20
Our room was small.
Too small, perhaps, for a man of Erebus’s stature.
He knocked his head against the doorframe, shouting a colorful string of expletives I’d never heard him voice before.
He blamed it on still feeling unsteady in the real world, saying he’d gotten too used to flitting about his castle and its towering ceilings.
In the Dream Realm, we could bend the laws of nature. In Noctis, the laws of nature bent us.
Rubbing his forehead, Erebus peered back in the hallway. If someone had been there—if someone had seen his clumsiness—Maker only knew what wrath they’d face.
Fortunately for us all, the narrow hallway was empty.
Our room was on the second floor, tucked away in its most isolated wing.
The innkeeper likely figured we’d be less trouble if we were kept away from his other patrons.
The lone bed dominated the space, its thick quilt faded and patched but clean.
A basin of steaming water had already been brought in, along with a folding screen for privacy.
The air felt warmer here, almost suffocating, and I wasn’t sure if it was the small fireplace in the corner, a fire already burning inside, or something else entirely.
I cracked a window, gripping the sill as I forced myself to breathe.
Breathe, Esmer.
The wicked voice was gone; it would have no place here.
I set my small pack near the bed, fiddling with the clasp.
Erebus was equally absorbed, smoothing the folds out of his matching black tunic and pants.
I was loath to admit it, but Mithras had chosen our sleep clothes well.
My nightgown’s dark purple sleeves, embroidered with black roses, were long and soft.
Briefly, our gazes snagged.
We both froze, blushed, and glanced away.
We’d slept together countless times in the Dream Realm, often tangled in shared exhaustion after mock battles and trials. But this felt real. No ethereal haze to dull the edges. No shadows to blur the lines. Just the two of us, firm and tangible, in a space too small to hide from each other.
Not that we wanted to.
Erebus untied his cloak and began undoing the miscellaneous fastenings on his armor.
His movements were slow and deliberate, but his jaw was tightly clenched.
“You can bathe first,” he said, his voice a touch too formal.
As though he was struggling to keep himself in check.
“Not that you need to bathe, of course,” he added hastily.
I laughed, ducking behind the screen. The water was scalding, but I welcomed it, letting it wash away the dust from the tomb and the tension from the road.
I took longer than necessary with the soap, scrubbing at skin that prickled from his nearness.
When I emerged, dressed in my nightgown with wet hair still dripping down my back, Erebus was staring into the fire.
He jumped to his feet when he finally noticed me, a conflicted expression crossing his face.
“Your turn,” I said playfully, and he nodded, disappearing behind the screen with his sleep clothes folded neatly over his arm.
While he bathed—and I tried not to think about how near and bare he was—I brushed my hair by the fire with gentle, measured strokes.
The tension in the room hadn’t dissipated; if anything, it was worse.
I could hear the faint splash of water behind the screen, the sound stirring something treacherous in me.
I should have been thinking about how we were going to defeat Raelion. I should have been thinking about strategy. Not indecent thoughts about water dripping from Erebus’s unclothed body.
Maker, I must have drunk too much cider.
Face burning, I drew the quilt around my legs.
It smelled pleasantly of nutmeg and cedar.
When Erebus returned, dressed in soft sleep clothes that seemed almost too mundane for someone princely like him, damp hair curling at the ends, he looked…
human. A dangerous, extraordinarily beautiful human, but human, nonetheless.
More real than he’d ever looked in the Dream Realm, where he was all shadows, sharp edges, and menacing power. It was disarming.
It was intoxicating.
Erebus sat across from me, elbows resting on his knees. It was as though his gaze could peer into my soul.
And so, I offered my soul to him.
“I need to tell you something,” I blurted.
And then I told him everything. Of my meeting with Mithras.
How the voice in my head was a combination of Mithras’s and Raelion’s.
How Mithras had commanded me to forfeit our mission to Citadel Evernight, but I’d chosen to go regardless.
“It doesn’t make any sense. He warned me of what would happen at Evernight—he wanted me to kill him in the real world, and yet he’s clearly working with Raelion.
” My nails bit into my palms. “He can’t be trusted.
But if I had listened to him, the Weavers wouldn’t be staked through their chests and anchored to the king of demons. ”
“You did what anyone would have done in your situation. Myself included.”
