Chapter 61 #2
I absently thumbed the necklace, feeling the strange grooves of the large, misshapen beads. I glanced down. Tiny shrunken faerie skulls glared sightlessly up at me. With a gasp, I tore it from my neck and flung it aside, my skin crawling as I hurried along.
The drums became a muted pulse behind me, and the laughter blurred into the background beneath the rustle of the leaves. The air smelled of woodsmoke and damp earth, the faint aromas of the feast carried on the mild breeze.
My hut waited at the edge of the village. At night, the gnarled oak beside it looked like an Infected, its twisted branches clawing at the darkness.
Someone had lit the firepit earlier that evening, but it had been left untended for some time.
The fire had dwindled to a few weak tongues licking at the glowing coals.
Rather than go inside, I knelt beside the embers and laid a few logs across them.
They caught almost at once, fire racing along the dry bark before climbing greedily upward.
I sat back and watched it gather strength, its warmth washing over my face. That familiar anguish stole over me—the strange combination of fascination and an aching sense of loss. Fire had always done that to me. Now I knew why.
My gaze settled on the heart of the flames, on that deep place where the fire burned hottest. There, hidden within the gold and orange, was that impossible shade of blue.
I stared at it until my eyes watered.
It wasn’t until the flames died low again that I felt the quiet tightening beneath my ribs, the pull of that last precious, invisible thread.
I knew without looking who stood behind me.
He waited quietly, not imposing and yet somehow taking up all the space in the world. How I wished he hadn’t come after me—and yet how glad I was that he had.
"I thought you were going to bed," he said.
I bit my lower lip. “I just… I needed a moment alone.”
Silence settled between us. Then—
"Has the moment passed?"
A startled scoff escaped me, and I glanced up at him before I could stop myself.
The smile that answered was fleeting, no more than the smallest lift of one corner of his mouth, but it drew the familiar dimple into his left cheek.
Gods, he was unfair to look at.
He was inhuman in the waning firelight—wrought with a kind of austere beauty that belonged to old statues and forgotten gods.
He lowered himself beside me. Not close enough for us to touch, but close enough that I could feel his presence—his power—bleeding outward from his body. I bit back a groan as my magic stirred at his nearness, slithering from its hiding place like a snake from its hole.
He drew one knee up, then the other, clasping his wrists loosely around them.
For a long while, neither of us spoke. We simply watched the fire burn itself down.
"What are you thinking about?" My voice came out embarrassingly hoarse.
A log snapped, sending weak sparks up into the night.
At last, he exhaled. "The same thing as you, I imagine."
His thumb drifted absently over the back of his hand, over and over, as though he didn't realize he was doing it. When he finally spoke, it was with the careful deliberation of a man weighing every word before allowing it to leave his lips.
"There are a great many things I regret, Eidra, as of late.” He exhaled, and shook his head slowly. “I regret not finding Dannis when I had the chance. I regret tricking you to escape the Veil. I regret not freeing you from Solmire in time."
The muscles in his jaw flexed once, hard enough to make the tendon beneath his ear jump.
I stared at him, my chest tightening as the warded cell rose unbidden in my mind. The iron shackles. Calantha’s ember eye. The consuming agony that had shrunk my world to a single, cruel pinprick. I’d suspected he knew what had happened to me, but he’d never confirmed it.
His attention caught on my hands. For one suspended moment, I thought he might reach for one. Instead, his eyes lifted to mine. “I regret that I didn't reach you sooner. Before the dragonfire.”
I huffed. "You tried to kill me after."
"No," he said. "I didn't."
His silence stretched just a heartbeat too long.
I searched his face, and the answer settled over me with startling clarity.
"You let me siphon from you?"
"Veylan was furious. The slackened side of his face twitched for a week straight."
A snort escaped me, quickly smothered behind my hand. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before fading, leaving something quieter and heavier in its place.
"I regret being cruel to you in Noctharis."
The memory snuffed out my amusement. My bonded mate was his enemy. After everything Aedric had done, perhaps cruelty was all Rìan had known how to give me. The weight of Aedric’s sins sat heavily between us. I knew they weren’t mine to carry, yet I couldn’t seem to put them down.
He lowered his eyes. "I regret mocking you for not being able to read."
"I can read now, can't I? Thanks to Levinica." I offered him a small smile. He didn't return it.
"Still," he said at last. "I want you to know it's something I..." He hesitated, the words seeming to catch in his throat. "Something I regretted immediately."
He rose to his feet, and bitterness bloomed inside me before I could stop it. He was leaving.
He paused in front of me, his body eclipsing the firelight as he looked down at me.
"But there's one thing above all else that I regret, Eidra. One thing I can't stop thinking about. It plays over and over again in my mind."
I braced myself. Was it someone he'd killed? Someone he'd tortured? Or was it us—everything that had happened on our journey to break the very bond that had drawn us together?
Did he regret kissing me?
“What is it?” I asked shakily.
"That night in Pelaga..." Oh gods, it was the kiss, wasn’t it?
My face burned with shame. I couldn't bear to look at him.
He extended his hand toward me, palm up.
"I did want to dance with you, Elowen." His voice came so soft it trembled at the edges. "I'd never wanted anything more."
The sound of my name on his lips, his confession... A slow flame caught in the hollow of my chest, spreading with every beat of my heart. He dragged his teeth across his lower lip, looking so genuinely uncertain that laughter nearly bubbled free. The Dark Prince of Elantis. The destroyer of minds.
Was he… nervous?
He cleared his throat. "Will you dance with me now?"
I stared at his outstretched hand, then at the earnest look on his face, his expression almost tortured as he waited for my answer—for my acceptance or my rejection. My pulse quickened.
My hand lifted on its own and slipped into his.
His fingers folded gently around mine. The soft rasp of his calluses against my skin sent warmth unfurling through me as he pulled me to my feet. He drew me toward him. I expected him to settle one hand at my waist, to lift our joined hands between us.
Instead, he guided one of my arms over his shoulder, then the other.
The movement brought us flush together.
Every line of his body met mine, leaving not a breath of space between us. His mouth hovered only inches from my own. The wild scent of leather and wind enveloped me as the rest of the world fell away.
Slowly, we began to sway.
Far beyond the trees, bone drums thundered and voices rose in wild celebration. But we danced to different music—the whisper of the wind through the branches, the rustle of leaves overhead, the steady beat of our hearts.
I swallowed. "This is dancing?" I asked, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice—or the flutter from my stomach.
It was unlike any dance I'd ever known. There were no practiced steps, no measured distance between us.
Only the impossible closeness of him, the hard planes of his body yielding just enough for mine to fit against them.
His mouth curved into a small, almost wry smile. "It counts."
I unraveled against him, lulled by the slow rhythm of our movements, the feel of him against me, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Safe.
The realization settled softly in my chest, as impossible as it was undeniable.
Almost timidly, I rested my cheek against his chest. His body seemed to fold around me at once, his arms tightening around my waist as though he'd been waiting for me to let him.
He lowered his head until his lips brushed the curve of my neck. The touch was no more than a whisper, barely there, yet every inch of me came alive.