30. In the Light of the Dawn
30
In the Light of the Dawn
Theron
He drifted in and out of sleep, surprisingly without any nightmares, until the goddess of Dawn broke through the darkness with her soothing light, casting a rosy glow over every surface in his bedroom.
Bleary-eyed, he quickly washed, dressed up, and made his way through the stairs and corridors to his son’s wing.
Gaiane waited outside Kalias’s bedroom, quiet and focused, her robes pristine, her snow-white hair swept into a neat coil.
He took a deep breath and slipped into Kalias’ bedroom.
Calliste sat crumpled in the armchair: deathly pale, her complexion ashen, as if sucked out of life altogether. Her bleak eyes measured him up as he strode to Kalias.
A tingling, incredulous surge of hope branched in his chest. His breathing is even. Is his temperature gone? He rested his hand against his son’s forehead. It was cool. His eyes swept over his son’s frame, greedy for more signs of recovery. It was hard to put a finger on it, but he seemed a fraction better, the way he hadn’t seen for a long time. And the relief that his journey wasn’t in vain—that there was hope—crashed into him, making his knees weak.
Beside him, Gaiane swallowed, her eyes wide and shining. “He looks better. He does. I’m not imagining it.”
Calliste nodded. “I’ve made a start.”
Theron flinched at hearing her hoarse voice. “You’re drained.” He glanced at her pendant, noticing how it had lost several shades of green, now watered down to the palest shade of it.
“I’ll need help back to my chamber.”
He reached out to offer her his arm, but she gave a weak shake of her head.
“I cannot stand.”
“That bad?” he asked, recalling Lykos telling him how she passed out in front of him in Aganeeios, after her powers helped him to sleep. Then he made up his mind. “Let me carry you back.”
For a moment, her gaze was unfocused. She blinked several times before asking, “You?”
He raised his brow, his mouth quirking. “Something wrong with me?”
“No.” The palest shade of pink filtered onto her cheeks. “But is it not inconvenient?”
“Unusual, perhaps. But not inconvenient. Not for me, at least.” The idea of her nestled against another man somehow grated on him.
She looked down, considering.
It’s me or no one, Calliste.
After a few moments of silence, she gave another weak nod.
He gathered her gently in his arms. “It’s not like it will tire me out,” he murmured as he lifted her up. “What do you healers eat on Mount Hellecon? Air and dew?”
He was rewarded by her pale smile—though he could tell she barely kept her eyes open. “We eat much better than that, I assure you.”
“Rainwater and flower pollen?” He glanced at the tray he’d left last night. Empty. At least she had proper food.
“Everything you eat around here.”
He thought of how he’d existed on a steady diet of despair and nightmares up until now, but didn’t say it aloud.
Gaiane strode to the door and opened it. “I’ll stay beside the prince,” she said, her face bright and more hopeful than he’d seen in a long time.
He walked down the corridor with Calliste in his arms, ignoring the curious glances from the sentries. She fit perfectly against his chest, her cold cheek pressed against his robe.
Just like the last woman he carried—Amatheia, as cold and lifeless as the crown of gold and pearls on her head, on the way to the funeral pyre.
Darkness stabbed against his heart, slowing his steps.
This isn’t Amatheia.
Yet Calliste was worryingly cold. “Was Kalias’ chamber not warm enough through the night?” he asked, without much hope for the answer.
Her eyes fluttered shut before her lips moved. She was exhausted to sheer paleness, much like her pendant.
So he shifted his attention to her softness and scent, already ingrained in his mind. He wished he could brush her hair away from her face. He also wished that the corridor was longer.
“We’re nearly there, Calliste.” He took the last turn, stopping in front of her door, his brow lifting at the sight of Melitta.
“Majesty.” Melitta dipped into a bow, but he didn’t miss the shock in her face. She quickly opened the door for him.
He stepped in, pausing for a moment. “Are you looking after Calliste?”
