Chapter 53
Huntyr
After the meal has concluded, we linger around the table, laughing and sharing stories. Throughout it all, I haven’t bothered to move away from where I had leaned into Derian earlier, and he doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers on my back have stilled, but he keeps that arm behind me.
And I can’t bring myself to be bothered by it.
His jealousy over Rhen is still obvious based on the way he keeps glaring at the warrior every time Rhen says anything. Rhen even places his left hand on the table pointedly several times, but the prince doesn’t seem to notice the ring that shines under the torchlight.
It’s probably not helping the situation that I’ve been talking to Rhen far more frequently than I’ve been talking to Derian.
“You’re going to get him in trouble,” Cal leans over to mumble to me once Derian is distracted in a conversation with Taric.
Rhen meets my gaze across the table, eyes wide with concern. “Yes, you are. Please stop.”
I only laugh, winking at Rhen as I do. “It’s all part of the plan, boys.”
And they do know how much I love my plans.
Tyla yawns across from me, barely stifling it behind her hand. “Neither of you stand a chance of convincing her to do something she doesn’t want to.”
I tilt my head in agreement. This particular plan was put into motion hours ago. No one can stop the wheels that are already moving now.
Rhen only sighs and shakes his head. “I hope your fun is worth the fact that I’ll be cleaning out the stables for a week.”
Cal rolls his eyes next to me and sends the warrior a sympathetic smile. “I’m not going to let that happen.”
“Let what happen?” Derian asks, finally turning back to us.
Cal balks, and I quickly step in before he can spoil everything. “Allow Tyla to fall asleep at the table.”
My sister huffs. “I was not!”
“Were too. That’s why Cal was just about to suggest that Rhen should walk you back to your room.”
The two men exchange glances before Cal awkwardly nods over at Derian. “Yes. That’s exactly what I was about to suggest.”
Derian humphs with narrowed eyes, but really doesn’t need any convincing to send Rhen away from the table, and me, so he nods his approval and reminds Tyla that we’ll only be across the hall if she needs us.
She smiles her thanks, and Rhen silently mouths the words to me as he leads her away.
Derian glares at his back the entire time that it takes for him to exit the room.
“You’re a complete fiend,” Cal mutters to me, disapproval evident in his tone.
Derian lifts a brow as I giggle. “Do I want to know?”
Step one of the plan was to get the Fae prince adequately jealous and riled up. I’d say that has been accomplished. Time to move on to the next phase of this endeavor.
My chair scrapes across the floor as I push back away from the table. “No, you don’t.”
He looks up at me suspiciously. “Going somewhere, Huntress?”
My gaze turns wicked, and I wrap my fingers around his and pull him out of his own seat. “We’re going somewhere.”
Our friends exchange amused glances as I back away from the table, dragging Derian behind me.
“Do you want us to come?” Taric teases.
“I most certainly do not!”
Their laughter follows us into the hall.
It’s a bit colder outside than it has been the previous few nights, but I don't particularly mind. I lean back against the wooden fence in front of the throwing targets in the training yard and stare up at the sky. Stars dance across the expanse of it.
I point up at one of the intricate constellations. “That’s the crown of Queen Esmerelda. She was the last monarch to rule when the Mortal Kingdoms were united.”
He follows my gaze before dragging my finger to connect some of the stars to different points. “Actually, that’s Geodric’s Blade. He was King of the Vaereth.”
I trace over the new image he outlined for me with my eyes. The Fae have their own constellations, I realize solemnly. They have their own histories, stories, and beliefs that are completely different from those I grew up with in the Mortal Kingdoms.
And now I somehow stand between the two of them, trying to make sense of the strange place where they connect.
“How are the Fae related to the Vaereth?” I ask.
Derian rests his hands on either side of me against the wooden fence, boxing me in.
“We worshipped them as our Gods. They were the opposite of the Velkai in every way. Where Velkai steal Ether, the Vaereth grant it. It’s entwined in their being, their very souls.
Our histories say that one day they took the Ether inside them and gave it form, thus creating the Fae.
For centuries we lived alongside them, worshipping them as our creators, and they were benevolent Gods, encouraging peace between the Fae and Mortals, using the Ether within them to heal the injured and dying. ”
“Like you can do?”
