Chapter 28 To Ruin Gently
twenty-eight
To Ruin Gently
Zydar
I'd been awake for hours watching the sun climb higher in the sky, but I couldn't bring myself to move. Not when Miralyte lay curled against my chest like she belonged there, her golden hair spilled across my arm like silk.
Her breathing was deep and even, peaceful in a way I rarely saw when she was awake. No furrow between her brows from worry. No tension in her shoulders from carrying the weight of impossible choices. Just soft warmth pressed against my side, her hand resting over my heart.
The irony wasn't lost on me. She was the only person I could touch, yet the only one I shouldn't.
I looked down where her fingers lay against the fabric of my shirt. Beneath the cloth, I could feel the black veins spreading like poison through my system. They'd grown during the night, creeping higher toward my throat. Soon they'd be impossible to hide.
But not yet. Not today.
Today, I could still hold her close and pretend we had forever ahead of us instead of the handful of days the rot would allow me.
The realization should have terrified me. Should have sent me into a spiral of rage at the unfairness of it all. Instead, I felt strangely calm. Almost grateful.
I'd spent centuries believing I was incapable of love. That whatever compassion I'd once possessed had been burned out of me by war and necessity. But here was proof that I'd been wrong. Here was evidence that some part of me was still capable of feeling something beyond duty and ambition.
Even if it was too late to matter.
Miralyte stirred in my arms, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.
I held perfectly still, not wanting to wake her.
These moments of peace were rare, and I wanted to memorize every detail.
The way her lips parted slightly as she breathed.
The soft sound she made when she shifted closer to my warmth.
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused, before settling on my face. A smile curved her lips, soft and genuine in a way that made my chest ache.
"Good morning," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.
"Good morning, little dove." I brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. "Sleep well?"
"No nightmares." Her expression shifted slightly, something vulnerable entering her gaze. "I don't know why."
I pulled her closer, needing to hold her near, needing her warmth against me. "Is it so strange that you feel safe for once?"
Something in my tone must have caught her attention because she studied my face with those perceptive eyes. "Are you all right? You look..."
"What?" I kept my expression carefully neutral.
"Tired. Like you didn't sleep at all."
"I was thinking." I traced patterns on her bare shoulder, marveling at the softness of her skin.
"About what?"
About dying. About leaving you alone in a world that wants to use you or destroy you. About how I've wasted centuries on revenge when I could have been searching for something like this.
"About you," I said instead. The truth, if not the whole truth. "About what this means."
She tensed slightly. "You mean what I am to the Sun Court."
"No." I caught her chin, tilting her face up to mine. "What you are to me."
Her breath caught. The morning light streaming through the windows turned her eyes to molten gold, and I wondered if this was what the ancient texts meant when they spoke of treasures worth dying for.
"And what am I to you?"
Everything. The word burned in my throat, desperate to escape. You're the answer to questions I never thought to ask. You're the reason I finally understand why warriors write poetry before battle. You're making me wish I had more time.
"Trouble," I said instead, letting my mouth curve into a familiar smirk. "Nothing but trouble since the moment you arrived."
She narrowed her eyes, but I could see the smile fighting to break free. "You're the one who brought me here against my will."
"And you're the one who tried to stab me."
"That was once."
"Once is once too many times, little dove."
She rolled her eyes, but her fingers traced lazy patterns on my chest, right over where the black veins spread beneath the fabric. I fought not to flinch at her touch there, not to give away how close the rot was getting to my heart.
"You know what I think?" She shifted, propping herself up to look down at me. The sheet slipped lower on her shoulder, and I had to focus on her face. "I think you like trouble."
"Perhaps." I ran my hand up her spine, feeling the way she shivered. "Or perhaps it's just you I like."
She leaned in until her lips were inches from mine. "Just 'like'?"
I cupped the back of her neck, holding her gaze. "No." I kissed her, long and slow and deep, trying to convey everything I couldn't say. She responded in kind, but I held back, knowing we couldn’t go further.
Her eyes searched mine. "Zydar, what aren't you telling me?"
