Chapter 11 Silk and Silence
SILK AND SILENCE
Ella hadn’t touched her supper, and the prospect of sleep wasn’t promising either.
Her body sagged with exhaustion, yet her mind burned with a restlessness that refused to quiet.
The flare of violet light replayed behind her eyes, every word the green-eyed stranger had spoken reverberating in her skull, lingering long after he had vanished into nothingness.
The door creaked open, and Jakobav stepped inside. His gaze swept once over her before landing on the untouched tray of food on the table, and his eyes narrowed.
“You’ve been alone longer than promised,” he said at last. “That must’ve thrilled you.”
Ella forced herself upright, ribs protesting, a painful reminder of the wounds Bryn had stitched shut.
She’d likely torn half of them open when she’d scrambled away from that man with the slightly pointed ears, crashing into the headboard harder than she’d realized at the time, but she was not about to explain any of that to Jakobav.
“Not nearly as much as you might think,” she muttered.
A mistake. The words slipped out, too honest and revealing.
His brow furrowed, and for a long, weighted moment, he studied her face as if searching for the reason she hadn’t been thrilled by his absence.
And gods, she hated that he looked concerned.
Despised it more than the ache in her ribs, because concern was not something she could afford from him.
Yet the way he stood there, like he would have kept guard all day if she’d only asked, made her throat tighten.
She didn’t need him to protect her from the man in the shadows, or from the way her sigil had answered him. And yet…some traitorous part of her knew that Jakobav would have.
Should she tell him? Admit what had stood in this very room, close enough to touch?
The thought was as reckless as it was dangerous. Jakobav was Dravaryn. She couldn’t trust him. But the omission sat heavy on her chest, guilt curling inward like smoke.
Jakobav’s frown deepened. “What happened?” His voice was low and steady, but the concern beneath it was plain.
Ella’s fingers tightened around the blankets, knuckles whitening as she fixed her eyes on the fire rather than his face. “Nothing.”
But her body betrayed her, pulse hammering against her throat, and from the way his gaze sharpened, he’d clearly noticed.
She straightened and scrubbed at her eyes, but when she risked a glance at him, his attention wasn’t fixed on her face. His eyes lingered instead on the shirt she wore. His shirt, too large on her frame, still carrying the scent of him.
Gods.
Jakobav’s posture shifted. He drew a breath, his mouth parting as if he were about to speak.
Footsteps thudded down the corridor, firm and steady, and Jakobav went still.
His gaze snapped to the door, and in the space of a heartbeat, he was no longer across the room; he was on the bed, shoving her down beneath the covers.
The movement was quick, controlled, suffocating.
He slid toward the middle, using the dinner cart and his own body as a shield to block what would otherwise be a lump beneath the furs.
She was thin, thinner still from days of skipped meals born of spite, but she was not invisible. What in the hell was he doing?
He dragged a pillow across her shoulder, adjusting it to break the outline of her body.
His voice dropped, quiet but urgent, pitched like a command. “Hold still. And try not to breathe.”
“What?”
“Do it. Now.”
The heavy tread of boots drew closer, each thud of leather on stone rattling her ribs. Ella didn’t have time to protest.
He pressed her down into the mattress, his command leaving no room for argument. Furs dropped heavy over her, trapping her in heat and shadow, her body caged against his, as though she were something he meant to shield or smother.
She wished she’d worn more than his oversized shirt.
Pants would have been useful.
The press of his thigh against hers, the breadth of his chest at her back, even the whisper of his arm pinning her close, all of it set her body alight.
The scent of him was everywhere: spiced amber and something rougher, salt-sharp.
Sweat. She had never noticed him sweat before, never thought him capable of it, but here it was, threaded through the heat of the furs and the closeness of his skin.
She couldn’t tell if it was the strain of hiding her, or the situation itself, but it was raw, human, dizzying.
Ella tried not to squirm, but every point of contact burned with awareness, and gods, her body betrayed her. Heat spilled low, damp and insistent, a pulse she couldn’t stop. Shame clawed at her throat as sharply as panic.
What if he could tell? What if he could smell it? The Dravaryns were rumored to have senses sharper than any other mortals. Fuck, what if he smelled her arousal and mistook it for consent?
Velvet heat and musk closed around her, and fight or flight tangled in her chest until neither option felt possible.
Flight, of course, was no option at all, not with how carefully he’d hidden her and not with his massive frame between her and the door, every inch of him a barricade she could never slip past.
The door swung open.
“Jake?” A woman’s voice. Smooth, controlled, and touched with amusement.
Ella clamped down on her breath and eased the fur aside, peering through the narrow strip left open where Jakobav’s shoulder angled away, just enough for her to glimpse the door.
Through that slit of blankets, she studied what she could see of the woman: polished leather boots catching the firelight, the hem of a dark green cloak shifting just beyond Jakobav’s shoulder.
As the woman moved farther into the room, Ella caught flashes of her silhouette—dark hair braided into a single rope and the grounded, self-assured stance of a soldier.
She ached to shift for a better look, but even the smallest movement risked exposure.
“I was expecting to meet with you tomorrow, Maeren,” Jakobav said. His tone was even, his breaths drawn slow, deliberate, as though he were forcing calm into every syllable.
“And that’s why I never knock,” Maeren replied with a grin audible in her voice. “Far more entertaining to catch you off guard. On the rare occasion anyone can.”
“You didn’t catch me.” Jakobav’s answer landed hard. “No one could mistake your gait. Your footsteps are louder than a soldier twice your size. I heard you in the corridor minutes ago.”
Her smile faltered, only for a breath, before she recovered and took a few steps closer, then stopped.
“There’s been another Veil breach. A creature slipped through.
We didn’t recognize it, and your skills would’ve helped identify the blood.
