Chapter Fifteen #2
Iver shook through forceful tremors, pain and fear getting the better of him.
He lost control of his body, of his racing thoughts.
Panic seized him, overpowering his ability to reason.
If he’d had the strength, he would’ve ripped through his restraints and jumped off the operating table, never mind that he was cut open.
William stroked his hair, whispering words of assurance that Iver no longer had the capacity to understand.
Another cut. Iver flinched in his restraints. The healer cursed. Iver’s breathing was labored, every lungful bringing him a world of hurt. Smoke and the nauseating smell of burning flesh rose from his insides.
“Forceps,” the healer demanded.
Iver ground his teeth into the leather, jaw and neck stiff as he braced. He kept his gaze on William’s blue eyes, trying to sink into them, to forget everything but the man by his side.
The forceps went into him and plucked a lump of iron-covered magnetite from the inner lining of his stomach. Iver roared behind his gag. Vicious tears pricked his eyes, sliding down the sides of his face.
The chunk clinked against the metal dish that the healer dropped it into.
She went back in to pick up the next one, and Iver groaned in pain. The stench, combined with the metallic scent of blood, was overwhelming.
As she took out the third one, Iver’s vision dimmed. His skin was clammy; his fingers were going numb.
The nurse took his free hand, pressing her thumb into his wrist. “Pulse is too slow.”
“We’re losing him,” the healer snapped, panic lacing her words.
It was the last thing Iver heard before everything was drowned out by the rushing in his ears. William was talking to him intently, eyes wild, lips moving rapidly, but Iver heard nothing. The pain was eating him alive, tearing flesh from flesh.
The soulbond flared. It was reaching out to William; it longed to complete the connection that’d been half-formed on their wedding day.
William was pleading with him, his mouth moving silently, his eyes begging him to stay alive.
The bond beat against the resistance Iver held in place with the last of his strength. He was dying, the bond battling its restraints, thrashing in his chest. Tears shone in William’s eyes. His hand was a fist in Iver’s hair, his lips forming the words “don’t leave me” over and over and over again.
Iver knew how he felt. He’d been there once himself, begging not to be abandoned. Thorne hadn’t listened to him. He’d turned his back on Iver, leaving him with a wound to his heart that’d never healed, only scabbed over with time.
Disconnected from the world, Iver floated. He wondered if William was feeling the way Iver had back then. The agony of impending loss, the futile hope that the worst wouldn’t happen. The pain had sliced Iver open, and his dream of love had bled out.
Iver and Thorne had never bonded, their marriage thwarted at the last moment.
William had married him. He’d done it against Silenia’s advice and despite the concubines who would’ve loved to keep him for themselves.
As the king of Vale, William could’ve married anyone.
He could’ve asked for a lord’s beautiful son.
He could’ve married a foreign queen. But William had chosen him and been a good husband.
Ailenor had questioned Iver when he’d accused Silenia of poisoning him. William had taken his word for it. He’d sent the guards after Silenia. There was no doubting his loyalties. It was more than Iver had been able to say about Thorne. A world more.
The edges of Iver’s vision blackened, closing in. The agony of the forceps pulling another lump of iron from his stomach shot through him.
William was screaming at the healer, his face a mask of fury as he barked things Iver couldn’t hear.
She must’ve said something because he turned back to Iver, a storm in his eyes.
The bond rioted. It tore at his defenses, at the reasons why he was keeping it caged.
If he died, he was going to hurt William like Thorne had hurt him.
He was refusing to fight for what they had when all he had to do was give them a chance.
Iver knew the sadness in William’s eyes.
A century ago, Iver had felt the mortal fear of losing what he thought was the love of his life.
He hadn’t recovered from it. He wasn’t going to do to William what Thorne had done to him. He wasn’t going to leave him.
Even in his weakened state, it took no effort to release the bond. It was easier than breathing. He let go, and the connection snapped into place.
