Chapter 54 – Rowan
ROWAN
Isettle into the corner of the room, but there’s no comfort in it. Restless energy hums beneath my skin, refusing to let me relax.
Though exhaustion drags at my limbs, I force myself to stay awake, curling into the corner of Ayer’s room where I can see everything—most importantly, the door.
And I wait.
I don’t even know if he’s coming. Every passing minute leaves me wondering whether he’ll walk through that door furious… or worse. I can still see him in the hallway, his eyes darkening as they locked onto mine, something dangerous flickering behind them that left my stomach in knots.
I wrap my arms around my knees, keeping myself there, my skin buzzing with nerves as my eyes keep flicking over to the door as if he might burst through it at any second.
My arm is bleeding, and my lip too. I can still taste the metallic bite of the blood on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to care. The death grip I have on my emotions is down to a single, breakable thread.
Ayer fills the doorway, every line of his body rigid with barely restrained fury as he scans the room. Something about him feels... wrong. Darker. And it’s as if the room itself has dimmed with his presence, and I can sense the rage simmering under his skin.
Releasing a heavy breath, I push myself up, prepared to face whatever consequences he decides to hand down—whatever it is he wanted me in his room for.
His eyes find me as soon as I move, his gaze heavy as I rise to my full height. They trail the length of me, lingering on every cut and every bruise, like he’s taking inventory. I hope he can't see how my entire body trembles beneath the weight of his gaze.
“Sit down,” he growls roughly, pointing at his bed.
I don’t move.
His eyes narrow. “SIT. ROWAN!” he barks so loudly, I just barely restrain my flinch.
One glance at those unsettling eyes of his stops me cold. They aren’t the familiar light gray I remember. They’re darker now—so dark they nearly swallow the light—almost black. My feet move before my mind catches up, and I stumble toward the bed.
The room is small, and I reach it quickly, staring down at the soft mattress, unable to move any further—unable to actually sit down on his bed.
Slowly, I turn back to face him, and I swallow hard at the look I see on his face.
I’ve spent days relentlessly trying to push him over the edge. Trying just about everything I can think of to get under his skin—to get him to snap that seemingly unshakable emotional control he seems to have over himself.
But seeing him now…
Untethered.
I’m glad I failed.
The molten rage simmering off him could set the whole village alight. Like the storm trapped inside him has finally broken through.
He steps closer. His eyes scan my body again, taking in my wretched appearance with a curl of disgust on his lips.
I’m filthy. Covered in dirt and worse from trekking through the forest with Ayer, and the struggle with Riggs on the dungeon floor.
My skirt and corset are ripped in various places, and no matter how many times I pull it up, the torn shoulder of my shift keeps slipping down, revealing far more of my chest than I’m comfortable showing.
I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, giving up on the sleeve and crossing my arms across my chest.
Ayer moves closer, and this time, I can’t hide my flinch.
I hate that I do it—and worse, I hate that he saw it.
Ayer’s gaze darkens as he closes in, and I have to look away—unable to hold his gaze.
What will happen first? Will he punish me for running from Riggs?
Riggs told me Ayer gave me to him. I guess he’s decided I’m something to be passed around.
Or will Ayer follow through on whatever his original plans were when he asked me to be sent to him earlier?
I don’t know that I have anything left in me to fight him off too.
I should make him work for every second he tries to take from me, but… I’m so tired.
“When she’s brought to my chambers tonight.”
I prepare myself for what’s about to happen. In his mind, I belong to him. And if he wants me, he’ll have me. I can’t hurt him.
My emotions are running wild, and my exhaustion can’t contain them. A single tear breaks loose, trailing slowly down my cheek, dripping off my chin just as he finally reaches me. His hand comes up, lifting my head with it.
But his grip is light.
“Look at me.”
Ayer’s voice is soft. Softer than I’ve ever heard it. I don’t understand it—I don’t understand him.
My legs shake beneath me. I’m so tired. So damn tired.
My vision blurs, but I force my eyes up.
“Don’t think for one second that any of this is your fault.”
I blink at him, unsure of what I see on his face. Pain, guilt… anguish, even? Seeing an emotion there—any emotion—cracks the crumbling iron wall holding back my own, and my lip quivers.
His attention drops to my arm. I let out a hiss when his fingers brush against the gash he finds there. Riggs’ knife must have cut me in our struggle.
“I’m sorry.”
I freeze, then our eyes meet.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I never should have left you down there unprotected.”
Sorry?
He’s… apologizing?
To me?
I don’t have the words. He’s so close; the steady beat of his heart is almost calming, the heat from his body an odd comfort, and I have to fight the urge to lean into him.
I wobble on my feet, my knees buckling beneath me.
He reaches out to steady me, supporting my weight in his arms and pulling me toward him as he does.
He’s so warm. And that wall of hard muscle seems to soften just for me.
I can’t help it. I melt into him. My body is half-frozen—hungry for his warmth, and starved of comfort.
And Ayer just… He just holds me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, burying my face against his chest. My fingers knot in the fabric of his tunic, as though letting go would send me crashing back into everything I’d barely escaped.
I don’t understand it.
I don’t want to.
But somehow, impossibly, this is the safest I’ve felt since the day my world fell apart.
