Chapter Twenty-Six #2
The silence in the room rang in Ronan’s ears. He wanted to break it, but he didn’t know how. Everything was delicate between them.
His mind had been an unforgiving prison the past few days. Their kiss, seeing Sárait’s fallen form on the cold ground, trying to understand Kordislaen . . . He’d had very little time for sleep. Something his body insisted reminding him of: his knee throbbed with pain as he stood.
He needed a distraction.
“I was hoping you were as restless as I was,” he began.
Her mouth softened from its tight line, and he felt like he could breathe again. “I am.”
“Want to get in some training?” He nodded toward the door.
“It’s dark out. I’m not sure that’s the safest idea.”
“We’ll bring some lanterns. Not to mention—it’s good to practice fighting in less-than-ideal situations. You won’t always be dueling at dawn.”
She grabbed Camhaoir.
He hadn’t planned on training again today—he knew his body would make him regret it. He wasn’t sure why he’d suggested it. Perhaps to keep himself busy. Or maybe because it was all he knew, and when Clía said she was feeling restless as well, the answer seemed too obvious.
The arena was empty when they arrived, their lanterns offering little illumination in the night. As they warmed up, the familiar ache of his muscles was pain and relief. A much-needed distraction. The routine fell over him all at once, removing any time for thinking.
They defaulted to their unique rhythm. He lunged and she defended.
They parried blow for blow. One of them would misstep, the other would try to hold the advantage, but quickly they would be evenly matched again.
Except, tonight, she was faster than usual.
Her blocks in position right on time, her strikes heavy with strength.
He was the more experienced swordsman, and most days, she would be able to edge him out only through surprise and risk. But in the glow of the stars, she was radiant. Luminous. Her skills beyond what he had seen from her before.
That didn’t stop him from trying. He fought harder and harder, ignoring the screaming of his muscles.
After a second loss, he managed to gain the advantage.
With a twist of his wrist, her blade was on the ground, and he had her yield with a sword to her temple.
But any chance to boast was quickly lost when she won the next round.
“Unfair.” He smiled as her sword kissed the nape of his neck. “I demand a rematch.”
She laughed, and they began again. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t hide the elation he felt every time she bested him.
After four matches—three won by her, and only the one by him—they decided to switch out their longswords for lighter blades. But after another two rounds, Ronan started picking up on her weariness. She missed an easy opportunity to overpower him, a sloppy mistake that gave him the advantage.
“Do you need a break?” he asked.
“No, let’s go again.” She raised her blade, but he pushed it down.
“If you grind yourself into dust tonight, you’ll be swept away by the breeze come morning.
You shouldn’t push yourself too hard, not the night before the mission.
” Ronan hoped she would agree and retire her weapon, but instead she tried to shove past him.
An attempt he prevented by grabbing her shoulder.
Her eyes blazed in the lantern light, defiant. “You’re the one who suggested training tonight.”
“Because we both needed the distraction. But we also need to know when to stop.”
Clía’s blade fell to the ground, but instead of letting her go, he wrapped his hands around hers, pulling her close. “I know you’re upset, and probably nervous about our mission. So am I. But you can’t overwork yourself. I won’t let you make stupid decisions and get yourself killed.”
He tried to keep his tone light, but there was desperation underneath it. Real danger lay before them, and he didn’t know what he would do if something happened to her.
“What about you?” Clía stepped back, pulling her hands from his. “You tell me not to overwork myself, but do you think I don’t see the way you’ve been favoring your left leg all night?”
Ronan bristled. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” She crossed her arms.
“I’ve been dealing with this for half of my life. If I shut down every time I was in pain, I wouldn’t be here today.” He shook his head. If he let his pain rule his life, how could he ever be enough? For Caisleán? For Kordislaen? For Clía? “I wouldn’t be able to do anything.”
She took a deep breath, any anger seemingly forgotten as she approached him once more, taking his hands in hers. “That doesn’t mean you always have to do everything.”