The floodgates of everything Iver had been holding back opened.
William’s soul crashed into his, and the sheer pleasure of being finally united washed away the pain.
William slumped over him, his presence enwrapping Iver.
He wasn’t alone. William was in him, around him, a blanket of warmth and safety.
Iver forgot he was tied to an operating table.
He forgot the healer and the nurse; he forgot that he was moments from death.
His strength and magic, no longer tied up in muting the bond, returned. They wouldn’t help him against the iron, but they would help him heal the incision the healer had made.
Iver floated in bliss, William’s soul shielding him from the world, from the pain. William’s unadulterated joy at merging and becoming one ran into Iver. Their feelings melded, making it impossible to tell where he ended and William began. They were one, inseparable.
William was his protector. Never had Iver been more vulnerable, and William was here for him. A fierceness laced the bond, William determined to guard Iver. If the healer botched the surgery, he was going to tear her apart.
The bond, transmitting nothing but genuine emotion, told Iver the truth: William was on his side. He’d never betray him.
A century of doubt succumbed to the power of their connection, to the love William showered him with. For the first time in a hundred years, Iver felt an emotion that had become foreign to him: trust. He trusted William with his life. He trusted him with his heart.
Iver hadn’t known the bond would be like this. He hadn’t known how deep his intimate knowledge of William’s soul would run.
William, who loved him. William, who felt inadequate as a king and undeserving of love. He had gained confidence in his abilities with Iver by his side, and amid the blood and pain, Iver vowed to support him, to help him carry his crown when it grew heavy.
That a man who had so much love to give felt unworthy of receiving it broke Iver’s heart. But Iver did love him, and with what strength had returned to him, he drenched the bond with the emotion, with his tenderness and devotion to William, whose soul pulsed in bliss as he received Iver’s feelings.
All Iver had wanted was someone who wouldn’t betray him to Silenia.
William had chosen him over her on instinct.
He hadn’t even thought about it. William had done everything for him, and Iver would do the same.
He’d uplift William every day of their lives, being the steadfast partner he deserved.
The loving husband he needed. Iver would be all things to William to make him happy.
If he didn’t die.
Iver had to live. He couldn’t let death yank away the love he’d found.
He and William might have started in a marriage where one contractual obligation was traded for another, but over time, their relationship had changed.
Iver was no longer with William for his castle or to preserve his bloodline; he was with him for him.
What they had was real, their marriage driven not by necessity but love.
For William, Iver had to live.
In the safety of William’s soul, Iver’s strength built. His hearing returned.
The healer was giving the nurse instructions, metal clinking as iron lump after iron lump dropped into the collection dish.
William was hovering over him, a smile playing on his lips. “You’ve let me in,” William said, his voice full of warmth and amazement. He stroked Iver’s hair, ran a thumb over Iver’s knuckles. The pain of the ongoing surgery was there, but the slicing agony had faded to a dull ache.
William was his home, and Iver answered the affection that flooded him.
He caressed William’s soul, embracing it, letting it penetrate his core.
He was overflowing with emotion, their connection bringing everything he’d locked away to the surface.
The need to express how he felt bloomed in his chest.
“I…” Iver tried to speak behind the leather strap, but William gently hushed him.
“I know. I know how you feel. Don’t try to speak. Let the healer work. We can talk as much as we want when this is over and you’re recovering.” William sent a wave of love into the bond, and Iver dissolved in pleasure.
A strong, metallic scent hit.
“Where is all the blood coming from?” the nurse, leaning over Iver’s abdomen, asked.
A bolt of fear shot through the bond. Wrapped up in their newly flourishing connection, they’d become oblivious to the danger Iver was in.
“Iron has perforated the esophagus,” the healer said. “It must have lodged itself in the heart. Cover a tube in magnetite. We have to try to extract it.” Try.
Dizziness befell Iver. His breathing turned rapid, and William’s panicked face was the last thing he saw before everything went dark.