Chapter 19 Eveera
Eveera
I pocket the second star and switch it out for a dagger, my grip flexing around the hilt. The shape of it is foreign compared to my favored one. My favored one that’s still with fucking Ezra, I think bitterly.
Rorin cocks his brow at me, nodding down at the weapon in my palm, as if he were reading my exact thoughts.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he was reading them.
He motions for me to step closer, his face calculating my every expression, my every move with a smugness to match mine.
"Wields or no?" I taunt, knowing he's unlikely to use his. My thought confirmed when I overhear Mousy groan, muttering something along the lines of, "he's used that enough these past few months".
Rorin doesn’t dignify the comment with a response, and jerks his dagger in my direction, blood now running down his ear from the nick I’d made. "No Wields." He barks, tossing the hilt between both hands and replacing the grin on his face.
Gods, I could fucking smack it off of him. I growl in my mind, I can feel Vada there, listening to me and I turn off the line to her as well. The remnant sounds of her protests die off in the recesses of my mind while I clear my head for the spar.
Fighting one-on-one is nothing I am unfamiliar with; there have been plenty of times that my men have gone full out, no Wields, and I've come out on top.
And then there have been other times, ones where they've bested me.
But today I am in no mood to lose. No mood to play nicely, and if I am going to do this without my magic, then I need absolutely no one inside of my head.
Mousy waves for us to start, and the two of us begin circling each other.
Unsurprisingly, he gets impatient and lunges first. I dodge the swipe of his arm and duck underneath it until I’m facing his back.
Rorin turns his head quickly, putting eyes on me before he whirls around on his toes.
The second time that he lurches forward, I dip down, forward rolling on the ground.
The point of my dagger grazes his calf, causing him to swear.
I smirk at the bead of blood and look up at him, "are you sure you want to do this, Wieldless?" I taunt again, his nostrils flaring at me.
Hopping up to my feet, I took the initiative to leap towards him, kicking out my foot towards his groin.
His dagger-free hand flies out and grabs hold of my ankle.
He yanks hard, pulling me off my standing leg and flips me around, slamming my chest down onto the sparring floor.
All the air in my lungs rushes out, and stars dance across my sight.
His weight presses down into my back, the sharp edge of his dagger kissing my throat.
"Fuck… I've not stolen your breath already, have I?" He murmurs in my ear.
Irritation flares in my stomach, and carefully I reach down to my thigh where I have a second dagger stashed.
I grab hold of it, and with as much mobility as I can, I ram the pommel into his gut.
He sucks in a sharp gasp before and lets off my back.
As the air fills my chest again, I scramble up onto my feet.
With Rorin crunched down to my eye level, I hurl myself at him and barrel into his shoulders.
We both hit the ground rolling from the momentum, the shocked gasps of those watching us ringing out.
Rorin’s shoulders hit the stone hard, followed by mine, my head tucking in quickly to avoid any injury to my neck.
We roll a third time, and I land on top, my legs straddling him.
Our daggers are scattered around us, and my hand reaches out to get hold of one of them.
My fingers find purchase and wrap deftly around the cool metal. I poise it at the vein bulging in his neck, my hips rolling against his as I struggle to keep him pinned underneath me. Rorin grunts beneath my movement, his right hand gripping my thigh.
It's hard to tell whether or not his hold is to keep me where I am or to get me off of him, but based on the smirk forming on his lips, I could guess that it's the latter.
“You going to torture me?” He asks hoarsely, sweat dripping down both of us. I hesitate answering, and his hips buck, forcing me to push my weight down harder onto him. I do my best to ignore the growing inconvenience underneath me.
My legs feel fatigued, but I have to focus on keeping the upperhand. He’s pinned below me. Regardless of whether or not that damn smile that is inching its way across his face tells me he's happy to be held down.
I angle my blade tighter against his throat. “Maybe.” I
His brow cocks, and I feel him stroke the mental barrier between us. “Then torture me, wife." My breath hitches at the title, and he presses down on the crease of my hip, digging into the pressure point there until we’re nose to nose. "I beg you, make me bleed.”
ARGH!
Unable to handle the proximity any longer, I tear the dagger from his throat and shove off of him. He stands ungracefully to his full height, his smile unfaltering.
"Thank the gods. She's chosen to be rational.” Mousy’s grating voice echoes across the courtyard.
That’s what you think. My conscience snarks before the dagger, still clasped in my hand, flies out.
THWWUMP!
In that half second, before I was even able to fully register it, the hilt of my dagger seated itself fully into Rorin's shoulder.
Millie's shrill and shocked squeal hits my ears as he roars in pain.
“FUCKING. GODS." His eyes snap fiercely up to mine as his hand clenches around the hilt. "EVEERA!" He grits out.
“Do not, ‘Eveera' me, Princeling.” I say, my voice hard as I dig my heels into their spot.
Slowly, he straightens his spine, the hand dropping from the spot where his shoulder is impaled.
His steps towards me are careful and measured, and with each one, my resolve falters.
I jerk my chin forward, trying to glaze over the small kernel of remorse I’m feeling, as the pain twists in his face.
Rorin puts us chest to chest, the tackiness of his blood tarnishing my leathers. “King.” He spits, cupping my jaw tightly between his thumb and pointer finger. The emphasis on his new title causes my knees to weaken.
