Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
My hands tremble as I change into the gray dress. Daria and the other maid left me in a silken robe that easily slips off my shoulders. The dress isn’t that hard to get into, unlike the ballroom gown, and I don’t care if my bodice isn’t laced properly.
Why would the king send me that gown?
Why am I still alive?
Don’t think about that , I tell myself. Doubts are the last thing you need.
Twisting my long hair back, forgoing shoes, I open the door of my room…
… and I find Jai leaning against the wall right outside.
My mind frozen, I stare at his tall, broad-shouldered form, leaning so casually against the pale wallpaper.
Not Tru, not Arkin. Jai , Jai himself, guarding my room.
Once more he’s not in armor, but dressed in black pants and knee-high boots, the black-and-gold jacket of the Royal Guard buttoned up to his chin. His black hair is tucked behind one ear, but long strands fall in his face, into those velvet dark eyes, shiny locks brushing those marked cheekbones.
I can’t breathe.
Yeah, Jai’s presence impacts me in quite a different way—sending such a wave of heat through me, I’m amazed I don’t instantly burst into flames. My body tightens, pressure coiling deep in my belly, sending a sharp throb between my legs.
So disconcerting and yet so predictable, the way my body reacts to him.
But I’m on my way someplace, someplace important, and I force myself to move and keep going past him.
He places himself firmly in my way. “Where are you going?” he asks, his voice falling in that pleasant, rough rumble.
I shake my head and try to sidestep him.
Again, he blocks my way. “I’m not letting you try and get out again,” he says softly, “and place yourself in more danger.”
I almost laugh at that. How does he pretend to protect me when I am already sentenced to die in the games?
Why is he outside my door? Why not let Tru or Arkin intercept me? Did he really suspect I’d try to leave again, or did he just decide to keep guard all night?
I shove at him with both hands, relishing the feel of that extraordinarily muscular chest, the unyielding padding of his pectorals under my palms, before I scold myself again.
What am I doing?
Clenching my jaw, I step away from him and start down the corridor.
Only for his hand to close around my arm and stop me. “I told you, I can’t let you go.”
No. I shake my head, do my best to pull away. It only serves to make him growl, and the next thing I know, he’s swinging me up in his arms. I struggle, twisting in his arms like an eel. No!
And a memory slams into me— of arms sliding under my knees and back after the first trial, lifting me off the floor. Carrying me against a wildly beating heart.
“He was the one who scooped you up and carried you inside the palace, demanding a healer, the best healer.”
The shock of the tactile memory merging with those words makes me go still, just enough for Jai to enter my room, kick the door shut, and carry me inside.
Without a word, he crosses the room and sits on my bed, his arms still tight around me. It’s a circle, a wall keeping the world out, solid, warm, smelling like him.
I feel drugged. Intoxicated. Drunk.
This is such a bad idea.
With a huge effort, I lift my head off his chest, half-heartedly trying to pull away.
Get out , I point at the door. I stab a finger into his chest, and it’s like poking steel. You, get out.
I have places to be, things to do.
Kings to kill.
He catches my wrists, nostrils flaring. “No, you’re not going. It’s too risky. Dangerous. Listen to me. You can’t risk the king’s wrath again, and you can’t catch him by surprise, Rae.”
I glare up at that handsome face.
“I heard he called for you today. Did he hurt you?”
I clench my hands into fists. Refuse to acknowledge the worry in his voice, the care in his words—because they can’t be real—and focus on the rest.
Why can’t I surprise the king? I tug on his shirt until his gaze drops to my mouth. I mouth, Why can’t I surprise him?
Jai’s lashes lower. Such ridiculously long lashes, I think randomly. Such ridiculously pretty eyes on a man who wreaks havoc against his own kind on the fae king’s orders. “The king has eyes and ears everywhere.”
You. You go and tell him stuff?
“You know I’d never tell him.”