Savina would’ve been useful too, if she hadn’t been taken out by that fierce little intruder you’re still pretending not to know anything about.
And yes, I checked the dungeon. No new prisoners. ”
The woman’s brows lifted as her gaze swept over him, widening slightly when she registered how he was positioned on the bed.
“Did I interrupt something? Should I come back later?” The smirk returned, sharper now.
Ella’s pulse slammed in her throat.
What does she think she’s interrupting?
How can Jakobav identify blood?
She could see more of the woman’s face now, and of course she was beautiful. Worse, she was the kind of beautiful that came with strength, with belonging. This was a woman who strode through doors without knocking.
Not half-hidden, half-dressed, and silenced under furs.
Ella hung on every word, but her heartbeat thundered louder than a soldier’s march.
Maeren scoffed. “Don’t give me that glower. We were practically raised together, Jake. I know all your tells. You’re hiding something.”
The faint grind of Jakobav’s teeth reached Ella’s ears.
But Maeren pressed on, undeterred. “The rest of the First Guard is furious. I’ve been smoothing feathers for days, telling the court you’re locked in training for your Claiming. Meanwhile I’m cleaning up wreckage from this mystery guest of yours.”
Ella felt Jakobav bristle.
“Oh, don’t flinch. I noticed. While I’m busy with that, you’ve been conveniently absent.
And then you slip off with Soren? No report, no details?
” She crossed her arms. “So maybe use those gods-gifted abilities of yours and help me track this thing. Or better yet, dust off that charm you’ve buried under all that brooding and remind your people why they follow you. ”
Ella winced and hoped Maeren hadn’t noticed the bed move.
Jakobav shifted beneath the furs. His hand brushed against her breast, grazing her nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt, and a jolt shot through her chest like lightning.
She went rigid, every nerve screaming as her nipple hardened, traitorous and unbidden.
His hand froze and then he pulled back, but the heat of him lingered, impossible to forget. Jakobav cleared his throat, his voice rougher now. “Thank you, Maeren. If you’re finished rambling, we’ll discuss this later.”
The woman glared as she turned toward the door, cloak swishing behind her. She paused at the threshold. “Perimeter duty tonight. Thane and Soren are riding out with me. We’ll carry extra supplies in case it takes us beyond the borders. I’ll send word if anything stirs.”
The door shut.
Ella threw the furs off and shoved him hard, pain lancing her side. “What in the hell was that?” she practically shouted, her cheeks burning hot enough to scald.
He raised his hands. “I was trying to protect you.”
“By smothering me in your sheets and burying me alive under furs? Gods, Jakobav, if that’s your idea of protection, remind me never to see what you call mercy.”
“I kept you hidden. Trust me, it’s for the best. You’re not ready to meet the First Guard.”
“Hidden?” Her laugh was sharp enough to cut. “You pinned me, sweated all over me”—her voice wavered, breaking despite her fury—“and then you touched me.”
“Ella,” he said, rough, almost defensive, “that wasn’t my intention.”
“I don’t care what you meant.” She pushed herself upright, fire in her eyes. “You don’t get to touch me.”
The words came out harsher than she meant, too raw to hide, and heat rushed up her throat as soon as she heard them. The quiet stretched until it became unbearable. His gaze shackled her, cold and unrelenting, as if he were sifting through every layer of her for answers she couldn’t afford to give.
Finally, he gritted out, “Trust me. If I had touched you on purpose, your reaction would’ve been very different.”
Ella’s retort came quickly. “That’s a bold assumption for a man hiding someone under his blankets.”
He didn’t miss a beat.
“I could feel your curiosity. If not for the scowl on your face, I might have mistaken it for lust. And with that scent”—his mouth curved in the shadow of a smirk—“Maeren probably thought she’d caught me in something far more indecent than hiding a girl in my bed.”
Ella’s face burned hot enough to rival the firelight.
She knew, gods help her, that some part of him wasn’t wrong.
Why was the future king of Dravaryn, her enemy, affecting her this way? She couldn’t let him in any further, couldn’t let him burrow beneath her defenses, and the need for a subject change clawed at her like desperation.
Ella forced her voice lower, steady despite the tremor running through her veins. “You hid me from your second-in-command. She was giving you a scouting report that revealed more than you wanted me to hear.”
Jakobav’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”
“And what she said about a creature and its blood, what does that mean?”
“She shouldn’t have said anything. Not when I was giving her every signal to stop speaking,” he ground out, his restraint unraveling.
The words sealed it. Her suspicions weren’t wild imaginings.
There was more to the centuries-old feud between their kingdoms, more to the whispers about Dravaryns holding onto powers forbidden since the Fae vanished.
Proof enough that their traditions dripped with secrets, and that they still practiced the archaic ritual of the Claiming.
To be fair, she did not know what the Claiming ritual truly entailed, only that success granted a new ability and failure exacted a price no one spoke of openly.
Nor did she know the real reason it had been outlawed by every kingdom except this one.
She suspected it was something barbaric at worst and unsavory at best.
Her thoughts tangled and spun. If the kingdom of Dravaryn still kept so much hidden, what else had been concealed from Orchid?
What truths had she been fed as lies? Her parents and tutors had always suspected Dravaryns wielded strength beyond mortal limits: brute force, whispers to stone and steel, maybe even shields no army could break. But what if there was more?
And what if Jakobav was not just a brutal prince sculpted by violence, but something else entirely?
She looked at him then, the man who had saved her from certain death, fed her, threatened her, touched her, and her chest tightened with questions she dared not speak.
Jakobav’s gaze caught hers, dark and steady, as if he could strip those questions straight from her bones, his voice dropping to a low murmur, soft as smoke and just as dangerous.
“Careful, Ella. Curiosity can kill faster than any blade.”