Do not fall for it, Eveera.
"Do not underestimate me in my court again.” My eyes are locked on Rorin, but my words are aimed pointedly at his insufferable guard.
From my peripheral I can see Mousy's face already pinched, his lip curling before he shouts, “DID YOU REALLY NEED TO DO THAT?!”
Yes. I think to myself. Rorin and I breathe heavily against one another, his usually tan skin graying from the blood loss. My eyes soften, the guilt taking over, until Mousy's voice filters back in.
Apparently, he wasn’t finished addressing me.
“He is King Consort of this court, that makes it my hom—” He starts.
I raise my hand, still in the hold of my husband. “That. Makes you a guest of this court, fool. But let me be very clear, Obsidian is not. Your. Home.” I force my disdain as far forward as possible. Settling it completely in front of the shame I feel seeing Rorin hurt.
King. The word turns in my stomach. This whole circumstance has been dizzying, and the worst part is that he is relentless. He won't just give up, he won't leave me be, he has to be everywhere I am and in every thought I have.
It's maddening. His entitlement. His smugness. The hold he has — the hold he thinks he has over me. It’s why I threw the dagger, and it's why, despite seeing the anguish in his eyes, I ripped it out.
He dropped to his knees the minute I pulled the blade out, his hand flying to clutch at his shoulder. Bennett and Will rush out towards him, cursing at me the entire way as they go to help their man.
Max gives me a harrowed look on my way out that I disregard. Just as I disregard every swear, hitting my back, and the disapproving look I got from Marjorie when she passed me. Somehow, she’d had the forethought I would do something like that.
The second I was back in my room, I peeled out of my clothes, leaving their disapproval at my doors.
I collapse back onto the blankets, wrapping myself tightly in them, trying to squeeze my eyes shut to avoid the fallout of my spar with Rorin. The fallout that will undoubtedly involve Felix barging into my room, a lecture at the ready.
Unfortunately, his pained expression, the haughty air around him just prior to me sinking my dagger into his shoulder, his words last night… "Stop avoiding me, Eveera. This punishment has lasted long enough." haunt me.
“Stop avoiding me.” I can’t, I think. I can never stop because the moment I do, I know that the already fragile walls of my resolve will come crumbling down, and I'll have to face something much worse than Felix's growing disappointment.
I'll have to face myself — my feelings… my feelings for him.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Without even waiting for my acknowledgment, the doors fly open. Called it.
"A-hem. I've heard that stabbing one's spouse usually does not lead to a life full of happiness and harmony." I fling the covers back at the sound of the voice, rubbing my eyes to make sure I'm seeing things clearly.
"Armond." I breathe. He looks long at me, his dark auburn hair falling out of the ponytail he's pulled it into.
He tosses a dress onto the bed and faces the door for me to change.
I slide out from underneath the covers and step into it, snapping my fingers for him to tie up the back. "You're in my room."
He clanks over, grabbing hold of the ribbon. "You're causing trouble."
My mouth turns down into a frown, "Wa–” he pulls the ties taut, and I fall forward, catching myself on one of the posters of my bed.
“Was Felix tired of scolding me, so he had you leave Matthis to do it?
" I fire off the question, and when he finishes tying, I pat his chest and step around him to drag myself in front of the mirror.
“We don't have time for trouble." He calls out behind me as I turn the nozzle on and place my hands under the running water, splashing the cold onto my face.
"What does that mean?" The question comes out more bitterly than I'd intended as I drag a cloth down my face to soak up the droplets.
He leans in the doorway, folding his arms across his armor. "It means that Hadar is on the move again — and you have their heir being held hostage in your court." My blood freezes at the reminder of the princess. I'd worked hard to forget about her over the past twelve hours.
My head hangs between my shoulders, and I stand there, hunched and quiet for a moment while I decide if I want to know where the rest of this conversation is going. Arghhh. I growl inside my mind, and Vada echoes it.
She's been there in my head — hovering — ever since the block on our bond was removed.
Usually, I wouldn't mind, but with Rorin and my forced proximity, she's feeding off of every one of my emotions.
Especially my stress, which mixes poorly with her anger and leaves me with one hell of a bloody headache.
I nudge her presence, "you're not helping."
"You're fragile." She snaps.
"Lizard."
"Human."
A laugh escapes past my lips, and Armond gives me a funny expression. I'd almost forgotten he and I were the ones having a conversation. I shake her from my mind and mutter an apology, spinning around to face him, "what am I supposed to do?"
He sighs, and his lips frown down even further. "Start playing your part."
"Which one? Queen or wife?" I tease, but my humor falls short.
"Both." He answers, his tone firm, while he turns on his heel and disappears out of the doorway.
Begrudgingly, I drag my feet, following him out of the bathroom.
By the time I’m out in my room again, he’s already halfway out the door.
"Uh— Armond!" I groan, he glances over his shoulder, and chucks his chin for me to continue following.
"When did becoming queen mean I have to take orders from other people?
" I grumble as I jog to catch up with him. "The plan here is…?"
"You have a meeting."
"About?"
"About what your next move is going to be."
Yes, because that clarifies so much.