Chapter 14
I followed the guard in silence as we ascended through the Ludaryn.
The air grew warmer with each turn, growing heavier against my skin.
He stopped before a set of stone doors worn smooth by what looked like centuries of wear.
Without a word, he pushed them open and gestured for me to enter.
I stepped inside as the doors shut behind me with a firm, final thud.
I heard the shift of his armor as he took position outside. Swallowing my nerves, I took in the Ludaryn Springs before me.
Empty. Thank the goddess. Had I found him already inside—undressed, waiting—I might have lost my composure entirely.
The chamber stretched long and symmetrical, carved from pale stone that caught the glow of coals burning in each corner. The light flickered unevenly, casting slow-moving shadows across the benches lining the walls.
At the far end, a massive stone saber’s head had been carved into the wall, its features worn by age yet unmistakably predatory.
The flicker of the coals caught along its jaws, casting shifting shadows between its teeth, leaving its expression impossible to name—something watchful, something that didn’t need to be understood.
Water traced down from hidden channels, gathering in the basin below.
Steam curled around my skin as the heat pressed in, seeping beneath my leathers until sweat began to gather.
It was already too hot. I crossed toward the springs and lowered my hands into the water.
Warmth surged up instantly. I held them there a moment longer than instinct advised, committing it to memory before withdrawing.
Perhaps it would be better if the steam thickened—if I couldn’t see him clearly.
With that thought, despite the air already pressing against me, I poured more water over the coals. The response was immediate. Steam rose thicker and heavier, curling upward until it softened the edges of the room, swallowing stone and columns alike. The space felt smaller now. More enclosed.
To my left, on a marble table beside the springs, a neat arrangement of ritual items had been set aside. There were folded white garments, vials of oil, and a sealed concoction—the elixir he would be forced to drink.
I lifted the dress, shifting it between my fingers.
It was light, made for heat rather than modesty.
Sleeveless, cut for ease of movement, gathered simply at the waist. A narrow band edged the hem and neckline, leaving one shoulder bare while the other was draped loosely, meant to fall rather than cling.
The fabric was thin. Pale. Nearly sheer. I rolled my eyes. Of course it was.
Casting a quick glance toward the door, I hurried out of my leathers.
Piece by piece, I stripped them away, my pulse quickening with the thought that he might enter at any moment.
I pulled the dress over my head, the fabric settling against my skin—cool at first, then quickly overtaken by the heat.
Once I had secured the dress at my waist, I reached for my leathers again, intent on hiding my father’s dagger beneath them.
The doors opened behind me. My heart leapt into my throat as I froze.
I didn’t turn. Instead, I shoved my dagger beneath the leathers, hiding the familiar weight.
Thanor had entered. His expression remained still as he watched me.
The doors closed behind him with an echo that rolled through the springs.
He wore nothing but thin linen trousers.
The fabric clung to him instantly, outlining him in a way that left little to the imagination.
The shape of him drew my attention before I could stop it.
The saber tattoo stretched across his skin, dark and imposing, coiled with quiet menace.
I didn’t look away. My palms were damp with sweat.
This wasn’t a good start. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
Warmth flared from my piercing the instant he entered the room, enough to make me tense, but I resisted the urge to press against it.
My hands curled at my sides as I tried to hold myself together.
“I—” The word came out rough, catching in my throat. I cleared it quickly. “I should tell you, I have never performed this ritual before.” I held his stare. “I only received the instructions last evening. If you could be patient—”
“I don’t care.”
His gaze moved over me, taking in the pale fabric of my dress where it clung to my damp skin, the way my hair fell loose around my shoulders. “The result is all that matters,” he continued. “The ritual either succeeds, or it doesn’t. Your inexperience is irrelevant to me.”
He stepped closer. The distance between us disappeared quickly, leaving me acutely aware of him.
“Follow the instructions,” he said, looking down at me. “Do not improvise. Do not fail. The consequences would be severe… for me.” His next breath came slow and controlled. “I don’t accept failure.”
I lifted my chin. “I’m not used to all of this.
