Chapter 45
I’m done reading my stolen books. I figured out all these lesser prophecies are fragments, taken from one original source. The King of Kings. But, the copy we own conveniently leaves out a lot of important tidbits. I know exactly where the original is, but it might cost me my life to get it. So instead of trying to get myself killed today, I’m spending time with my brother. He asked if I’d go on a drive with him. Watching him drive is like watching him come to life. He brought me my favorite pastry and told me if I drop a crumb in his favorite red car, he’ll slash every last party dress I own. I took no shame in reminding him who bought him this car—me—and devoured my pastry without caution.
I sit in silence until it’s late enough to wonder why Preysee isn’t here. That’s when I notice the plate of biscuits and a note on my vanity. I stuff a biscuit in my mouth and barely glance at the note, something about bath oils and a nightgown laid out for me.
I suddenly remember it’s her night off, but knowing she still stopped by spreads an ache through my chest. I see why Lo liked her.
It doesn’t matter that I took a bath a few hours ago. It’s my safe place. The bubbles and warmth is where I go when I have nowhere else, so I shed my dress and draw my own bath.
Preysee is definitely more skilled at mixing fragrances and oils. The concoction I’m dumping in is as sporadic as my thoughts, which still feel like sparking, unconnected wires.
I’m fully submerged, head and all, when I sense his darkness above. It’s calm and soothing and cool—the opposite of my constant fiery rage beneath my skin.
I remain in my watery cocoon until my lungs are bursting. I sit up, splashing water. He doesn’t say anything, but he is here.
“It’s not polite to lurk.” Water runs down my cheeks and lips, but I don’t have the care to wipe it.
An edge cuts through his voice. “I’m just making sure you’re okay.”
“Why do you care?”
A pause. “I find it hard not to.”
I ignore the tug I feel at his words. It’s just his voice—his sinfully sultry voice—that makes me feel this tightness in my chest.
“But why?”
A moment passes before he whispers, “I see your memories, Nizzara. I see what Liha, and Soriah, and your father have done to you.”
His words bring a tremble to my hands, and I’m glad they are hidden by bubbles.
My insides are teetering between two extremes; a raging, spiteful monster and a scared, little girl, longing for companionship. I bend my knees in the water and clutch my arms around them.
“So, yes. I care, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Something about his voice suddenly has me overheating. “What do you want from me, Dae?”
Does my voice sound provocative?
His voice is a velvet purr, “Besides less bubbles?”
I know he’s trying to pull his cocky flirting game with me to make me smile, and despite me not wanting it to, it does.
Damn his voice.
This water is suddenly stifling, so I lean back and kick my legs out to rest on the opposite rim.
“Does it suck having an urge you can’t act on?” Even Liha’s drooling can only go so far, because she has no substance to her.
“I’m not like other spirits.”
If I was in a lighter mood, I”d flick water at him. “Always avoiding direct questions.”
Why is my skin humming?
I can make out where he stands, by the black marble counter and mirror, so different from the hovering quality of Liha.
“If your only desire is less bubbles, then I’m afraid I’m unavailable since I’m nearly betrothed and all.”
I reach for one of the calming oils I used in my concoction and begin massaging it into my neck and shoulders. As soon as I get to my arms, I stop, realizing with sudden clarity, that this is not a calming oil.
Preysee’s note.
This is the enchanted oil that Liha insisted I order.
“I wish to be in your shield. What in the realms is that scent?”
This blasted oil. It’s already in full effect, making his voice feel like a trail of soft kisses up my neck to my ear. Even the dull pain from my wounds are more like sensual tugs on my skin now.
It takes everything I have to ignore the way my thighs are beginning to press together at his mere presence.
“Why do you wish to be in my shield?” I try to snap at him, but it comes out all wrong. I close my eyes and take a breath. ”So you can spy on me and report back to my father?”
“I am no spy of your father’s,” he snarls, but the sound sends waves of pleasure deep into my abdomen. “I already told you. I can see your memories. I don’t need to be in your shield to report things.”
“Prove it.” It comes out breathy and desperate. Realms I will be throwing this damned oil away the moment I have my wits returned to me.