Derian reaches for my hand, turning my palm so that we’re both looking down at the scar that now runs across my skin. “I can do only a fraction of what they were capable of. If a Vaereth had healed you, there would be no scars.”
Sighing, I stare down at that thin white line, the ever-present reminder of the Conclave and what I lived through. The battles that brought me here. Without these scars, without the Conclave, I never would have learned the truth of who I was. I never would have gotten Tyla that tonic.
And I wouldn’t be standing here with Derian.
“I like my scars,” I say, both to him and myself.
His lips twitch into a bit of a smile. “So do I.”
Something deep within me sparks at that hint of a smile, and I pitch my hips forward, pressing into his unmoving frame, letting my own grin turn nearly feral.
“Huntress,” he purrs, staring down at me. “Care to tell me why you brought me out here?”
I bite my lip as I bring my hands to his chest, trailing across the hard leather of his jacket before pushing it aside. I run them down the expanse of his firm abdominals, covered only by a thin cotton shirt. He leans into my touch, and I can practically hear his heart rate spike.
I want that shirt off. Immediately.
“I’d rather show you,” I whisper, letting my hands slide lower.
Derian’s eyes darken, and his calloused hand presses into my left hip, fingers digging into the flesh beneath my dress. “I might prefer that too.”
He buries his head in the hollow of my throat, breathing me in before brushing his lips against the delicate skin, the touch sending shivers down my spine.
“I’m so glad to hear that.” I tilt my fingers towards his belt and grasp onto the blade hooked there, pulling it out sharply and holding it victoriously between us, pushing him away with the tip of the dagger pressed at the skin above his heart.
“I was thinking it might be time for a little rematch.”
He freezes for a moment, staring down at the blade with equal parts of disbelief and disappointment. His eyes close for a moment, and his jaw works as he regains his composure before he finally steps back and takes the blade from my hand.
“I could have gotten it myself,” he mumbles, reaching to pull a second one out of his boot.
I wink, noticing the way his eyes track my hands as I pull up my skirt to unsheathe the two blades strapped onto my thigh. “My way was more fun.”
“Maybe I don’t want to play right now,” he says, crossing his arms across his broad chest. The evidence of what he’d rather be doing with me is still visible in the bulge at the front of his trousers. I have to fight against the need to lick my lips.
I pretend to think on his words for a moment, tapping a finger against my chin before moving sharply back towards the fortress with a shrug. “Okay, I’ll ask Rhen to play with me.”
Icy fingers wrap around my wrist, halting me in my path and pulling me back against his firm chest. “I’ve been trying very hard all night to remind myself that Rhen is a friend of mine. I don’t think I’ll manage to keep that in mind if you drag him out here in the dark with you.”
He’s so close I can almost feel his breath on my skin, and it sends a rush of anticipation over me. I’m playing with fire.
No, not fire.
I’m in the eye of the storm, pretending like the rain isn’t going to come crashing down on me at any second.
It’s positively exhilarating.
“And why’s that?” I whisper, unable to break away from staring into those dark eyes.
“I think you know why.”
I tilt my head. “I prefer when you use your words.”
He’s quiet, considering, but then he takes another single step towards me, coming ever so slightly closer. “Because you’re mine, Huntress. Rhen seems to have trouble remembering that.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I know that.”
I grin slyly. “I think his mate would disagree with you.”
There’s a flash of surprise on his face, but before he can fully register my words, I spin in the opposite direction, releasing both daggers in rapid procession.
They fly through the air in elegant twirls before slamming into the wood directly next to each other, both perfectly within the center target.
He stares at them for a moment before turning his attention back to me, and the intensity in his gaze slowly starts to fade away as he realizes the way I’ve been playing upon his jealousy. Wind brushes through my hair, icy but not uncomfortable.
“We’re supposed to take turns,” he reminds me with lifted brows.
“Oops,” I shrug, pushing myself up to perch along the wooden beam that serves as a fence. “Guess I got too excited.”
Derian looks me over, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion. It must be killing him that he can’t figure out what game I’m playing.
