48. The Snap
The Snap
Xül’s study looked the same as it always had—the massive desk of polished ebony, the shelves lined with weathered books, the fireplace casting a warm glow over everything. Xül stood with his back to the door, pouring amber liquid into two crystal glasses.
"I was wondering if you’d make an appearance," he observed without turning around. "Close the door."
I did as he asked, then stood awkwardly just inside the threshold, suddenly unsure of myself.
He turned, offering me one of the glasses. "You look like you need this."
I took it, careful not to let our fingers brush. "Is this your standard approach to trial preparation? Get your contestant drunk?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Only the difficult ones."
I sipped the liquor, welcoming the burn as it traveled down my throat. "And am I difficult, Warden?"
"Beyond measure," he said, grinning. He settled into one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. "Do you remember the first time you entered this room?"
I took another sip before answering. "I remember. "
"You were such a brat," he said, almost smiling. "So convinced of your own importance. Looking for special treatment."
"If you equate the bare minimum with special treatment, I suppose you're right," I countered.
The liquor began to work its magic, dulling the edges of my shame and loosening my tongue. Before I could think better of it, I blurted out the words that had been haunting me.
"I'm sorry for what happened in the trial," I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes.
He set his glass down with deliberate care. "You have nothing to apologize for."
"Don't lie to me," I said. "I saw your face afterward."
"That’s why you’re so angry with me? Physical desire is natural, Thais," he said after a long pause. "But it's harmless in the end. Nothing to worry over."
Harmless. The word nearly stabbed me in the heart.
"You wouldn't even look at me," I said, unable to keep the accusation from my voice.
"That's not true."
I rose from my chair, propelled by a sudden surge of anger. I crossed to where he sat, standing over him in a rare reversal of our usual positions.
"Don't lie," I said, the words rushing out now, unstoppable. "You couldn't even acknowledge me."
Irritation gave way to a darker expression.
"I couldn't look at you," he admitted, his voice so low I had to strain to hear it.
"I know," I bit out. "You were embarrassed. Ashamed?—"
"You have it all wrong."
"Then correct me."
He shook his head, looking away again in that dismissive gesture that made me want to scream.
"That's what I thought," I whispered, turning to go .
His hand shot out, catching my wrist. He rose to his feet in one fluid movement, suddenly looming over me, his eyes blazing.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, each word precise, controlled. "I don't feel shame about anything. I was worried."
I stared at him, trying to read the truth in his eyes.
"Worried," I repeated, the word flat.
"I nearly watched you die because of something pretending to be me," he said, his grip on my wrist tightening. "Do you have any idea what that was like? Watching you seconds away from death, believing it was me who put you there?"
I was stunned into silence, my mind struggling to process his words.
"But I didn't," I said finally. "You saved me."
"You didn’t give me much of a choice." His voice was clipped.
“Because I almost slept with an illusion of you?” I raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, Thais. I did this. I put you in danger.," he continued, his grip on my wrist tightening. "All of this is my fault. If I hadn't done all these things—flirted, kissed you—you wouldn't feel this desire for me."
“It is absolutely your fault—” I started to agree, but he cut me off.
"When I watched you, Thais, I so badly wished it was me." The words seemed torn from him, a confession that cost him dearly. "And then I hated that I wished it was me."
He stared down at me, conflict raging in his eyes.
“Why?”
His eyes darkened. "Why isn’t relevant."
"Of course," I snapped. "Everything about you is irrelevant, isn't it? Your thoughts, your feelings—if you even have any."
"And what would you have me say?" he demanded, a sudden heat in his voice. "That I've noticed your body? That I'm not blind to the way you move, the way you look at me? What good would that do either of us?"
The admission, sparse as it was, sent a jolt through me. "At least it would be honest," I challenged.
"Honesty," he scoffed. "Would that make it easier for you, somehow?"
“I don’t know, but I still want it.”
He laughed, a harsh sound. "Fine. I kissed you on that beach because I wanted to. Is that what you want to hear?"
I wasn’t ready for how his words hit me—sharp, real, and warm all at once. "Yes," I whispered. "That's a start."