He wanted to deny it. To argue and insist that no, he did need to do everything. The need to not only be as good as everyone else, but better, had built itself a home in his mind, and he couldn’t root it out.
But maybe he should try.
He could try.
“How about a deal, then? I’ll try if you try.
I know things look bad right now—I want nothing more than to drop everything and help Sárait, but there’s little we can do for her.
We have a job ahead of us. She would want you to keep pushing for your goals, to protect our kingdoms. Not to mention, if she ever found out that you did something that could risk your safety because of her, she would wake up if only to kick your ass.
This will work out; we just need to be patient. Play the long game. Okay?”
He let his hands tighten around hers.
Clía nodded, and her hazel eyes were steel as they met his. “Fine.” Her strength—the very core of her being—radiated from her stance. He found himself caught in her net.
“You amaze me,” he whispered, the words escaping into the night air before he could swallow them back.
Clía froze, and he knew they were treading a dangerous line.
They’d both agreed to forget those kisses and the feelings between them. It was for the best. But in the moonlight, he couldn’t stop himself from saying all the words he’d held back. “Your resolve, your strength, your loyalty. Sometimes I feel as if you could will the stars into the sky.”
“I can only do half of what I can because you’re a great teacher.” She smiled, demure as a princess. A lie. He wanted to wipe it off her face.
“I don’t know. I like to think you would have found a different route to get here. I’m only glad I was blessed to witness the creation of a goddess.”
Her cheeks flushed, and Ronan found himself pleased at the sight of the pink flooding under her skin. His hand traced the path it burned.
“You—” she began but shook her head.
He inched his face closer. He didn’t know what he was doing. Only that he couldn’t stop. Her lips were a breath from his—and all he could think of.
“I know I shouldn’t, but Clíodhna . . .” He let his voice trail off.
Silence. For a moment, he worried he had done something wrong. He leaned back, giving her space, but was stopped by her hand curling around his neck. She nodded again, eyes drifting shut as she closed those last remaining inches between them.
Her lips met his like a sunlit touch. She wrapped her other arm around his neck, and his automatically went to her back, pulling her closer.
Needing more. Her mouth parted, tasting of mint and cocoa.
Electricity sparked with every brush of her silken lips against his.
Each touch between them was inevitable. He was a wave crashing against the shore.
The softness of her skin against the calluses on his hands lit fires as he traced her jawline, her face, before twirling his fingers in her hair.
He never let go of his hold on her, not letting her slip away from him into the shadows of the night.
This might be the last chance he had to touch her like this; he wouldn’t waste it.
Ronan moved his lips to her forehead, letting them catch their breath.
His arms fell to her waist. Lightning seemed to spread from where his fingertips rested over her shirt, until he was aching to be even closer to her.
He let his mouth linger as he trailed kisses from her hairline to her nose and cheeks, eventually finding the corner of her jaw.
He would never get tired of this. The taste of her skin, the scent of her hair in the wind.
“You’re magnificent,” he whispered.
“So are you,” she breathed back.
Her hand curled around his chin, tilting his face so his lips were within her reach.
Her eyes were closed, but he let himself admire her in the dim light of the lanterns.
And he knew, without a doubt, that she was here with him.
That it wasn’t just his world that seemed to be changing with every touch.
Before long, she stopped his vigil, using her other hand to free his hair from where it was tied back and dragging him down to her once more. He groaned as he fell into her embrace.
They stood together against the night. But when the chill of the winter air made Clía shiver in his arms, Ronan pulled back just enough to speak.
“We should head back.” He said it reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to stay out there with her under the stars.
An anxious fear began to seep into him that she would use this moment to withdraw and leave him alone again, as she had both times before. However, she stayed still in his arms. Her head nodded, lips brushing his with the movement, and he struggled to keep himself from falling back into her.
He stepped away, needing some distance if they were ever going to make it back into the castle. Yet as they retrieved the lanterns and swords discarded on the ground, their hands found each other.