Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rest
A tidal wave of exhaustion pulls me under the moment we cross the threshold of my bedchamber. Drusilla is nowhere to be found, and I refuse to send a Guard to find her.
The plush chair sinks when I plop down before the vanity and unlace my boots, which clomp as I drop them to the floor.
I maintain my awkward angle and hook my arm around my back to try to reach the row of buttons entrapping me in this dress, then release a breath at Fray, who laughs at my stubborn refusal to ask for assistance.
“Here,” Varic says, consuming the distance between us.
My heart jumps as I rise to stand while trying, and failing, to ignore the tingling sensation his touch brings to my skin.
This damned dress, with its design making it impossible for him to release me without brushing over every cutout of fabric.
My heart punches my sternum in a heavy staccato rhythm, hyper-aware of his every motion down my spine.
I force my eyes forward, yet they keep darting to the side, with the distraction of the movement in the reflection making it impossible for me to resist looking.
My breath catches when my gaze traces the shape of our bodies pressing so closely together.
Varic must have some need to increase my difficulty with ignoring our current position as he inches closer until the front of his lap presses against the curve of my ass.
I pull in a breath as stealthily as I can manage, attempting to hide my reaction to his proximity when his own breath skates over my shoulders, and the heat of his fingers roves lower and lower.
Each time he releases another button with such careful precision, you’d think he were disarming a bomb rather than torturously, slowly, disrobing me.
I need not look. I need to stare at the wall instead. Yet my eyes betray me and follow the way his hand trails down, regardless of the fact that watching this does me the same amount of good as dwelling on the circumstances which force us together while keeping us apart.
Curiosity wins, sabotaging any chance I might have had at peace as my eyes carefully study his hands working each of the tiny fabric-covered buttons free at the tortuously slow speed with which he is moving.
If only it were just Varic and I—if we had any privacy—I would smack his hand playfully while teasing him about his lingering.
I would reenact how we once were with each other.
Instead, I mourn the loss of the natural rhythm we found when we could communicate more freely and clamp my jaw shut to keep from saying anything.
He pauses halfway to roll his sleeves up past his elbows, and I stare, unblinkingly, at the muscles rippling beneath his brown skin, corded and snaking around his forearms, accentuated by shadows and the golden light of the fire.
The fabric over his chest seems to have tightened with the way he folded the sleeves, and it feels entirely unfair of him to bring even more attention to the definition of his muscles there.
My mouth waters, and I try to swallow the excess soundlessly, though the bobbing of my throat is observable in my reflection, and I fail to conceal the sharp intake of breath when his knuckles caress the sensitive skin on my side.
His own reflection betrays his level of confidence, with the smirk proving he knows exactly what his touch does to me.
I part my lips to protest when a fantasy plays in my mind as a distraction—
His open palm continues to move, drawing across the small of my waist as I lean back on his warm chest, reveling in the feel of his body curving around my own.
His free hand snakes around and spins me to face him, gaze lingering over my lips just before he leans forward while pulling me in, then dropping his face closer to finally claim my lips with his.
Our hands rise to rove over each other in all-consuming passion and frenetic energy.
“There is no need for embarrassment.” Varic’s voice draws my attention to where his gaze flicks up to mine in the reflection. “It’s just your back. It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”
My eyes widen with realization, then narrow to glare back at him, yet nothing in my expression does anything to deter him, only deepening the lines around his mouth as his smirk rises, along with the lines around his eyes crinkling in amusement.
The flames of his attention lick my skin, and I don’t care if he’s simply being flirtatious.
I doubt he means any harm by what he has said, because he can’t possibly know how everything about this is torturous for me.
How I desperately want this—need this to be more than it can be—even if my other Guards were to look away, even if we weren’t interrupted, it’s not a risk we can take.
It’s killing me to have him touch me, to have his body this close to mine and have to refrain from saying and doing everything my whole being yearns to act on after years of suppressing all he means to me.
I must hold back, no matter what his touch does to me, no matter how this connection between us makes everything feel so much more intense, and I can’t stand it. I cannot do this.
I turn to Lars and catch his eye as he looks to me out of his periphery. Varic’s fingers slowly descend the curve of my lower back, and my speed Guard turns to face me fully when I arch my back to lessen the contact with the sorcerer, who is sending my mind and body into a frenzy.
“Lars.” His eyebrows rise in question. “Will you please take over?”
I invert my back to the extreme, needing to pull as far away from Varic’s outstretched fingers as possible.
My throat constricts, and tears prick my eyes at the obvious rejection my magic detects emanating from Varic’s chest. His brows meet in the center, while his body roils with ripples of confusion.
Regardless of the fact that there are only a handful of buttons left to undo, I cannot tell him why I need him to stop. Not in a room full of those he leads. I cannot bring myself to explain how his hands roving any lower would have been intolerable to me outside of the realm of fantasy.
Besides, he should have kept his mouth shut if he wanted the privilege of finishing.
My reflection shows just how my muscles shift from taut and rigid to noticeably relaxed.
Varic huffing out a breath as he steps away so Lars may finish the task is more satisfying than expected.
Lars’ speed allows him to have every button undone in a hundredth of the time it was taking Varic.
I smile my thanks to him in the mirror, to which he responds with a quick tilt of his head before moving to resume his post.
“No offense, Varic. It’s just that Lars’ speed means I’ll be able to go to bed before the moon trades places with the sun.” I flick my gaze to where he maintains a stony outward composure while Lars presses his lips in a line, likely needing to stifle a laugh or a smile. Perhaps both.
