Chapter 16 The Taste of Hate
sixteen
The Taste of Hate
Zydar
The storms had been restless all night. They prowled the skies above the Thunder Court, curling into themselves and breaking apart again, unable to find their shape. I knew the feeling.
Gods, I was tired of thinking about her. Tired of the way her name stilled the chaos in my head, only to replace it with a different kind of ruin.
Miralyte.
Every path I followed ended at the same abyss. If I told her the truth, I would lose her trust. If I didn’t… I would lose her life.
I had carried death before. Men, women, soldiers who had followed me into battle and never come back. Their faces were sharp and cruel in my memory, yet none had been carved into me the way the thought of hers did. None had made me hesitate like this.
The cure was in her. In her blood. In the steady, stubborn beat of her heart. And the only way to take it was to still that heartbeat forever.
I should have been able to say it. I should have been able to be the Warlord the court needed me to be. But the words stayed caught behind my teeth, too heavy to move.
I stood at the window of my chambers, watching lightning dance in the distance.
It painted the clouds in brief flashes, bright enough to illuminate the truth I kept trying to outrun.
She would hate me for it. She might even try to kill me for it.
But if I stayed silent, the Rot would keep spreading, and one day there would be nothing left worth saving.
And still… I couldn’t say it.
The storm outside cracked once, a white vein splitting the clouds. I was still staring at it when the door opened.
She stepped in without knocking, her presence soft as it was maddening.
Miralyte looked… happy. There was a lightness in her face I had not seen in weeks, the faintest curve to her lips as if she had found some private victory.
She crossed the room with an easy stride, not noticing the way my thoughts had gone still, and set a worn leather-bound book on the edge of my desk.
I glanced at it, then at her. “The boy is healthy, I presume.”
Her smile faltered for the briefest moment, enough for me to see the truth slip through. “He is,” she replied, but there was something else there. Something warmer, unconnected to Riden or his slow healing.
I leaned back in my chair, studying her as the stormlight flickered across her face. “What is it?”
“What is what?”
“That look,” I said, my tone low. “You’re hiding something.”
She pressed her lips together, and for a moment I thought she might actually tell me. But then she shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.
She sighed, then met my gaze. "I saw a friend," she admitted. "Someone I thought I'd never see again."
My eyebrows rose. "Friend?"
"Yes. A boy from my village," she explained. "His name is Tomos."
I tilted my head to one side. Tomos happened to be the name of her new guard, the one Gryven had mentioned earlier. My stomach lurched as I thought about the way she said his name, the way her eyes lit up… Was he really “just a boy” from the village?
"Did you know him well?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
Her smile grew, and she nodded. "We were friends when we were younger," she said. "Before I came here."
I found myself wondering what kind of life they'd had together. What kind of friendship they'd shared. All of a sudden, I felt restless, annoyed.
I stood and walked over to where she stood. I could smell the honey and smoke still clinging to her clothes, sense the sparks of energy that had wound themselves into her skin.
"And how close are you to this… friend?" I asked, feeling my throat tighten around the words.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Miralyte stiffened, but held my gaze. "Why do you even care, Warlord?
" she asked, her tone icy. "You kicked me out of the room earlier, remember?” Suddenly, her gaze turned mischievous. “Tomos and I haven’t seen each other for some time, but now we’ll be spending all day together, every single day. Thanks to you!" she smiled sweetly.
I glared at her. Why was she being so difficult? And what was that look in her eyes, the one that was equal parts defiance and fire? It shouldn't have stirred me, but gods, it did. I didn’t know him yet, but I wanted Tomos to suffer.
She turned from me without waiting for an answer, her skirts whispering over the polished floor as she crossed to the balcony.
The doors stood open, letting in the restless breath of the heights. She stepped into it, the wind catching her hair until it streamed like a banner behind her. I followed, already knowing what I would find when I joined her.
A red dawn. The storms had finally calmed enough to give the court some respite. But there was still light rain, and lightning flashed at the horizon.
"You are the key to the cure," I reminded her. "I want to understand your motives. Your thoughts. Everything about you."
"Everything?" Her eyebrow rose. "I thought you already knew everything about me. Didn't you say so yourself? You watched me. You studied me."
That damn gleam in her eye burned me, taunting me. I exhaled through my nose, hating the thrill that went through me when she spoke like that, and hating even more that I liked it so much.
Was I some crazed lover, tormented with envy at the mere thought of another? I stepped closer, close enough to feel her heat radiating against me. Close enough to see her pulse fluttering beneath her collarbone.
"Tomos," I echoed, testing the name on my lips. It tasted foreign. Strange. Her brows drew together in confusion.
I slowly ran my fingers up her arm, feeling the goosebumps trail after them. She tried to hide it, but she shivered. "Was he ever more than a friend?"
She was flustered, her cheeks growing red. I felt an uneasy sensation curl in my gut..
"Why does it matter?" she demanded, her voice breathless and husky.
"You're not allowed to have lovers," I reminded her, fighting to keep the growl out of my voice.
Her jaw tightened. "That's not true. We're allowed to have lovers as long as we don't... procreate with them."