Do I? That would require trust, which would require knowing Jai well, and Jai not being who he is, so…
“You just can’t win like this, Rae. You can’t take him out like this, don’t you realize? If…” His gaze drops to my bruised wrist, and his dark eyes widen. “What the fuck . Who did this to you?”
I shake my head, try to pull my hand back, and ow . My bruised wrist throbs angrily.
His fingers slide higher so he doesn’t touch the painful ring of bruises, but doesn’t release my arm. “Did the king do this?”
It doesn’t matter. And why pretend to care? He’s the king’s friend, his adopted son.
Anger returns, and I welcome it. I need it to distance myself from this strange feeling unfurling in my chest, this warm acceptance and need that shouldn’t be there.
I pull back, and he finally lets go, but now his hands lift to cup my cheeks as I scoot back on the bed, his dark gaze searching my face. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you elsewhere?”
I shake my head but make the mistake of lifting my gaze to meet his. The worry in his eyes holds me still, a net of smoke and darkness holding me tight.
Fighting it, I put my hands on his, dragging them off my face, but that only means we end up holding hands, because he won’t let go.
Something in my chest catches and pulls.
“Rae, do you…” A small sigh escapes him. “Do you believe in fate bringing certain people together, people destined to love each other and be together? Do you think it can happen more than once in a lifetime?”
I break eye contact, break away from that searing gaze that seems to look right into my soul. I shake my head.
“Trust me,” he whispers. “Let me in. Tell me how to undo this spell, how to help.” He releases my hands to touch my face again, his fingers tracing patterns on my cheeks, my temples. “You know why I entered the games. Why I’m here.”
I bite my lip, a knot in my throat.
This is crazy. I can’t ever contemplate anything with him, anything more than this. This is already an extravagance, a luxury. A different kind of game, but just as deadly as the ones in the arena.
Fire and water never mix, the king had said. So why do I want his arms back around me, why do I want his hands all over me, his mouth on mine?
Just because he’s so nice tonight, acting concerned, acting as if he needs me, it doesn’t mean anything. I’ve seen his other side.
And I don’t know his intentions.
“I want…” He looks away and swallows. “I want to have you in my arms again tonight.”
What can I say to that? How can I say no? My heart is pounding, and a yearning fills my veins. A longing to be held like last night. It’s like opening the door into a room that feels familiar, that feels like home, even if you know you’ve never been inside in your life.
A trap , my mind hisses, it’s a trap, as bad as the fae king’s voice, luring you away from your purpose, from your true self. You don’t need hugs and kisses; you don’t need lust and longing. Yourself, that’s all you need. Yourself and your goal.
But as his hands slide down my neck and over my shoulders, I fall into that touch, into him. I can’t stop it. Don’t want to end it.
Let me fall headfirst into this trap and lose myself.
It’s because of what happened with the king, I think as he takes off his jacket and lies down, pulling me against him, those muscular arms that seem made to fight the world wrapped around me. It scared me, and being held is reassuring. Comforting.
That’s all this is. Last night, he kept the nightmares at bay, made me feel safe, and now I’m hoping for the same.
Do I trust him?
Part of me apparently does.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers against my hair as sleep tugs at my thoughts, “I’ll come and pick you up from here, escort you to the ball. It’s for your safety and… for me.”
“For me.”
He keeps saying things like that, confusing me.
“Please, say yes.” His dark eyes have turned into the midnight black of a moonless night. “Nod if you want to say yes.”
After a moment, right before the darkness closes over me, I nod against his chest. My hands are bunched up in his soft black shirt, and my sleep smells of him—smoke and sweetness and a hint of iron.
It’s only when I wake up the next morning, once more alone in my room, alone in my cold wide bed, that I realize my palms are stained with something like rust, and that whiff of iron makes sense.
It’s blood.
Which begs the question… why are my hands, that had been resting on his chest for most of the night, stained with blood? Is it his blood, or someone else’s?
My list of questions for Jai, for the king, for this mission, is growing by the day, with no sign of an answer anywhere.