For a moment, we stood frozen, the confession hanging in the air between us. Then, driven by impulse and the reckless courage his words had sparked, I pressed my lips to his.
He went rigid beneath my touch, his breath catching. Then he tore himself away, putting distance between us with such speed it left me reeling.
"Damn it, Thais," he said, his voice hoarse as he turned. "This can't happen."
Xül stood with his back to me, hands braced against the window that overlooked the black sea. His shoulders were rigid beneath his shirt. I could see the tension radiating from every line of his body.
"You need to leave, Thais. Now." His voice was low.
"No."
Now he did turn, and the look on his face sent a thrill of danger through me. His eyes were wild, almost feral.
"You cannot do things like that," he nearly snarled.
"You started this." I reminded him. "Outside this very castle, where everyone could see."
"That was different." He glared at me. "What you just did... we both know where that kiss was going."
"And where is that?"
"Somewhere it can't go," he said firmly. "You're still a contestant. I'm to be married."
"I don't care about any of that."
"You should." His expression went deadly serious. "These are not trivial matters, Thais."
"What, are you going to turn me in to the Twelve?" I countered.
"Don’t be ridiculous." He stared down at me for a long moment.
“I’m trying to figure you out. You said you wanted to kiss me, yet you’re acting like this.”
"Because I can't have you," he said through gritted teeth. "Because every time I look at you, I want to—" He stopped mid-sentence, dragging his hand down his face. "You have no idea what you're playing with," he finally said.
"Enlighten me."
And then he was moving towards me. "You threw yourself at me like some desperate thing, and I had the sense to walk away, yet you continue to test me."
Heat flashed through me—part embarrassment, part fury at his dismissive tone. "I think you're angry because for once, you actually want something more than your precious political games."
He snapped. Before I could react, he had me backed against his desk, hands braced on either side of me, caging me in. His fingers slid across my jaw, tilting my face up to his.
"You want to know what I am?" His voice dropped to a whisper that caressed my every nerve ending. "I'm a man who's been hard for you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I'm a man who's spent every night since then stroking myself to thoughts of you."
A tremor stole my breath as fire curled low and deep.
"I'm a man who dreams about having you spread out beneath me, begging me to fill you, to claim you, to make you mine in every filthy way I can imagine." His eyes burned into mine. "So tell me—do you still think I'm hiding from what I want?"
"Then take it," I whispered, my voice barely steady. "Take what you want."
"Stop talking." But his grip tightened, and I could see the war raging behind his eyes .
"Make me," I challenged.
His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back as he leaned down until his mouth was a breath away from mine.
"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he commanded.
"Fuck me," I whispered, the admission sending a thrill through me. "Right here."
He grabbed my thighs and yanked me up, slamming me down onto the desk as he forced his way between my legs.
My hands moved without conscious thought, fingers finding the fastenings of his pants and working them open with fumbling urgency.
I needed to touch him, needed to feel him, needed to drive him as mad with want as he was driving me.
The moment my fingers brushed against him, he went completely still.
His hand shot down to catch my wrist, stopping me mid-motion. "No."
"Why not?" I challenged.
"I will not touch you, and you will not touch me," he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous silk that made my skin prickle. Before I could react, he guided my hand to my thigh, sliding it upward.
"But I will watch you touch yourself," he whispered, his lips a breath away from my ear.
He stepped back just enough to give me space, his eyes never leaving mine. "Right here, on my desk."
My heart hammered in my chest. This was madness—pure, delicious madness. But the hunger in his eyes, the way he looked at me made me want to be reckless.
I couldn't deny the thrill that shot through me at the thought of him watching me, of riling him. And maybe there was power in it too—in making the Warden lose that insufferable composure without even touching him.
Fuck it. If this was what we could have—these stolen moments, these fragments of what could be—I'd take it. And I'd make him remember it.
"Tell me what to do," I whispered.
“Under one condition.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
“This will only happen once. And we will never speak of it again.”
I hesitated, biting my lip. “Fine.”
His eyes darkened further. "Unlace your bodice," he commanded softly as he moved back to his chair and sat, facing me. "Slowly."
My fingers trembled as I began working at the laces, my eyes never leaving his. The air between us hummed as each movement revealed more of my skin to his gaze.