Chapter 51
Amryn
For the first time since arriving at the capital, Amryn woke with Carver still in their bed.
She knew this, because she was plastered to his side, his arm around her back, his hand settled against the curve of her waist. Her head was tucked in the curve of his shoulder, and her hand was spread against the heated skin of his bare chest. She could feel the rise and fall of each even breath, and the steady beating of his heart.
Her other hand was curled against his warm side, pinned between them.
She knew he was awake. His thumb was tracing a slow circle against her side, his emotions—while peaceful—were too alert to denote sleep. Amryn didn’t know how long he’d been awake, but the sun was streaming through the balcony doors, telling her it was past the hour he usually rose.
Her cheeks flushed as awareness crept in. Because not only was she curled up against him, she was partially on top of him—including her leg, which was crooked over his. Her breath hitched.
She’d pinned him to the bed.
“Good morning,” Carver said, his voice husky from disuse.
She drew back her leg, her face fully blazing now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
His arm tightened around her, keeping her from squirming away. “Stay.”
“But I . . .” Saints, she didn’t even know how to verbalize it. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a bit of space and all but attacked you, making it so you couldn’t leave the bed.
“This isn’t the first time,” Carver told her. “I’ve woken to you in my arms just like this every morning we’ve shared this bed.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “You—You have?”
He was lying back on his pillow, a lazy sort of smile on his face, his blue eyes at half-mast. He tipped his chin. “Every morning.” His eyes searched her face. “You’ve made it bloody difficult to get out of bed, sweetheart.”
Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled with the revelation that she’d been latching onto him for weeks without knowing it. “I’m sorry,” she finally said.
Carver lifted one eyebrow. “You think I want an apology?”
She hesitated, briefly reading his emotions. He was filled with contentment. A peace she hadn’t ever felt from him, actually. And stirring just beneath that was . . .
Her blush deepened. “I don’t think you mind,” she managed to say.
He grinned, his expression softening as he studied her face. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t mind. In fact, I love waking up like this. So much so, I couldn’t force myself to move this morning.” His voice lowered further as he said, “Especially after last night.”
Memories filtered in, spreading warmth through her body. It had easily been the best night of her life, though recalling everything they’d shared in the light of day made her a little self-conscious. Still, she had no regrets. Only a perfect happiness.
Carver resumed tracing those soothing circles against her side, warming her skin beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. “I need to thank you again,” he said softly. “For not touching me while I was having that nightmare.”
It had been difficult to move away from him when he was in such torment. To leave their bed, and him, when he’d cringed and reached out, as if trying to find her in the darkness. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted softly.
His hold on her tightened. “I’m sorry. But I’ve been terrified of hurting you when I’m . . . not myself. So, thank you for keeping yourself safe.” He suddenly frowned. “I’ll have to speak with the guards, though. They should have heard me and come in—”
“They did,” Amryn said. “Before you woke.”
Carver’s shock was quickly followed by a rush of discomfort, tinged with embarrassment.
Amryn pressed her fingers against his chest. “I made them leave right away. And you woke up soon after.” She hesitated, then asked, “What do you think brought on the nightmare?”
“I don’t know.” His brow furrowed. “Sometimes there isn’t a reason.”
She hated that they could strike without warning. It was probably one of the reasons Carver struggled to sleep.
“My nightmares have been worse since losing Argent,” he admitted. “I keep seeing him in Harvari with me, being tortured. He begs me for help, and I can’t do anything to stop his pain. He . . . blames me.”
Her heart ached. “Argent would never blame you for what happened to him.”
“I know.”
Amryn could see in his eyes that he did know it.
Just as she could feel that he blamed himself anyway.
“I know I didn’t know Argent very long,” she said softly.
“But I felt how much he loved you, Carver. He would hate that you’re shouldering this guilt when it isn’t yours to carry.
” She cupped his shadowed jaw. “Honor him by forgiving yourself.”
His throat flexed as he swallowed. “I’ll try.”
She knew it wouldn’t happen in an instant. Knew he’d have to remind himself to let the guilt go. But she’d be there to help him. “Were you able to get any sleep last night?” she asked.
His lips quirked. “Well, my wife kept me up for a while . . .”
Her cheeks warmed, but her smile was unstoppable.