He lifts me up gently into his arms, carrying me around to the other side of his bed and carefully setting me down atop the soft, thick furs. But when he pulls away, his warmth disappears, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m reaching for him.
The way he held me just now…
Gods, everything is such a mess. My head… My head is a mess.
Ayer freezes when he sees my outstretched hand before searching my eyes. There’s an intensity in them that softens at whatever he finds there.
But he doesn’t take my hand—doesn’t come back.
Instead, he turns, disappearing into what I already know, from my earlier search of the room, is his private washroom.
He reappears with what looks to be a bowl of water in his hands.
The mattress dips under his weight as he takes a seat beside me.
His hands are steady when he takes my arm, and I wince when he presses the warm cloth to my skin, which earns me an apologetic look as he cleans the wound.
It stings, but I keep still. Watching him. Watching the way his jaw tightens as he works. Neither of us speaks.
When he’s finished, he smears a mint-scented salve over the cut before wrapping it with a clean white cloth. He looks up at me before his hand moves lower—to my thigh. To a second cut I hadn’t even noticed was dripping blood down my leg.
“Lie back,” he says. I only hesitate a moment before I comply, resting my head on the soft, pillowy furs on his bed while he cleans that wound too.
Ayer keeps his eyes on his task, and I keep my eyes on him.
I know he won’t hurt me. It makes little sense, but yet—I know.
The fear that has been fueling my adrenaline finally gives way to exhaustion—or maybe it’s the blood loss.
My eyes feel heavy, and I blink a few times, trying to keep them open.
My head is spinning, an aching pain from where Riggs smashed my skull into stone, pounding harder.
The room blurs in and out of focus, and I lose track of Ayer for a minute.
Rising anxiety brings me back, and I find him gone.
Quickly, I scan the little room until I feel the mattress dip again, this time behind me.
I feel hands on the back of my head, turning it slowly, gentle fingers threading through my hair as he inspects the injury that’s left dried blood there, and I freeze.
“I’m fine,” I mutter softly, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “You can take me back.”
Back to the cell.
My body shivers involuntarily at the mere thought of going back down there, even though it was I who made the suggestion.
But I’m tired, so tired, and I need to sleep. And it’s not like I’m going to do that here. I attempt to sit up. The movement takes considerably more effort than I anticipated. I roll onto my side, attempting to push myself up this time, but my palm lands against bare skin.
Ayer’s chest.
When did he—
I hold my breath just as his hand grips my wrist, careful to avoid the healing wounds from the ropes while preventing me from rising further.
“You’re freezing.”
My fingers curl against his admittedly warm chest. He’s not wrong; my hands are ice cold. I want to leave them where they lie. Stars, I want to inch my whole body closer and steal more of his warmth for myself, but I jerk my hand away instead.
He lets me.
“Just take me back,” I repeat. I need—I need out of here and away from him. Confusion floods my head.
“No,” he says, and my eyes snap to his. “You’re not going anywhere.
” He reaches up, and I feel his fingers in my hair again, and my heart rate picks up.
“You’re injured.” He looks me over pointedly.
“And you’re exhausted. You need to sleep.
And you’ll do that here,” his voice lowers, “where I can keep an eye on you.”
I shake my head, already opening my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.
“We can call a truce for just one night, can’t we, Princess?
We’ve already done it once.” The corner of his mouth ticks up before quickly turning solemn again.
“This fort is many things, but friendly to the fae, it is not.” He breaks our shared gaze, his eyes dropping to the mattress below.
“I should never have left you alone.” He looks back up at me, his eyes searching mine.
“But I give you my word, no one will harm you here. You’re safe with me—tonight. ”
I stare at him.
Safe? With Ayer? The incongruity of that statement echoes through my mind.
Sensing my hesitation, he sighs, leaning in closer. “I’m not leaving you alone again.”
I feel something inside me clench at his words.
“So you can choose.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“Choose?” I question, my voice coming out rough and scratchy.
His eyes flick to the mattress and then back to me. “You can either stay here, in my warm, comfortable bed—with me.”
My pulse quickens, and I swallow hard.
“Or—” he jerks his chin toward the door, “we go back down to the dungeons.” I stare at him. “Together.”
“You wouldn’t—” I start in surprise.
He nods firmly. “I would. I told you, Princess, I’m not leaving you again. Not here.”
When I fail to move or speak, he continues. “I personally would prefer the warm bed to cold stone, but of course, it’s your choice.” His eyes move to mine, refusing to look away this time.
Avoiding his penetrating stare, I pretend to survey the room. The crackle of the fire Ayer must have lit at some point, the thick fur blanket, the bolt on the door. I know my answer. And I already hate myself for it.
I look up at him from beneath my lashes—studying his face—looking for any sign of deceit. The words he said earlier… I’m still hesitant to trust him, but my body holds no such qualms. The need to crawl closer to him, to sink into the warmth radiating from his body, is too strong to fight.
Releasing a slow breath, I give the smallest possible nod of my head.
He doesn’t hesitate to take that as confirmation. He leans back, his arm snaking around my waist as he does, pulling me back down with him.
I stiffen immediately in his hold, my mind resisting every second, while the tension slowly bleeds from my body.
“You’re freezing,” he reminds me, and the last of my resolve melts away into that bloody heat of his.
I’m so cold.
So tired.
And so, against my better judgment, I give in.
And sleep.