cower behind walls, praying the enemy will pass us by. We take the fight to them.”