“It’s just so confusing,” I said, drawing my knees closer to my chest. “He betrayed you all those years ago and wanted to kill you, but then he locked me in your tomb and ordered me not to kill you. He’s the creator of elixir and the one guiding light who can purify souls after they become Corrupt.
Noctis’s sovereign. Our king. And yet he’s inside Raelion’s head in the Dream Realm. ”
“It’s no use trying to make sense of it.
His mind has been defiled by that demon,” Erebus spat, shaking his head.
His eyes shone in the firelight. For a breath, he looked almost sad.
“Likely has been for centuries. We might never get the answers we want.” His attention flicked to the window, where the faint glow of a lantern outside barely cut through the night.
“We’ll leave at first light. We should reach the capital by tomorrow night. ”
“We’re closer than I thought.”
“Are you afraid?”
I shook my head. “Angry. And worried. If they’ve already started celebrating in Istralla, how far along are Mithras and Raelion in their plans? How much time do we have left before—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice low and firm. “We’ll face it tomorrow. There’s nothing else we can do until then.”
Something in his tone—his undying belief in our victory, his silent promise of revenge for my sake as well as his—sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to believe him, needed to believe him, but the panic simmering beneath my skin wouldn’t let me rest.
“You say it like it’s so simple,” I shot back, far more curtly than I intended. “You’re not—”
“Esmer,” he said, cutting me off again. His hands found mine, thumbs brushing my palms. “I know what’s at stake. And what we’re capable of. What you’re capable of.”
The air between us felt charged, our anger at Mithras feeding into something far more reckless. He stood, and suddenly the room felt even smaller, his presence crowding mine.
“Then stop looking at me like you’re waiting for me to fall apart,” I insisted, rising to meet him.
“I’m not,” he nearly growled, silver eyes narrowing. Even in reality, shadows still swirled in their depths. “You’re still shouldering too much on your own. I’m with you, Esmer. I will not let us fail.”
For a moment, all I could hear was my own pulse thundering in my ears.
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words tangled in my throat.
Tension crackled between us, hotter than the fire in the hearth, and when his thumbs brushed against my palms again, it was like a spark igniting something inevitable.
I swallowed hard. His proximity, the heat of him, made it impossible to think straight.
“We should sleep,” I suggested weakly.
Sleep?
I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to peel away his clothes and feel every inch of his pale skin. I wanted to curl into his broad chest and selfishly forget the horrors we’d soon face. I wanted to talk to him about lighter, happier things—warm memories from our childhoods. Our hopes for the future.
Anything but sleep.
Because I feared that if I slept, I might be taken into another of Mithras’s visions. If I slept, I might never wake in Erebus’s arms again. His gaze lingered on mine for a moment longer, dark and unreadable.
“Sleep,” he echoed, though the word sounded like a challenge.
We lay down, drawing the quilt up to our chests.
The small space between us felt like a chasm.
Anticipation buzzed as I stared at the ceiling, every nerve in my body achingly aware of his.
I watched the firelight flicker, casting shadows that danced across the room.
This is going to be impossible. I turned to my side, hoping it would help me relax, but I was still acutely aware of his presence: the steady rise and fall of his breath, the faint creak of the mattress when he shifted, the warmth radiating from his skin.
I bit my cheek.
I couldn’t close my eyes; the thought of the capital, of what might await us tomorrow, lay behind my eyelids. But more than that, the idea that tonight might actually be our last—that this fleeting moment of quiet could end in catastrophe—twisted something deep in my chest.
“Esmer,” Erebus murmured, his voice breaking the tense silence. “Are you still awake?”
I rolled over, finding his eyes already on me. In the dim firelight, his strong features seemed soft and tempting. Like a secret meant only for me.
“I am,” I whispered back conspiratorially. “And I see you are, too.”
“Of course I’m still awake.” He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Sleep feels strange here. Everything feels strange. The weight of this world, the scents, the textures.” He paused, attention drifting to my lips. “The sound of your breathing.”
My breath hitched at his confession, skin prickling. “My breathing?”
“Yes,” he said, dragging his gaze from my lips to the rise and fall of my chest. He drank me in, savoring every detail. As if he wanted to kiss me but was holding back. “You’re breathing hard.”