“Get down from there,” he finally says, flipping the dagger in his hand so that the tip is pinched between his forefinger and thumb. “You’re distracting.”
The laugh that escapes me is low and drawn out. “Surely the almighty Fae prince can throw a tiny dagger even when a pretty girl sits in front of him.”
He doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls his arm back and releases. I hear the metal connect with the wood but don’t bother turning around to check it. I know he landed center.
“I never even got my prize from the last time we played,” he complains, centering his stance and examining the board. With three blades all sticking out of center, there’s much less room for him to land in, making the game infinitely harder.
“I took care of that, actually.”
He glances at me, brows raised in a silent question.
“Well,” I hop off the post, taking slow measured steps towards him. “You told me I could buy anything I wanted to fill my wardrobe.”
Derian returns his attention to the target, pretending to ignore me.
“So I sent Marta out to get me a few things.”
My fingers trail to the bodice of my gown, to the place where the puffed sleeves meet my skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, I pull it down off my shoulders.
“I hope you don’t mind the expense. After all, I only got a few very small pieces of lace.”
His arm lifts to throw, but as it does, his gaze is drawn to me, to where the dress is slowly being pulled away to reveal the top of the black lace brassiere I managed to hide under my otherwise modest gown.
He releases the blade almost as a secondhand thought, his body turning towards me, and I watch it fly through the air.
“Ooh,” I sigh, pulling my dress back into place as I look sadly at where it just narrowly missed the center. “Looks like you lost this time.”
Derian doesn’t move. He doesn’t curse or glance at the evidence of his failure. He simply stares, eyes trailing up and down my body as he imagines what I’ve hidden underneath this chiffon.
Then he moves.
He prowls towards me, one hand grasping onto my hip and the other wrapping around the back of my head so he can pull my lips up to meet his.
“You don’t play fair, Huntress,” he breathes against my mouth.
“And what are you going to do about it?”
His tongue dips across my lower lip, pushing me to open for him, and Gods help me, I do. Together, we back towards that post, and fire snakes down my spine as he growls against me.
I could kiss him for the rest of my life, I realize suddenly.
It’s not just fun or sexy or pleasurable.
It’s all of that and more.
It’s peace.
Kissing Derian is one of the only times my mind shuts off. There’s no planning or scheming. There’s no need to keep one eye in front of me and the other searching for danger.
There’s just him. Just me. Just this.
He and I, coming together in a way that feels so natural. It’s as if we were created simply for each other, for this one moment in time pressed against one another.
Derian Silverthorn is the embodiment of everything I’ve ever hated.
He’s mercilessly ruthless. I’ve seen him kill with nothing more than a simple thought, and I know he’s killed thousands more in wars that happened long before I was ever born.
He’s unbelievably arrogant. Notably demanding. Frustratingly unserious in the worst of times.
And yet he’s also been kind and forgiving.
He cares for his friends and family more deeply than anyone will ever realize.
He held me in the moments when my life shattered around me and was the only person who helped me come back to sanity.
He makes sure everyone is always fed because he can’t bear to see anyone suffer in the way he’s too familiar with.
Derian Silverthorn is a good man.
Gods help me, I like knowing him. I’m a better person for knowing him.
I’ve lived nearly every day of my life preparing for my revenge.
My own needs, wants, and desires didn’t matter.
All that has ever mattered was that singular goal.
Anything else—relationships, hobbies, plans—simply got in the way.
I didn’t care who I hurt in the pursuit of my vengeance, and I definitely didn’t care if I made it out alive, so long as the Fae paid for what they’d done to my father.
And now?
Now I think I finally found something I do want.
I want him. As my friend. As my lover.
Even as my husband.
“HUNTYR!”
Kaia’s scream echoes in my head, and I jolt sharply from it, pushing Derian away as fear lances through me with sudden precision. I’ve never heard her sound like that.
Panicked.
“What’s wrong?” Derian’s instantly on alert, scanning over me.
“Kaia, what’s happening?”
“It’s Tyla. Come now!”
Ice spreads through my veins, sudden and insidious. I can’t breathe. I don't think.
I simply move.
I take off at a sprint, running faster than I ever have before.