Chapter 27 #3
“He wanted his religion to be the only accepted one in the empire,” Amryn guessed.
“Among other things,” Carver confirmed.
Amryn wasn’t sure why, but it seemed even worse that the church had risen to such terrifying power through political negotiations alone; it hadn’t been a choice of faith, but of convenience.
She shook her head. “So the emperor forced a religion on all the other kingdoms, and he wasn’t even a believer? ”
“Not in the beginning. But he converted fully.” His voice softened as he said, “Argent once told me that losing his wife made the emperor embrace the religion. He needed something to believe in, and the clerics gave him that.”
Since the emperor’s wife had been killed by an empath, Amryn had to wonder if Lorcan Vayne had turned to the church for comfort, or for revenge. The Church of the All-Seeing Divinities controlled the Order of Knights, after all.
They reached their apartment. Amryn slipped into their room while Carver exchanged quiet words with the two guards stationed at the door. He hadn’t delayed in securing a second guard for their room, it seemed.
Amryn’s scalp hurt from the pins Ahmi had carefully inserted into her hair hours ago.
The weight of the elaborate bun was suddenly too much; her head ached, her neck hurt, and the throbbing high in her arm was more prominent than ever.
She sat on the low cushioned chair in front of the small vanity in the corner of the room.
She didn’t think it had been a part of Carver’s room originally.
Someone—the emperor’s steward, probably—had placed it here for her use.
“I asked the guard to send for Ahmi,” Carver said as he locked the apartment door.
“Thank you.” She couldn’t wait for her maid, though.
Not with her head throbbing as it was. With her good hand, she reached into the mass of twisted curls and searched for a pin in a particularly irritating spot.
It took a little tugging, but she managed to pluck it out one-handed.
She tossed the pin on the surface of the vanity.
When her eyes flicked up, her breath stilled.
Carver stood directly behind her, his form reflected in the mirror, his expression surprisingly serious. “Allow me,” he murmured. His emotions were hard to read, but there was an unexpected wave of anticipation. Perhaps that was what had her lowering her hand in silent invitation.
At the first brush of his fingertips against her hair, tingling broke out over her scalp. The sensation skated down her neck and arms, pleasure cascading across her entire body.
With gentle hands, Carver eased a pin free. A slow glide, then the tiniest bit of tension released. It made her heart miss a beat.
She felt the warmth of his body brush against her back as he leaned forward, reaching past her.
The pin made the softest tap as he set it on the vanity.
His slow, even breathing was the loudest sound in the room.
It made her shallower, thinner breaths all the more noticeable.
But she couldn’t help it. Just as she couldn’t keep from staring at him in the mirror.
His expression was intent, his focus complete as his fingers slid back into her bound curls, carefully searching for another pin.
There were so many, it didn’t take long to find one.
And once again, she felt the exquisite slow pull of the pin.
This time, it was followed by the soothing glide of his thumb, as if he were smoothing away any discomfort the pin may have left behind.
There was no pain, now. Amryn couldn’t feel anything beyond the pounding of her pulse and the tangle of their emotions. A thrill shot through her when she realized they both felt pleasure. Longing. Desire.
His blue eyes lifted, catching her gaze in the mirror. “Does that feel better?” he asked softly.
“Yes.” She knew she sounded breathless. She didn’t care.
His stare lingered as he reached past her once again, setting the pin on the vanity. Only when he looked away did she manage to close her eyes.
His touch was infinitely gentle as he once again focused on his task.
The feel of his hands in her hair, deliberate but tender, melted her very bones and sent pleasure rippling over her entire body.
The effect he had on her was so potent, there was no point in resisting.
Any vulnerability she’d felt faded until there was only this moment. This feeling.
Warmth flowed over her skin as a curl slid free to brush against the side of her neck. Her eyes were still closed, but she knew he touched the long lock.
“I wanted to do this the first day we met,” he whispered, his deep voice rougher than usual.
She opened her eyes, finding his reflection in the glass. He was working on another pin with more care than she’d ever bothered to take, his throat bobbing.
Her throat was strangely dry, making her words come out with a slight rasp. “You did?”
“Saints, yes.” He located another pin and slowly pulled it free.
“I wanted to unpin your hair to see how long it was.” His eyes lifted, catching hers in the mirror.
“The first moment I saw you, I was mesmerized. With the sun coming into the chapel behind you, your red hair was lit up, glowing like a fire.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and his dimple flashed.
“I should have known right then you’d have a soul of fire, too. ”
Amryn hardly dared to breathe. This intimate moment felt fragile. So perfect, she feared she was imagining it.
Carver retrieved another pin. Another. Each time he reached past her to set them on the vanity, his front brushed her back, until there were only a handful of pins left and the majority of her hair trailed down her back.
His hand sank into her hair, his fingertips tunneling until they glanced over the nape of her neck.
A shiver rushed down her spine, tingles racing over her skin.
“I’m sorry if tonight was difficult for you,” he whispered.
“Being around so many people . . . I hadn’t considered that until we were already there.
I hope it didn’t cause you too much discomfort. ”
Discomfort was the last thing on her mind right now. “It wasn’t a problem.”
In the mirror, she caught his frown. “It wasn’t too overwhelming?”
The bloodstone around her neck pulsed once. Her heart tripped. But she refused to keep this from him. Twisting on her seat, she met Carver’s puzzled gaze. “I was able to use the bloodstone to mute the emotions of the crowd.”
He blinked. “You . . . used the bloodstone?”
She felt a trickle of guilt. “It was instinctive. But it muted things enough to make the crowd bearable.”
He drew back slightly. “You promised you weren’t going to use it for anything else. Just to shield you.”
“It was shielding me.”
His brows knit. “You know what I mean.”
She bit her lip. “I promise I’m being careful. I’m not tapping into its full power. What I did tonight . . . I’ve never been that comfortable in a crowd before. I didn’t lose track of my own emotions or drown in all the others in the room.”
“I’m glad you weren’t in pain, I just worry about you relying on the bloodstone so much.”
“I know. But I think this is an extension of the shield I was already using. It didn’t feel dangerous.”
Carver searched her eyes, and she could feel the war waging inside him. “Thank you for telling me,” he finally said. He wasn’t condoning her use of the bloodstone, she knew that. But he was choosing to trust her judgment. For now, at least.
The click of the lock disengaging was loud in the silence. Carver took a step back as Ahmi entered the suite.
Amryn’s heart clenched at the sudden distance between them.
The woman’s eyes darted between them, and it was obvious she knew she’d interrupted something. “My apologies,” she said. “I can return later . . .?”
“No,” Carver said at once. “I’ll leave you to it.” He cleared his throat, shoved his emotions down, then walked away, leaving Amryn to stare after him.