Chapter 20
S in waited up for me last night. I had found him seated in one of the leather chairs, still fully dressed despite the late-night hour, sharpening his knives with a whetstone. I expected nothing less. There was no chance the Black Art was going to sleep while I was still sealed up in the library with the elven commander. I half expected to find him pacing the halls outside of it like an anxious dog, and the fact that I didn’t is evidence that Sin is trying to trust.
Just as he was trying to protect me the day before last when he ordered me to our rooms. We didn’t know how Aeverie would react to being confronted, or Vox given his loyalty to her. But I refuse to allow my wings to be clipped, and I do not take orders from the Black Art.
Sin knows I will never submit to him like that, and he doesn’t want me to. Not truly. He never apologized for his behavior, but I feel his apology in the arms he wraps around me now, pulling me against his chest, and our legs entwined in the silken sheets. Faint light trickles in through the curtains drawn shut, the sun having risen hours before. It is unlike Sin to sleep in, the warlord always primed and ready to go the moment the sun crests, and I know it is because of the tension between us that has him staying now.
He trails a hand down my arm, his touch featherlight despite the calluses marring his fingertips, and I arch into him. His lips skim my neck, dotting my column with gentle kisses, his mouth leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touches. I push into him further, tugging a faint growl from him, and his other hand snakes into my hair and gently pulls, inviting my throat to his lips. The sting in my scalp elicits a throbbing ache between my legs, and I let out a soft moan, one that sends Sin’s cock stiffening painfully against my back.
I freeze. Because along with the desire now pounding through me comes an unwanted thought. If what Torin said is true, his seer could be watching us right now. The warlord king cozied up to his feral, bloodthirsty captive. Seeing us tangled up together like this, they would learn of our deceptions immediately, unless… A fresh bout of nausea stirs in my gut.
Unless it wasn’t consensual.
Sin notices my rigidity at once, dropping his hold on my hair and lifting his lips from my throat. He buries his face in my collar instead, his breath hot on my clavicle, and his hand moves to cradle my hip.
A long, slow exhale. “I’m sorry. About… about all of it.” His voice is raw, and I swallow hard, hating that he is interpreting the sudden tightening of my muscles to mean I am still angry with him. A part of me is, but a much larger part doesn’t want to fight when so much is at stake.
“You don’t deserve to be caught in the crossroads of a war I caused, and I cannot stand the thought of someone ever hurting you again. I will not allow it. No one will ever have that chance again.”
My chest tightens, and I blink furiously, batting away the tears that threaten to spill. I want to turn into him, tell him that he isn’t in this alone, and that this war is not his sole doing. And even if it were, that I would stand next to him on the precipice between realms, again and again, so long as it meant we were together, and so that I could protect him too.
Paranoia rakes claws down my spine, twists in my gut like restless snakes. I hate it. I hate this feeling! Pulling the covers back, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, but his hand catches my elbow before I can rise. I pause. Not because I have to, but because I can’t bear the thought of refusing him this small moment.
“I know I’ve not been fair to you, Wren, and I’m sorry that the thought of something happening to you turns me into this. I don’t want to be someone you resent, but I would rather you hate me in this life than mourn our love in death. I… I can understand if you need space from me”—he swallows, closing his eyes for a moment before locking mine again—“and I will give it to you, just please… just don’t go, love.”
The pain in his voice fractures my heart like cracking ice, and I take a deep breath, forcing my mind to clear of everything that is not logic and reason. Because what Sin doesn’t understand is that the king could be watching us at any moment, and if we are to have any chance in maintaining our ruse, I cannot have the ruthless shifter king enamoring his captive with romantic gestures.
“I think a little space will be goo?—”
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Sin releases my elbow at the sudden pounding and storms out of bed, reaching for his trousers while answering the summons through the door.
“Your Grace! You are needed at once,” calls a male voice I recognize as belonging to one of the elven guards often posted outside our bedchamber. “There’s been a… a… they’re approaching from the waterway!” he finally manages to spit out.
Sin’s eyes find mine at once, and for one agonizingly long second, time ceases in the space between us. Because in this second, the vilest possibilities of what this could mean and the consequences that could follow flash between us like lightning. And in the second that follows, torment corrupts his features, nearly making me forget the role I must play and sending me running to him. Nearly . Because that second is fleeting, and then the mask of the warlord I’ve grown so familiar with snaps back into place.
He throws the trousers he grabbed aside, and rushes for the armoire instead, flinging the doors open and retrieving his fighting leathers and armor instead. I follow after him, reaching for my own leathers, when he catches my wrist mid-reach.
I bare my teeth before he gets a word out, already knowing which direction this is about to take.
“Wren. You can’t .”
“I can, and I will,” I say, ripping my hand free from his grasp and reaching for the leathers again. Fuck whatever thoughts I had earlier about the seer watching us, because if Torin is attacking us preemptively, then I suppose our deal is over.
