25. Rylan
25
RYLAN
I shouldn’t go looking for her.
Not after that last conversation. Not after the way she looked at me—like my answer actually mattered.
Would you have?
She asked me twice. Like she needed to be sure.
And the truth—the ugly, unshakable truth—is that I don’t know.
I should have shut it down. Should have given her something easy to brush off. But instead, I let her get too close. I let her sink into my head, and now she’s all I can think about.
Her fire. Her anger. The way her breath hitched when she thought I might have wanted Lartina.
The way she looked at me like I belonged to her.
It’s infuriating.
So I do something even more infuriating.
I go looking for her.
I find her exactly where I knew she’d be—alone, pacing the lower halls like a caged animal, her arms crossed, shoulders tense as steel.
She doesn’t hear me at first.
I take my time, stepping into the dim torchlight. Watching.
I want her to feel it.
I want her to know I’m here.
She stiffens but doesn’t turn.
“Can’t sleep?” I say, voice casual. Mocking.
She exhales through her nose, slow and measured. “Neither can you.”
The silence is sharp, thick with all the things we shouldn’t be saying but keep circling anyway.
When she finally turns, her eyes burn.
Not just with anger. With something else.
Something I don’t want to name.
She wants to fight.
Good.
Because so do I.
I step closer, slow and deliberate. “You’re still thinking about it.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line. “Thinking about what?”
I smirk. “Don’t play dumb, little thief. We both know you’re terrible at it.”
Her hands curl into fists. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that I watched Lartina throw herself all over you, and you didn’t exactly stop her.”
There it is.
I take another step, lowering my voice. “You’re jealous.”
Her eyes flash. “I am not?—”
“—Jealous,” I finish for her. “Admit it, Seraphina. You hated watching her touch me.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Rylan. I couldn’t care less who you let put their hands all over you.”
She’s lying.
And we both know it.
I tilt my head, studying her, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her discomfort to show.
Then I smirk. “Funny. That’s not what your eyes were saying.”
Her rage ignites.
“Oh, I’m sorry—should I have clapped for you? Should I have just stood there and applauded while you let her snake her hands all over you?”
“She was trying to manipulate me.”
“No shit.” She throws up her hands, stepping toward me, close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off her skin. “And you let her. What, was it fun? Did you enjoy watching her squirm? Or were you just seeing how long it would take me to crack?”
I don’t answer.
Because she’s right.
I did let her. I let Lartina play her game, let Seraphina watch because I wanted to see what she’d do.
Because I wanted to know if she’d care.
And she does.
She’s burning with it.
“I don’t give a damn who you choose to warm your bed,” she continues, voice lower now, more dangerous. “But if you’re going to stand here and act like you didn’t enjoy every second of that, then you can go straight to?—”
I move.
Fast.
My mouth crashes against hers.
Her breath catches, sharp and startled, but she doesn’t pull away.
Her fists hit my chest once, maybe to shove me, maybe because she doesn’t know what the hell to do with this—but then her fingers twist into my shirt, gripping, pulling.
A mistake.
Because now she’s closer.
Now she’s mine to ruin.
I press her back against the wall, my hands framing her face, my body caging hers in like she might run.
She should run.
But she doesn’t.
She kisses me back, fierce and furious, biting at my lower lip like she wants to punish me for this.
Good.
Because I want to punish her, too.
For getting under my skin.
For making me want this.
For making me care.
I slide my hand to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss, swallowing the way she gasps against my mouth.
She melts.
For a second, just a second?—
Then—
Footsteps.
Loud. Rushed.
The moment shatters.
One of my men bursts into the hall.
Seraphina and I jerk apart, chests heaving, lips kiss-bruised, the heat between us still burning in the air.
The guard freezes at the sight of us.
Then, wisely, turns his gaze to the floor.
"Sir," he says, voice edged with something close to fear. "It’s Lartina."
Seraphina stiffens beside me.
I go cold.
I already know.
But I ask anyway.
"What about her?"
The guard swallows.
"She’s gone."