Always too perceptive for her own good. I should have known she'd sense something was wrong. The way I'd held her last night, like I was trying to memorize every touch. The way I watched her now, cataloging every detail.
"Many things," I said, which was true enough. "But nothing that matters right now."
"Everything about you matters to me." She laid her hand over mine, intertwining our fingers. "Don't shut me out. Not again."
My chest tightened at the words. At the simple honesty in her voice. She deserved so much better than I could give her. So much more than a handful of days before the rot took me.
The confession broke something in me. I pulled her down for another kiss, this one deeper, more demanding. She responded immediately, her body melting against mine, her hands tangling in my hair. I rolled us, pressing her into the mattress, needing to feel her beneath me, alive and warm and real.
"Devour me," she whispered against my mouth, a sexy challenge in her voice that made my blood sing.
I traced the line of her throat with my tongue, tasting the salt of her skin. "Maybe I’ll ruin you completely."
Her laugh was breathless, wicked. "You think you can?"
I pulled back to look at her, taking in the way her golden hair spread across the dark pillows like spilled sunlight, the way her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. The morning light streaming through the windows caught in her eyes, turning them molten.
I let my power slip just enough that electricity danced across my fingertips as I traced the curve of her collarbone. She gasped, her back arching off the bed as the current sparked against her skin.
"I have so many plans for you, little dove." I kept my touch gentle, teasing. "So many ways I intend to break you."
"Promises, promises."
I chuckled.
I chuckled, then caught her wrist and pinned it above her head. Her pulse hammered against my thumb.
"What's your word, Miralyte?"
Confusion flickered across her features. "My... what?"
Of course. Sweet, inexperienced little dove. "Your safe word. Something you can say if I push too far."
"I won't need—"
"I won't continue until you have one."
She blew out a breath, her hair shifting slightly against her shoulders. She seemed to realize there was no arguing with the look on my face. "'Kallir'" in Old Fae. To still the storm.
She blushed furiously, and the sight made my cock twitch in my pants. The corners of my mouth tugged upward. "Very well. That will do, little dove."
"Won't you need one, too?"
I chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. "Oh, Mira, there is nothing you could ever do to me that I wouldn't welcome."
She frowned at that, but didn't question further.
Instead, she pulled my mouth down to hers, and all other thoughts fled.
The taste of her was intoxicating, sweeter than the most forbidden wine. I lost myself in the feel of her lips on mine, her breath mingling with my own. When her tongue flicked across my bottom lip, I groaned and captured her mouth with renewed intensity.
I explored her slowly, savoring every moan, every shudder, every breathless gasp. The feel of her hands in my hair, nails raking across my scalp, the bite of pain a counterpoint to the heat coursing through my body.
When I finally allowed her to break the kiss, her breathing was unsteady. "Please." The word came out in a whisper. "Zydar, please."
My hand slid up her thigh, feeling the tremble in her muscles. "You beg so sweetly." I kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, working my way down to the pulse point in her throat. "But I want to hear you beg properly."
"Zydar—"
"No." I bit down on her neck, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her gasp. "You'll address me correctly when I have you like this."
Her breathing hitched. "I don't understand."
I pulled back to look at her, letting her see the hunger in my eyes, the darkness that I'd been holding back. "My lord. Your Highness. Warlord." My thumb traced her bottom lip. "Pick one, little dove. But you will use it."
She swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing deeper. I could see the war playing out behind her eyes. Pride against desire. The need to submit warring with the need to fight.
"Please," she whispered. "My lord."
The words sent a dark thrill through me. I captured her mouth again, rewarding her obedience with a kiss that left her breathless. Then I pulled away, sitting back on my heels.
"Take off your clothes. Slowly. I want to watch."
For a moment, I thought she might refuse. Her jaw set in that stubborn way I'd come to know so well. But then she sat up, fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the hem of her shirt.
She pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, revealing the pale skin beneath. The morning light caught on the scars that marked her body, each one a testament to battles fought and survived. I wanted to trace every single one with my tongue.
"Slower," I commanded. "I told you I wanted to watch."