“It is Baelliarah soldiers. If any of them glimpse you out there, they’ll report it straight to Torin, and that’s assuming the mad king isn’t out there leading the fleet himself.”
“Your Grace!” the elf calls again, followed by more pounding and shouts from more guards. At least four or five of them now. Sin returns their call this time, asserting that he needs ‘ a minute to deal with something .’ A choice of words he regrets immediately upon seeing the curling of my top lip that follows them.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he cautions, securing the last of his leathers and pulling on his plated armor.
“You were quite literally just in the middle of apologizing for doing this very thing two days ago. Have you forgotten, or is your word just shit, Your Grace?” I snap, slipping into the pants and fastening them at my waist before reaching for my cuirass.
“I was apologizing that I upset you by doing what I thought was in your best interest. Or trying to do, since you refuse to ever listen to me, but I did not apologize for doing it. Never expect me to, Wren, unless you want to spend the entirety of our Bonded life being furious with me because I will never be regretful for doing what I must to protect you.”
“I am not as delicate as you perceive, Singard.”
He eliminates the short distance between us, reaching for my chin and tipping it up so I’m forced to look at him. “In the time we have known each other, I’ve thought a great deal of things about you, little witch, but delicate has never been one of them. You are fiercer and stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, and that is exactly what is so frightening. Your heart is as wild as your magic, and I have never seen you regard your own safety above another’s. And that, my love, terrifies me more than anything else.”
We hold each other’s stare for several breaths, ignoring the clamoring outside the door as the guards pound and shout for their sovereign once more. My heart softens at his words, hearing the truth bled into them, but I refuse to allow my resolve to falter. I cannot, not when my family is out there.
I slip my chin from his grasp and pull my shoulders back. “You seem to think this is a war you caused alone, but I distinctly remember the part I played in it as well. And even if you were the sole villain in this, I would stand next to you and face the wrath of thousands of armies, feel my flesh split under countless blades, before I ever let you endure that alone. If we are to be Mates… that isn’t just a word to me, Singard. It is a vow, and one I never intend to break.”
He lets out a shaky breath, and something shifts in his eyes, his mask faltering to reveal the face of the man I love. A long moment passes when finally, he nods, his eyes closing briefly while he accepts what he must do. “Very well,” is all he says.
He steps back, granting me room to finish putting on my cuirass while he retrieves a tie from the shelf in the armoire and hastily secures his hair into a large, messy bun. He slides his dual swords into the scabbards on his back, and I grab my daggers and slip them into their sheathes at my waist and thigh. When I finish, he motions with his chin for me to follow, and I hurry behind him to the door.
“Hang back while I clear the path,” he says over his shoulder, opening the door and stepping into the corridor, ordering for the horde of guards to back up and make way. I do as he says, and when the last guard clears, I head for the door.
Sin turns around. Dread washes through me.
I know that look.
I fucking know that look .
“Singard, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare. SINGARD!” I’m racing for the door then, forcing my legs to cover the tiny bit of distance I granted him when he asked, but it’s not enough.
The door slams in my face. Sealing my exit. Sealing my fate.
My hand is on the knob immediately, but he’s holding it from the other side, securing the door with a wicked magic that stinks of rust and copper. It permeates my nose, the room, and I slam my collective into his, trying to overtake his magic, but he’s pushing me out, his magic too advanced for me to overcome him without blood. When that doesn’t work, I slam my hands into the door instead, then my daggers, trying to carve my way out, but the wood is too thick for me to strong-arm my way through.
Fuck me. Fuck him. Fuck this entire fucking kingdom!
“Singard, I swear to Elysande herself if you do not let me out of here this instant, you will know no fury like the one I will unleash.” My fists pound on the door, only stopping to hear him when he begins to speak.
“I’m sorry, Wren,” he speaks lowly. Controlled. Too fucking controlled—I’d rather him shout at me. Fight with me. Fight for me! Anything but this cold indifference he reserves for his enemies, which he seems intent to want to make me right now. “I can’t risk Torin finding out that you’re not a prisoner.”
“Aren’t I?” I shout, tears cracking my voice against my will.
He pauses, and I feel the pain my words splinter into him. Good. I hope it fucking hurts like hell.
When he speaks again, his tone is absolute. “Mate isn’t just a word to me either. It’s a promise, and I promised I would never let them hurt you again. Allowing you to risk yourself for my war… Forgive me, my heart, but I cannot allow it.”
And then he’s gone.
The guards say nothing as his footsteps hurry down the hall, either eager to help his people or desperate to tear himself away from me as quickly as he can.
The guards follow quickly behind, until the floor stops trembling with the force of their footfalls, and I am left alone.
Completely and brutally alone.