I struggled to maintain my composure, but my control slipped and I growled out what she needed to know, the sound low and rough in my throat. "Make sure you follow the rules."
The light rain beaded along her skin, catching in her lashes, turning the loose strands of her hair dark and damp. She tilted her head, the wind pressing her skirts against her legs, and I felt the shift in her gaze before she spoke.
“And what if I broke the rules?” she asked softly, almost teasing. “You’ve made it clear you wouldn’t hurt me.”
The space between us seemed to narrow even though I hadn’t moved.
She held her ground, and I could hear her blood beating beneath her skin, smell the sweat and rain mixing on her skin. Her amber eyes gleamed in the half light, and I could see her pulse pounding in her throat.
“I,” I murmured, stepping closer until the damp heat of her breath mingled with mine, “wouldn’t need to hurt you to make you regret it.”
She didn't move, didn't try to run away or even back up. Instead, her gaze narrowed, as if she were searching for something I wasn't letting her see. I kept my face cold, emotionless, giving away nothing. I could see the thoughts whirling behind those honey eyes.
"What would you do to me then?" she breathed.
Her voice was a challenge, an invitation. My gaze traced the shape of her lips, the delicate line of her throat. She was still holding my gaze, still refusing to back down.
My fingers brushed along the line of her jaw, down the column of her neck. She shuddered, and I felt a small, fierce smile curve my lips.
I traced the shape of her collarbone with a finger, watching as her pupils dilated, darkening her eyes to black. “If he were to lay his hands on you... touch you... I would break every bone in them. I would make him wish he had never been born."
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. I let my thumb graze the side of her neck, feeling her pulse jump against my skin. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked on mine.
"You don't have that right," she whispered.
I raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"No." Her voice was steadier now, despite the way her breath hitched. "You kidnapped me. Forced me here. Made me a prisoner in your court. That doesn't give you the right to dictate who touches me."
"Doesn't it?" I murmured, my voice dropping to a low growl. "You are under my protection. That makes you mine to defend."
"Yours?" She let out a breathless laugh, though there was no humor in it. "I belong to no one."
I slid my hand up her throat, taking hold of her chin and tilting her face toward mine, in the exact pose of that saucy illustration she’d been staring at a few nights before.
Gods, the memory of her blushing as her eyes hungrily went over every detail of the page had nearly made me lose control.
Her breath hitched, but she didn't pull away.
Her gaze flickered to my lips for a heartbeat, and I felt my pulse speed up.
"Then why are you blushing, little dove?" I slid my fingers into her hair, tugging at it just enough to tilt her head back. "Why are you trembling like a trapped bird?"
She glared at me, but the anger was stained with uncertainty, maybe even a hint of desire. "You arrogant—"
"Tell me," I interrupted, my voice softening into something dangerous. "Tell me you want nothing to do with me. That you wish I had never brought you here. That you hate me."
Her eyes flicked over my face. She swallowed. A hint of color spread across her cheeks. Her pulse was pounding under my grip, and her pupils had dilated until her eyes were almost black. But she was stubborn. Too stubborn.
"I hate you," she breathed. "Gods help me, I hate you."
I smiled, slow and wicked. "I don't believe you."
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and I dragged my thumb along that pretty mouth. I bent closer, a thrill going through me when her breathing grew shallow, her body tense.
"Then push me away," I whispered, brushing my nose against hers. "When I do this—" I pressed my mouth to hers, the tip of my tongue stroking the seam of her lips and tasting her, gentle and slow. My hands slid down to the nape of her neck.
The kiss was like a light burning inside me, warm and bright and consuming. Her hands slid to my chest, her fingers splaying across my heart.
My shoulders dropped, some of the tension leaving me. Her lips were soft, a light pressure, and her hands slid from my heart to my face, pulling me closer. She parted her lips, deepening the kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair.
My hands slipped to her waist, tugging her closer. Her body was molded against mine, her heartbeat steady against my ribs. "I hate you," she murmured against my lips.
"Keep hating me."
She smiled and kissed me harder. Her fingers dug into my scalp, her chest rising and falling more rapidly. I cupped the back of her neck, drawing her even closer. I could barely think, barely breathe. The only word in my head was her name.
Her hips lifted against mine, and I couldn't stop the low growl that rumbled in my throat. I wanted her here, on this balcony. Right now. But when I realized what I was doing, a cold spike went through me, and I slowly pulled back.
Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. Her fingers were still tangled in my hair, and her breathing was ragged. She stared up at me, her brow furrowed, as if she couldn't believe what had just happened.
"Sleep," I told her, my voice husky.
"Zydar—"
"You're exhausted." I brushed her hair from her forehead and kissed her there. She let out a sigh, and her eyelids fluttered.
"Zydar."
"Yes, little dove?"
"I don't hate you."
The corner of my mouth curved up. "I know."
She glared at me, and for a moment I thought she was going to argue. But instead, she just turned and stalked away. I watched her go, my gaze lingering on her hips and the way her hair shone in the torchlight.
Don't get attached, I thought.
But it was already too late.