My Guards follow as I slink off to the closet and grab the first nightgown and robe set on the rail, rueing the fact it’s one of the shorter styles I failed to realize were hanging in the same section, even though that is where Drusilla procured the one I wore last night.
A deep sigh seeps from me as I allow the formal gown to drop from my shoulders and pool at my feet, wishing I had the wherewithal to rip the damned thing to shreds with my bare hands before asking one of the Dragons to burn it into an unrecognizable heap.
I pull the nightgown—if it can be called that with so little fabric—over my head, then shrug into the robe, cinching it tightly before heading into the bathing chamber.
An unnerving sensation settles over me as multiple sets of eyes watch me take care of my basic needs.
The weight of their stares feels different as they observe me wash my own face, and it does not abate when I brush my teeth.
I stare back at Fray’s moss green eyes in the mirror as my hand rises to cover a yawn, and he flicks his gaze elsewhere, apparently recognizing the awkwardness I’m experiencing.
Their footsteps trail after me as I stumble all the way to the bed where Varic simply stands and stares as I roll the covers back and climb in, rather than taking over like he did the night before.
“His Majesty didn’t mention anything about Wyrth needing to perform an exam,” Varic says.
My muscles tense as I climb up and over the mattress, wishing there wasn’t so much we still have to explain to Varic.
“The Emperor doesn’t tend to talk about Wyrth and his practices, aside from boasting of his plan to help him live forever,” Malin says.
“And you trust that it is truly the Emperor ordering Wyrth to perform these exams on her?” Varic’s voice lowers.
Fray sighs and turns away from the window. “If you knew their dynamic, you would understand why the Philosopher would not risk going against the Emperor.”
I pull the covers up my chest and lie back on the pillows, not caring to engage in this conversation which will get us nowhere but more conjecture. My joints ache as I thrust my hand out to prepare my Guards for their night shift.
“Who’s first?” I ask.
“No,” Varic says. “Your magic is too depleted. We can reassess in the morning.”
I sit up abruptly as the spikiness of incredulity prickles in my veins.
“How will you remain focused overnight without my help?”
Varic stares at me with a frustratingly neutral expression.
I squint back at him and shake my head. “That’s unreasonable. I have enough.”
His stare remains unchanged.
“At least allow me to use a little for each of you, so you’re not as exhausted tomorrow.”
“No.” I scoff as he looks to each of my Guards, raising his finger for emphasis. “None of you are to accept her magic until she has had enough time to rest.”
“Yes, Leader,” all four voices say in unison.
I turn and raise my brows at them, though none look at me. I give up and slam my eyes shut as my heart hammers in my chest because nothing about this feels safe. Yet, since I have no say in the matter, I lie here with the silence feeling like a lead blanket.
Frenetic energy courses across the connection I hold with Varic—though I should spare the magic—shifting from what it was when he first questioned Wyrth’s intentions.
“I’m sorry, I can’t let this go,” Varic says, and my eyes widen with the distress painting his expression. “I know you need rest, and this isn’t the time, but—”
“Just say it, Varic.” I release a breath, which he steals by dropping to his knees at my bedside to look up at me.
“I can’t understand what it is to have lived at the Palace my whole life. I can never know what you have endured. I heard the Emperor’s threat at the end of my vow ceremony. I understand what’s at stake were he to suspect anything more has occurred between us.”
I swallow harshly, wishing I didn’t have an idea of what he’s about to ask.
“But what is causing you to pull away from me so drastically? Why are you keeping your distance when the doors are closed, or when no one is looking?”
“There’s always someone looking, and within earshot.” I cage my emotions so well, my voice comes out more monotone than I thought possible.
“There always has been, from the first moment we met,” he whispers.
“It’s not the same, Varic.” Fuck, my tone is shifting.
“Tell me,” he pleads, and my heart squeezes. “Please. Help me understand.”
I shake my head, and tears well along my lashes as his eyes fall closed and his shoulders drop.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, eyes flaring open with a renewed sense of challenge sparking behind them. “Tell me you want me to stop showing you how I feel, and I will.”
Lars scoffs, and I keep from sending him the death glare I wish to share in response.
“I won’t do anything to endanger you. I’m doing my best to hide it around him.”
Now it’s my turn to clench my eyes shut as I try to gather whatever I might be able to extoll in this moment.
“I have vowed to watch over you.” He rises from the floor to stand. “And I am. I only touch you when it is for your safety, or to aid you in a task when you require assistance.”
My mouth opens, then closes, as I try to find the words.
“If you need me to change something, I need to know. Because the more you seem to be repulsed by my presence—”
I launch toward him with my hand outstretched, as if to take his hand.
His expression shifts, having proven his point whether he expected this reaction from me or not. He grins in triumph, though he knows not the despair wrought from such a win.
“Sleep well, Tasch,” he says with such care after all he’s just shared, tugging on that string wrapped around my heavily beating heart.
With what compassion he’s showing, a less stubborn witch might recognize it as forgiveness.
Malin begins to sing, and his deep baritone resounds in my chest, shifting to a deep hum as he begins the melody of his favorite local sailor’s song—as much for himself as for those of us who admire his luscious tone.
I lean back and glance at Varic, who stares down at me with a smile so relaxed, the lines near his eyes are almost nonexistent.
Soothing warmth spreads from my heart as I offer him a partial smile—one I cannot banish now that I have seen him beaming down at me with such admiration shining from behind his irises—an image now seared into my mind long after I close my eyes.