Chapter 10
With a curse, Brand flopped onto his back, pressed trembling fingertips to closed lids, and kicked at the silken sheets tangled around his legs.
Every time he shut his damned eyes, the week’s events battered through his mind in disjointed images.
Baldrir’s mutilated body sprawled across the stone floor.
Lyriat’s roars and pacing, lost in his berserker rage as he demanded justice.
Nyriadne screaming when they’d told her, fighting with fist and teeth to see him.
Thad’s blood sloshing in a crystal goblet, the white-hot indignation in his eyes.
They still had no idea what had happened.
His messengers had yet to return, the reports from their spies in the other realms hadn’t mentioned so much as a whisper of anything suspicious, and—since Mag and Thad had been asked to remain in Straelon—there were no answers to be found through either of them.
Lyriat’s request had been made under a friendly guise, but they’d all known it for the complicated demand that it was—they were to stay until it was bloody certain the Westrealm was without blame.
More of the same bureaucratic, arsing nonsense Brand had always hated.
And at the end of the cycling memories, he was wrenched from one nightmare to another when his mind centered and settled on one thing.
The Sorcerit, Lunara.
A heavy sigh escaped and he let his arms flop to the mattress, his stare fixing on the stars twinkling above through the glass dome of his tower chamber.
Without the strangling blindness of urgency, or the distraction of drama and duty…
In full light and with the blessed, knee-buckling knowledge that Baldrir would be fine…
That mysterious, luminous creature had utterly leveled him.
When they’d found her fast asleep in the great hall, face hidden in the arms cradling her head, it had merely been charming.
Brand had chuckled along with everyone else—right before he’d noticed the moonlight mixing with the glow of the stones to gild a chestnut riot of teeming waves and curls in liquid gold and silver.
It had spilled over the chair, the table, the curves of her body.
He’d become transfixed, dumbfounded by the seemingly infinite lengths as it cascaded down and nearly kissed the floor.
That is, until she’d popped up in a breathless rush, curtseyed like a drunken dockhand, and lifted her face to greet them. Then, he’d discovered that her spectacular mane crowned a visage that was every wondrous dream he’d ever had come true.
A single, harried glimpse of her eyes had already been haunting too many of his waking moments. Finally beholding all of her?
Shite. He’d be lucky if he could think of anything else with more than half his attention ever again.
He could almost convince himself that she’d been just as enthralled, but Lyriat had cleared his throat and the connection in one, fell swoop. His questions afterwards had only given Brand more time to sink further and further within.
Now, Brand couldn’t be sure if he’d imagined the small hitch in her breath, or whether her body had actually leaned towards his in that suspended moment.
It had been decades since he’d frozen up so badly, incapable of a single sentence for hours on end. And it never really bothered him when potential lovers walked away, nothing said or gained. They didn’t pull at him or consume his thoughts. They were gone, and it was done.
Brand dealt with people all day long, for fucks’ sake. He didn’t necessarily enjoy it, but he was able to handle whatever he needed to. Something about her, in particular, had him tied in knots.
Oh, he’d tried. Countless questions and comments had been perched right on the tip of his tongue. But, as soon as the air was in his lungs to speak them, the words got stuck in his throat, refusing to leave.
Instead, he’d sat there mesmerized as she’d quietly bloomed, revealing a sharp wit and sly mouth. He’d heard the Nachthellian accent all his life—a cousin, of sorts, to those in Thodelebor—but never once had it sounded like a lilting lullaby, magic and music in every syllable.
Who was he kidding? Her husky voice was bloody temptation incarnate, and it was his own damned fault it had never been directed at him, because he’d practically sprinted from the great hall at the earliest possible moment.
His name, that’s all he wanted. Just to hear it one time, uttered in those dulcet tones, so he could finally focus on all the rest of the shite piling up.
Weak, pre-dawn light was already filtering through the dome and windows to suck every color from the room, transforming his furniture into eerie grey sentinels, watching him from their deep grooves of shadow.
Damn it.
Brand groaned and gave up on sleep entirely. Dragging himself out of bed, he crossed the wooden floorboards straight to the balcony doors and flung them open, drawing the salty air into himself with deep pulls.
