Chapter 36 Between Grief and Flame #2
“I am,” she said, leaning in as if she meant every word.
Then, with a softening smile, “But I’ll only punish you if you don’t share it.”
He blinked once, and then the laugh that rumbled from him was unrestrained, his eyes glinting in the firelight with amusement—the first true smile she’d seen from him since the news.
His smile faded, gaze darkening as though something far less harmless crept beneath its surface. “I don’t like to share,” he said, voice dropping. “But I suppose I could be convinced.”
An ache pulsed low in her belly, sudden and startling. He wasn’t talking about her…but gods, her body didn’t seem to care.
Minutes later, they were sitting close by the fire on a fallen log, passing the bottle between them, the wine sweet on her tongue, like berries steeped in smoke, settling into every part of her.
Each time she took the bottle, her fingers brushed his.
The contact lingered long after it was gone, his touch not easily forgotten.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he said after a while, watching her over the flames.
She traced her thumb along the neck of the bottle, the glass already warm from both of their hands. “I’ve been thinking about my mother.”
They sat in silence for a few breaths before she continued, the words spilling, fragments of memory both fragile and indelible: the way her mother’s hair never stayed in its braid, the way she could end a council meeting with a single look, and how she had smelled of rosewater and sandalwood.
Jakobav listened, and she could tell he wasn’t just pretending, his attention hanging on every word, the firelight painting his face in gold and shadow. When she finished, he didn’t offer empty condolences, but only waited as though he knew she needed a moment to just be.
She tipped the bottle and drank deep, her gaze lingering on the intricate etching along its glass, the way the firelight caught in its patterns until she found herself staring at it as if it might hold the answers to the questions circling through her mind.
“You’re opening up to me,” he said with a faint smirk. “Must be the wine loosening your tongue.”
Maybe it was being back on Orchid soil, or maybe it was simply irritating to have her overindulgence called out; either way, the words struck a nerve.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Caelen Verelith used to point that out every time I had too much Fae wine. Ruined the fun before it started.”
A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from him. “And who is Caelen Verelith?”
She hesitated only a beat. “Just a man from court who never stopped trying to convince me that we were a match.”
Jakobav’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “Caelen,” he repeated, dismissive. “Unfortunate name.”
He took the bottle from her hand, his thumb grazing her knuckles. “Drink as much as you want, Princess. I’ll match you.”
He tipped the bottle back and drank deep, his other hand settling on her thigh, fingers squeezing just enough to make her pulse spike.
She let the smallest smile tug at her mouth. “Match me if you like, Prince. Just don’t cry about it when you can’t keep up.”
Hours blurred as they traded stories, his about growing up in the shadow of a crown, hers about her parents and the girl she used to be, until at some point, the fire dwindled to embers.
“Rekindle it,” he said, nodding toward the embers. “Show me what this Orchid soil does for you.” A sensual confidence laced his voice, and gods, it was doing something wicked to her.
She accepted the challenge without breaking eye contact, lifting her hand with the barest motion. Flame surged, bursting upward in a rush of fire that roared into a bonfire licking at the sky.
“Shit.” He moved fast, dragging her against him to shield the blaze as he pulled her into his lap.
They froze, breaths tangled, and then the tension snapped. Laughter spilled free, reckless and wine-loosened, until it shook through them both.
“Well,” he said, still holding her there, “now I’m intoxicated, and we just sent up a giant smoke signal, announcing our presence.” His mouth lifted with dry humor. “Maybe we should snuff it out and call it a night before I start a war.”
“I’d say that’s wise,” she teased, still catching her breath.
The risk was small; this stretch near Thirelle’s border was never patrolled. The alliance had always kept it unchallenged, at least before she left.
When the moment ebbed, she pushed to her feet, slipping from his lap and turning slightly away, but his hand caught her arm and pulled her back down, steady beside him on the log.
His hand remained on her arm, and when he spoke again, the change in his voice was stark, cutting clean through the levity.
“Ella, my father’s never waking up. He’s not sick or recovering.
He’s in a coma. Before you, the plan was to survive the Claiming, announce the truth, take the crown, and throw everything into fortifying Dravaryn against the breaches. ”
Ella’s gaze snapped to his. “And now?”
“Now it’s on hold.” His voice didn’t waver. “And I’m not one bit upset about it.”
Her chest tightened.
“You can’t put your life on hold for me.”
He leaned in, the firelight catching on the line of his jaw. “I can damn well do as I please.”
She shook her head, overwhelmed by the force of him, and found the only words that made sense. “Jake. Don’t. You’ve already made me your friend. Please don’t make me the villain.”
He went still, studying her for a long, burning moment. Then, “I’ll take you as a friend or villain,” he said, his voice deep enough to shiver through her. “I’ll take you any way you let me.”
The words hit low, molten and dangerous, her body recognizing the promise within.