Chapter 16
Istir slowly the next morning, drifting up from sleep wrapped in a warmth so deep and complete it feels unreal, like sinking into sunlight after a lifetime of cold. It is, without question, the best sleep I have ever had.
A yawn slips free of me as I stretch beneath the covers, a soft, unguarded smile blooming on my lips while I wriggle against the plush warmth, relishing it for a few stolen seconds before thought fully returns.
Then I remember where I am, and who I lie next to. An arm drapes heavy around my waist, its weight anchoring me in place while smooth skin presses hard against my spine.
I go utterly still, because it is not just the skin against me that has my breath hitch. The skin is warm. Luceran is warm.
I start to turn, heart pounding, needing to see for myself, but he moves first.
He presses closer, his body fitting against mine, his legs curling tighter behind mine until I am cradled between him and the mattress. When his hips shift slightly, the unmistakable press of his length against me steals the breath from my lungs entirely.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
One of his arms lies stretched beneath my head along the pillow, possessive without possibly meaning to be, while the other tightens around my waist, dragging me closer still. His thumb brushes slow, absent-minded strokes across my skin, as though his body knows me even if his mind is not aware.
Then he breathes against my ear.
Warm breath.
The sensation tears through me like lightning, nerves sparking, my body reacting before I can summon a single rational thought to stop it. My pulse stutters, my skin prickles, and I am suddenly, acutely aware of every place where we touch.
The arm along the pillow folds over me then, settling across my chest, the weight of it sending another shudder through me as I wonder whether he is awake, whether this closeness is instinct or intention.
His hand moves. Tattooed fingers curl. They brush my breast, the lightest graze, and my body betrays me, my breath hitching as my nipple tightens without permission, heat pooling low and dangerous inside me.
This cannot be happening. He is clearly so lost in his dreams he does not realize. I need to get up and out of this bed.
But yet I stay.
Stay as he curls even closer, as he hardens, pressing against my back, as he almost seems to thrust slightly, softly grinding against me, while his fingers sweep the goose-pimpled flesh below my breast, tracing the curve as his thumb flicks over my taut nipple.
Not once. Not twice. Enough times that it is more than an accidental brush, a teasing motion that has me squirming against the sheets.
Fuck.
It feels so good. So wrong and forbidden and so fucking good.
The hand around my waist moves too, and my breath shudders as it slides lightly down, skimming over my belly, lower and lower.
And then the door opens.
“That damn mine collapse has my healers scattered across the entire province,” Atilia says tersely.
My heart slams violently against my ribs as I stiffen beneath the covers, panic roaring to life, while Luceran exhales softly and unaware behind me.
“I managed to get word to a rider, though,” Atilia continues briskly, oblivious. “Hopefully someone will be here this evening. Otherwise, heads will roll.”
She finishes ranting. Pulls off her coat. Tosses it onto a chair. Closes the door behind her.
And then her eyes finally meet mine.
The silence that follows is deafening, so complete I’m certain I can hear snowflakes landing on the roof. Atilia’s blank, wide-eyed gaze flicks from me, to Luceran, then down to the unmistakable tangle of limbs beneath the blankets.
As if to make everything devastatingly worse, Luceran exhales deep and easy, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world, and tightens his grip around my waist, his nose brushing lazily against my hair.
Atilia tilts her head slowly, one brow lifting in quiet appraisal.“Comfortable, girl?”
I try to speak, but the words lodge somewhere between my lungs and my throat, or perhaps it’s Luceran’s arm still draped firmly over my chest that keeps them trapped there.
“I did tell you to take care of him,” she continues mildly, “but I never expected this.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I blurt at last, panic rushing ahead of sense. “I read it in a book.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Did you?” Then, dry as frost. “Well, you’ll have to lend me that book someday. It seems quite the tale.”
I grumble under my breath, annoyed with myself at least as much as with her, and carefully peel Luceran’s arm from around me. He murmurs faintly in his sleep but doesn’t wake as I slide free of his embrace, dragging one of the blankets with me and wrapping it tightly around my body.
Atilia watches the entire process without the slightest hint of courtesy. She could have turned away. She could have afforded me a shred of dignity.
But that, apparently, is not Atilia’s way.
“Body heat,” I manage finally, cheeks burning as I clutch the blanket closed. “I read that body heat could help warm him, and it did.”