The least you could do is treat me with respect.
You’re temporarily bound to me whether you approve of it or not, just as I am bound to you.
” I shrugged one shoulder, forcing a steadiness I didn’t feel.
“Believe me, I would have preferred a different warrior. Anyone other than you.”
His hands curled into fists.
That hadn’t been wise. What was it about him that dragged out the worst in me?
The strategy I’d planned earlier was already forgotten as my temper slipped its leash.
I turned away before he could respond, moving toward the table and the ritual items. I gathered the vials with care, arranging them in the order I would need.
When I spoke again, the word left me before I could stop it.
“Strip.”
The hairs at the nape of my neck rose. The space behind me vanished as he stepped close—too close.
A finger slowly traced my arm, following a bead of sweat as it slipped downward.
I shivered despite the heat. He leaned in, pushing my hair aside, exposing my neck.
He inhaled deeply as his voice dropped low against my ear.
“You don’t seem to fear me like the others.”
“Do I have reason to?”
“Speak to me that way again,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over my pulse, “and you’ll find out.”
My fists clenched. “Don’t threaten me.”
“Hmm,” he rasped as his hand slid to the column of my neck, his grip tightening—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind. With a pull, he drew my head back against his shoulder, holding me there as though placing me exactly where he wanted. My skin prickled beneath his hand. This wasn’t going well.
“Begin the ritual,” he whispered. “Before your defiance stops amusing me.”
Then he released me without warning. I nearly fell forward at the loss. What was happening to me? I pressed my hands briefly against my eyes, forcing myself to focus.
When I glanced back, he was already moving toward the springs. He dropped his trousers without hesitation. My cheeks burned as he rolled his shoulders as though nothing about this moment required shame or thought.
Goddess .
His body was pure perfection—a weapon sheathed in bronze skin. Not a single scar. I drew in a slow breath. Then another. This was work. Nothing more.
I uncorked the first vial. The oil inside was thick, amber, scented with crushed herbs. I measured it carefully, mixing it into the bowl until it darkened beneath my touch.
Hesitantly, I stepped toward him. Steam clung to his skin, gathering in droplets that traced down his back, following the line of his spine leading into the curve of his— no .
I cut the thought off. I wouldn’t go there. His shoulders shifted as I neared. A motion that told me he was aware of every step I took, even if he didn’t acknowledge me.
My heartbeat faltered, and before I could talk myself out of it, I lifted the bowl and poured the liquid over his shoulders.
The first streak of oil streamed over him in a slow line, catching the light as it flowed.
It traced the planes of his back, slipping along the grooves of muscle, down his spine and over his hips, spilling in glistening rivulets to his calves before dripping onto the stone.
In its wake, it left a golden sheen, luminous against his skin, marking where he was fully anointed and where the ritual still demanded more.
My fingers clenched around the bowl. Reading the instructions was one thing, pouring the liquid another, but facing him while doing it was something else entirely.
I gathered what courage I could muster and circled around him.
As I did so, I kept my eyes deliberately averted—skimming past his shoulder, to the wall, anywhere but the breadth of him laid bare.
It was a clumsy balance, trying not to meet his gaze while also refusing to look down, and I was painfully aware of how obvious it must’ve been.
I poured the oil over his chest, and it trailed over his front and arms, catching in the hollows and ridges of an abdomen so heavily muscled it made my mouth go dry. Before my eyes could lower further, I quickly stepped away to gather more oil. With trembling hands, I tried to mix a fresh batch.
I positioned myself in front of him again, still careful—too careful—not to let my eyes linger where they wanted to fall.
I tried to focus on the work. This was the heart of it now.
The oil couldn’t simply be poured—it had to be worked in, every muscle anointed, every inch prepared for the incantation and for the Ludaryn springs to do their part.
I shifted behind him, deciding to start at his shoulders. The safest place.
The moment my hands touched his skin, heat flared violently at my piercing like a struck nerve. My breath hitched into a gasp, and I stumbled back. For a moment, the chamber felt smaller, the steam thicker, pressing in on all sides.