“Yes, Majesty.” Melitta hesitated. “With your permission.”
He cracked a faint smile. “You don’t need my permission if you have Gaiane’s. You know how it goes.”
She grinned, nodding.
“She’ll sleep now. Check on her later,” he said as he strode into Calliste’s room.
Melitta bowed again and closed the door behind him.
He carried Calliste to the bed and lowered her on the bedsheets. “Calliste? Do you need anything?”
“No.” Her answer was more of a sigh than a sound—she was asleep before her back touched the pallet.
He exhaled, pulling the thin blanket to her shoulders. Then he strode to the windows and loosened the linen drapes, reducing the light in the room to a thin, beige shadow, before returning to her bedside again, reluctant to leave, contemplating her sleeping, flushed face.
He wouldn’t admit to anyone the feelings she stirred in him.
Especially not to himself.
But in this rare moment of quiet, when the demands of his kingdom that usually pulled at his attention were reduced to a distant hum, he indulged in watching her.
He breathed in her presence, allowing himself to feel what had fluttered into life when they were in the forest lake and he ordered her to show him her back, never expecting the horror he’d found. Not a day had passed that he didn’t think about those scars, still unable to comprehend all she must have gone through, from the woman beaten into submission to the proud High Priestess.
And not a day had passed that he’d found another facet of her that he liked: her calm and silence, which she wore like other women donned jewels. Her poise throughout the handling and dismantling Panakeios. Her confidence and candor.
He told himself it was admiration…
Which was a lie.
If it were mere admiration, he wouldn’t be inhaling the scent of her skin and musing how her hair color reminded him of cinnamon bark.
Or finally dwelling on the image from the previous evening, when she leaned forth to make her bed while he watched her—and the side slit of her robe covering her chest shifted too far without her knowing, momentarily revealing the full shape of her breast.
She had no idea how her brief, unintentional nudity sent a bolt of desire through him—one he immediately fought off and stamped out.
It reminded him of their encounter in his room in Hellenixia, which gave shape to a fantasy he had replayed in his head far too many times ever since that sleepless night.
Somehow, he’d kept a meticulous count of the moments when her guard was down, and now, as he watched her for a bit longer than he should have, his mind had finally wandered.
He saw himself barring the door and discarding his clothes on the way to her bed, relishing the thought of her being so sweetly defenseless, unable even to open her eyes.
Slipping beneath the sheet, he would cozy up next to her, running his fingers gently over her face, cupping it until his warmth and scent mingled with hers.
In his forbidden vision, she knew it was him. But he’d ask anyway. Tell me that you want me, he would whisper into her ear.
She wouldn’t open her eyes, and her response would be as soft as a breeze trapped in the warm morning light. I want you, Theron.
Only then would he peel down her robe, baring her to his gaze, his palm moving over her breasts and then brushing past her hip. He’d pull her against him only to feel her skin on his, to take in its smoothness. He’d trace her scars and watch her shiver at every sweep of his fingertips.
Would she sigh? Moan?
He’d let his lips brush against hers, taste her mouth, the peaks of her breasts, the skin of her stomach. He’d wait for all the fires he ignited in those places to merge into the heat that consumed her.
Then he’d let his tongue move further down, curious of her reactions—and she’d be anything but timid. She’d let him suckle her until she’d be trembling, incoherent, desperate for more.
Much more—
A screech of a gull outside of the window jerked him into the present.
For a moment, he stood blinking in the shadowy silence scented with fresh linen. At first, he was incredulous, shaken from the vividness of his vision, and how long he’d been lost in its grip.
Then he registered his aching arousal. He slacked with shock, then righted himself and turned away with a deep breath. He had to wait for the frustrating ache of his body to dissolve, burning and chilled to the bone at the same time.
I mustn’t, damn it. It will not end well for either of us if I lose control.
He was out of her chamber as soon as he collected himself, marching down to the Assembly Hall for his daily sessions, unable to deny to himself what had crossed his mind.