She considers this for a moment. Then her lips curve.“So you’re telling me that a beautiful woman’s naked body is enough to get the blood moving in a Fae male?” Her eyes flick to me pointedly. “Well. You are a genius.”
I grit my teeth. “Fine. If you want to make something sordid of it, go ahead. But Luceran’s temperature has risen.” I lift my chin. “That means he’s getting better.”
Atilia drifts closer to the bed, her gaze still sharp on me as she goes. She removes one glove, then the other, and lays them on the bed before brushing the back of her hand against Luceran’s cheek.
Shock flickers across her face in an instant as she feels the warmth there, sees the hint of color blooming beneath his skin.
“You’re right,” she mumbles.
I tighten the blanket around myself. “I told you. Purely science.”
She arches a brow. “Science?”
I nod with unwavering conviction. “Science.”
At last, some of the tension drains from her shoulders. It’s subtle, but I see it.“Well then,” she says, voice lower now, “thank you, Neve.”
There is weight in the words. Effort.
“You may have saved Luceran’s life.”
“He saved mine first,” I reply quickly. “In the Aurevault. I would have died there if he hadn’t torn open the rock and pulled me out.”
I wait for her to respond, for a cutting remark, a dismissal, something sharp.
But she doesn’t.
She looks at me instead with an expression I can’t quite place. Sympathy, perhaps. Or pity. Or something uncomfortably close to understanding. But it is brief. Her gaze drifts over me, then to my discarded clothes strewn across the room.
“Right,” I say, laughing awkwardly. “I’ll just…yes…right.”
I shuffle around the room, collecting my things and tossing them over my shoulder, all while making sure the blanket doesn’t slip. Once I’ve gathered everything, I hesitate.
This is my room, after all. Presumably, Atilia will leave. She does not move.
She remains beside the bed, watching Luceran with singular focus.
Right.
I pivot toward the wardrobe, fling the doors open and the sprites tumble out in a heap. One yawns theatrically while the other curses. Then they immediately start bickering with each other.
I do not have time for this.
I step straight over them and into the wardrobe, shutting the door firmly behind me. When I am finally dressed, and as presentable as one can be after changing inside a wardrobe, I step back into the room.
Atilia still stands beside the bed, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed so completely on Luceran that she does not look up when the wardrobe door opens.
Not when it closes again. Not when I pause, lingering longer than necessary, half expecting her to speak, to issue an instruction, to ask something of me.
She says nothing.
I do not dare move closer, but even from here I can see the faint blush blooming along Luceran’s skin, where once there had been only that cold blue pallor.
Curled beside him through the night, our bodies wrapped together in shared heat, I had desperately hoped it might help.
It did.
Now there is nothing left to do but wait, and as I watch Atilia, I eventually understand that whatever she needs in this moment, it is not conversation. So I turn back to my responsibilities, the ones that did not pause simply because of the tragedy at the mines.
If I can be of no more help in Castle Frostwyn, then perhaps the Aurevault could use me.
I head for the carriage, summoning the sprites, whom I find in the pantry stuffing their faces with berries. They follow me outside, where they lower the carriage step and help me climb in. Once I’m settled, they scramble up to the driver’s seat, take the reins, and we set off.
I don’t know what I will find waiting for me at the Aurevault. I don’t know who survived that terrible day, or how badly the tunnels were damaged, or how close the mine came to total collapse. But I have to see it with my own eyes.
I have to know if they’re alright. If Pax is alright.
When the carriage finally comes to a halt, I stare out the window and freeze.
Because somehow… it looks almost exactly the same.
Miners move through the yard in their dark overalls and bowl-shaped helmets, dusted with soot, their motions as stiff and uniform as always.
But interspersed among them are Fae, draped in fine clothes of pale blue and silver, their hair slicked back and braided neatly down their spines as they work alongside the men.
They operate massive machines unlike anything I have ever seen up close. Gilded mechanisms of elegant design, decorated with baroque swirls, carved wood, and hand painted edges. Regal beauty set among enormous cogs and pistons, spinning and humming with power as they lift, dig, and tow.
The adornments seem completely unnecessary. They add nothing to the function of the machines.
But it would not be Fae craftsmanship if it were not decadent and over the top.