Carver’s grip on her flexed, his hands strong but his hold gentle. “I fell asleep soon after you did. I can’t remember the last time I was able to sleep after a nightmare like that.” Wonder filled him as his eyes met hers. “It’s because of you.”
The words were surprising, humbling, and thrilling.
She realized she was absently skimming the pads of her fingers across a rough scar on his chest. It was located far too close to his heart.
“I got that when Ford came to rescue me,” Carver said softly.
She sensed his reticence to talk about it—as well as a wave of resolve that assured her he was about to anyway—so she reached out and tapped the tip of one finger against the small, pale scar on his chin. “Tell me about this one.”
He frowned in brief confusion. Then realization hit, and gratitude swept over him as he cracked a smile. “One of my worst battle scars,” he teased dryly. “Are you sure you want to hear the grisly tale?”
“If you want to tell it.”
He tugged her until she was once again lying against his side.
Only this time, she rested her cheek on his bicep, so she could see his profile.
“I was eleven,” he said. “It was a particularly hot summer day and I was drenched in sweat after my daily weapons training. Berron was with me, and the moment our grandfather dismissed us, we decided to cool off in the ocean. We were playing around in the waves, not really paying attention to how far out we’d gone.
We got caught in a current. It started dragging us out to sea.
I knew we were in trouble. We were good swimmers, but a current like that can easily drown the strongest of men, let alone two tired boys. ”
Amryn wasn’t breathing.
Carver noticed and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I survived,” he reminded her.
“How?”
He chuckled. “A lot of luck and a little skill. Our father taught us well, so we knew what to do. We didn’t fight against the current, just rode it until it weakened enough for us to break free.
Berron was scared and exhausted, so I swam us both parallel to the shore until I knew it would be safe to make our way back to the beach.
It must have been a couple of miles, all told. ”
Her eyes rounded. “You were eleven.”
“Yes.”
Amazement—and pride—filled her. “You’ve always been a hero, then.”
A bit of color touched his cheeks. “I wasn’t heroic. I was the idiot who got us caught by the current in the first place. I should have been paying more attention.”
She shook her head. “You were a child, and you saved your brother’s life—and your own. That’s heroic.”
“I promise I didn’t look like a hero by the time we made it to shore.
I was shaking all over, and I could barely see where I was going because my vision kept hazing.
I swam right into a rock barely hidden by the waves—which is how I got this,” he said, pointing to the pale scar.
“Then, when I finally hauled us both onto the sand, I immediately started vomiting. As soon as I started, Berron did as well. That’s how our father found us.
Drenched, doubled over and retching our guts out.
He was probably disgusted—definitely livid—and very grateful we hadn’t managed to drown ourselves. Or get eaten by a shark.”
Her stomach dropped. “There were sharks in the water?”
His lips twitched. “It’s the ocean, sweetheart. Of course there were sharks.”
She gaped. “Your mother let you swim in shark-infested waters?”
“Well, she didn’t always know we were swimming there, but yes. She loves swimming in the ocean, too.”
Amryn stared. She couldn’t imagine Alora Vincetti swimming in the ocean—let alone among sharks.
“Don’t worry,” Carver said, rubbing her arm. “When we go, I’ll protect you from the sharks.”
Her eyes flew wide. “I am not swimming in the ocean, Carver. Ever.”
He grinned. “You will.”
“Um, no. There are currents and sharks and who knows what else in there.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Then I’ll pray for you.”
He laughed, then surprised her by planting a kiss on her forehead. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“No need, my mind won’t change.”
He smiled, his eyes tracing over her face. One hand was curved around her side, but his free hand rose to hook a stray curl behind her ear. “You are utterly beautiful.”
The unexpected compliment caught her off guard. Heat suffused her. “So are you,” she whispered.
Amusement sparked in his eyes. “I’m beautiful?”
Her mouth curved. “Yes.”
He shook his head, his gaze fixed on hers. “I’m too scarred for that, I’m afraid.”
She frowned, because despite his soft smile, she sensed his seriousness. Her eyes fell once more to the scar on his chest. She felt his swell of self-consciousness. Hating that, she impulsively leaned down and placed her lips against the rough mark.
Surprise rippled through him, and from the corner of her eye she saw his ridged abdominal muscles flex.