“I see memories of men too afraid to look you in the eyes. I see your memory of Lekk—your soon to be betrothed—how he insults you by seeing you differently through your Mark. I see your Awom friend in the Zo palace being thrown in the dungeons before his execution—”
“Stop. I know my own memories. Prove to me that you do not serve my father. Make me believe you.”
There’s a long stretch of silence filled only by my heartbeat, frantic from the oil.
“You wish me to prove it?” he whispers, and I swear his lips are by my ear.
“Yes.”
His presence moves around the onyx tub, toward the gloom-filled windows that look out above the fog.
He materializes.
Into a fucking man.
A beautifully dark-haired, hazel-eyed, smirking—
Dae.
Short for Dagen.
King Dagen.
I glance over toward my dress, piled on the floor where my dagger lies beneath it. Even though he is a spirit. I can”t do anything to him with a dagger. I open my mouth. Maybe to scream for my guards or Liha, I don’t know.
He must see this all over my face because he places a finger to his lips, then speaks out loud. Not in the dimension of spirits, but out loud.
“I do not wish to harm you, Nizzara.”
“Do not lie to me.”
I have been lied to enough. But damn this oil! The intense anger only intensifies everything else. Now that I can fully see Dae—Dagen—I see it is affecting him too. His hazel eyes are burning as they keep finding me.
Those green and gold eyes are even more mesmerizing than in his portrait.
“I swear on my soul, Nizzara. I am not, nor will I lie to you. At first, I planned to hurt you, but I—it’s not my plan anymore. You are not the one who wronged me.” He sighs and it produces goosebumps up my neck. “But now you know who I am and can believe me when I say, I would never serve your father.” He walks to me, crouches down to my level, and takes the oil from the black rim of the tub.
A devilish grin splits his lips, and an intoxicatingly white smile breaks through. That damn smirk is even worse than I imagined, twisting my insides.
“An enchanted oil,” he tsks, his eyes still a blaze of golden-flecked lust. “How naughty of you. I hope you didn’t plan to use this on your betrothed. I don’t think his poor prudish soul could withstand such torture.” He tilts his head, nothing but untamed mischief in the set of his lips and the heat of his eyes. “Unless this is intended for personal use—”
I surge forward, sloshing bubbles, and snatch for it, but he moves it out of my line of reach. “I used it by mistake.”
“Hmmm.” He sets the small vial back down. “I like my version of the story better.” His eyes rise to mine. “Besides, I don’t think you would use this on Lekk. I know you. You like to win without help.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why do you want to enter my shield?”
Finally, the buzzing-hot effect of the oil is dimming, but much to my displeasure, it is not dulling the effect of his smile or the heat in his eyes.
His face darkens as he straightens and rises.
“Because I wish to end your father.” Darkness and ice race behind his eyes. “He is hurting my people, hurting the bondslaves.”
Yisabell. My chest aches. I failed her. I failed her.
I sit forward. The bubbles are beginning to thin, and the water is no longer hot. When I stand up to reach for my towel, Dagen turns his back to me.
“You’re a spirit, are you not? What does it matter if you see me naked?”
Tension radiates from his presence. He folds his arms, accentuating the broad shape of his shoulders and back that are very noticeable beneath his black, snug shirt.
“I still have a tiny shred of decency. Let me use it in peace.”
I smile, tugging on my nightgown. The movement pulls at a wound that hasn’t healed as quickly as the others. I hiss.
“I will not tolerate him hurting you,” Dae says.
I half-laugh. “Who?”
His shoulders tighten. “Anyone.”
It dawns on me. I haven’t told him I’m covered now, probably because I’m still tracing the lines from his wide shoulders down to his waist, like a V. There has to be some kind of lingering effect from the oil.
“I don’t need a knight in shining armor. You can turn around now.”
He turns around, his arms still folded. “I’m not going to fight your battles for you, but I won’t let you sit idle, being less than what you are. That won’t help you win your tournament or help my people who are suffering.”
My fingers curl into my palms, digging nails into my skin. “You know what I am?”
His eyes trail my wet legs and scarlet nightgown, and his throat tightens. “I know exactly what you are.”
“What am I exactly?”
His smirk is easy and sinful. Beneath eyes that are still on fire. “You are a cruel little beast.”