Leaning against the balustrade, he forced his mind to calm while the land came to life in time with the rising sunstar—birds twittering from their tree branch homes, the sienna mountains glowing with dawn’s fire, fishing boats dotting the sea in the distance one by one—until raucous voices reached up from the castle grounds to steal his peace.
With no idea what the day ahead would hold, it was almost impossible to focus. But, if he hurried, he might at least be able to catch Lunara for a moment alone before anyone else claimed her attention.
The hold she had on his thoughts…
There was a possible explanation for why he was responding to her so strongly. For why she—unlike any before her—would suddenly inspire him to attempt pushing past his usual reserve for a single chance to speak with her.
A cosmic, intangible calling that was almost too wonderful to consider.
Brand swore under his breath. Aldiat and Frida’s mating was addling his thoughts, and he was getting ahead of himself.
Still…
It wouldn’t be too difficult to find out for sure. Then again, it would require actually speaking to Lunara, and then getting to know her in order to know.
So first, Brand had to find the courage to introduce himself.
Brand’s boots pounded a staccato rhythm against the flagstones, each jagged breath too damned loud in his ears.
At least the few people around must’ve sensed he was in no mood to be distracted, veering out of his way and giving him plenty of room to stomp by.
Maybe it was the incurable scowl twisting his face that did it.
He paused before the closed doors to the great hall. Staring at the ancient sea serpents carved there, locked in battle with whichever Demon was king at the time, Brand forced his breathing to slow. Begged his pounding heart to calm down. Tugged on the collar of his tunic.
The warriors either side ignored him completely, dutifully keeping their gazes straight ahead as they waited for his command—thank the Sisters for small mercies.
Lyriat had requested Lunara’s early presence to discuss her payment. Of course, Brand had only made his less-than-daring escape after hearing her agreement. So, she was either already in there, or would be soon.
He had to apologize for his poor manners, if nothing else. He hadn’t been a charming Imperial, or a cunning ambassador, or a mighty commander.
He’d been a complete twit.
At his nod, the guards threw the doors wide. Servants were readying the hall for breakfast, scattering every which way in their rush around the dozens of tables that had been added back since last night.
Still, it was easy to spot her.
She was the only stillness amidst the chaos, and the sight stopped him in his tracks.
Stars above, Lunara was even more beautiful in the daytime.
A soft lilac dress managed to both cover and cling to her, hiding everything and nothing at once.
Only her shoulders and collarbone were exposed, and sunlight shone down upon the opalescent expanse of her perfect skin, rainbow flakes glittering just beneath the pale surface.
All Nachthellians shared the feature regardless of their coloring but, on her, it was exquisite. And that hair. He could admit, at least to himself, that he was utterly obsessed with it.
And yet, he had to choke back the laugh that tried to spring free.
Such an otherworldly creature, but he’d found her flattened against a window, palms and face pressed to the glass as if she could force her body through nose first. Her wide eyes were unblinking, seemingly caught in the throes of a deep trance. Shite, she didn’t even breathe.
The bizarre moment buoyed him, curiosity demanding he see whatever she was so fixated on, and it was all the push he needed to close the distance and sidle up behind her.
Only inches separated them, but she didn’t notice, and Brand was too caught up in her scent to announce himself. In amber and spice and… moonlight?
Standing there bathed in summer sunshine, she somehow evoked images of the rising twin moons. Of balmy breezes and swaying blooms beneath the gloaming. Of dreams and soft warmth.
So much damned warmth.
Lunara. Luna. A living, breathing little moon.
Brand blinked, fighting the urge to rub an errant lock of her hair between his fingers, and shook himself before gently clearing his throat.
A screeching yelp was his only warning, and Brand barely dodged the tiny fist that emerged from a panicked blur of curls and swirling silk.
“Shite,” he rasped, hands snapping out to catch her before she could hit the ground again.
And, for the second time since she’d arrived, he forgot the part where he was supposed to release her.
“Oh, my stars! I am so sorry, Your Highness!” Lunara gaped at him, both hands plastered to her face.
Wet with tears.
Something strange happened then—a tiny splintering within himself. The shine of those crystalline drops, the tracks they’d left behind… Brand’s heart stuttered, and fury replaced its beating entirely.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” The words came out as a murmur, but only because he had just enough sanity left to know that anything else would frighten her.