Chapter 65 – Ayer
AYER
Screams.
I jolt awake. My hand is already on the dagger tucked underneath my pillow before I’m fully conscious.
The screaming intensifies as Rowan thrashes violently beside me.
Moonlight spills across the bed in pale silver streaks, catching on sweat-dampened skin and tangled dark hair.
“Rowan.”
She doesn’t hear me.
Her breathing comes in sharp, panicked gasps as she fights something I can’t see. Her hands twist desperately in the blankets as though she’s trying to escape invisible restraints.
Another broken sound tears from her throat. The sound travels straight through to my chest, cutting deep.
“Rowan,” I try again, grabbing her shoulders this time and shaking her.
Her eyes snap open. And for one terrible second, she looks terrified—of me. A few tears escape her green eyes, and I watch one trace her cheek.
Rowan doesn’t cry.
Not when I burned her home to the ground.
Not when I burned a rune around her wrist.
And not when she nearly bled out saving my life.
But now, tears stream one after another down her cheek while she wipes frantically at them, desperately trying to pull herself together.
I freeze, hovering over her, not sure what to do.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out suddenly, still wiping furiously at her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Are you okay?” I ask softly, though she’s clearly not.
Rowan blinks at my words, at the unfamiliar tenderness in my voice.
God, this whole thing is a disaster.
She’s in my bed because I couldn’t risk the queen finding her without me. And she’s still wearing that godsdamned dress because I need the queen convinced Rowan is nothing more than a pet to warm my bed.
I’ve barely slept.
I can still feel her there. The weight of her on my thigh. The way she trembled every time my fingers brushed her skin. The sound she made when I bit her throat.
I drag a hand down my face, shifting away from her.
She’s the Princess of Sitara.
Fae.
My enemy.
Why is it then lately, that every time I look at her—for a few dangerous seconds—I forget that?
Rowan pushes herself up so she’s sitting, and as she wins the battle against her tears, an absent look enters her eyes as she goes somewhere else for a minute. A memory, maybe?
I should leave it alone.
“What did you dream about?” I find myself asking just nearly a second later.
Rowan’s eyes snap to mine, a haunted expression in them now, her body going stiff at my mention of her dream.
Yup. Should have left it alone.
Another tear breaks free, slipping down her cheek before she can brush it away.
“I’m fine.”
She’s not.
“We can keep pretending if you want,” I mutter, “But I think we both know that isn’t true.”
Her expression sharpens to a glare. “You’re one to talk about pretending,” she bites back.
Fair.
I don’t say anything.
“What are we doing, Ayer?” she demands when I remain silent. “Why am I here?”
My jaw tightens and I look away. Because to be honest, I don’t fucking know anymore. The answer should be easy: revenge. Revenge for my family, for my friends, for my kingdom. She’s a means to an end.
“It’s complicated,” I say finally.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know,” I mumble, avoiding her gaze as I get out of bed, distracting myself with dressing for the day.
Frustrated, she throws back the blankets and climbs out of bed.
My eyes betray me immediately.
That dress.
And just like that, the memory of how she tasted last night when I bit down—
“Are we training today?”
“What?” My eyes snap up, catching the growing smirk on Rowan’s face after she caught me staring at her.
“Training? You mentioned training on the ride back here yesterday.” Her arms fold across her chest, pushing it up, just as she shifts her weight onto one hip, looking at me expectantly.
That, combined with that godsdamned dress, her messy hair falling down her back, and her cheeks flushed from crying...
Gods.
My eyes dart away.
Training? I remember mentioning it. It’s not a bad idea. I’m restless. I need to move—I need to do something. Something that isn’t my enemy princess…
Rowan’s already pacing, anxious energy running through her. She’s still not okay. Whatever she dreamed about—whatever woke her—it scared her.
“If you would like—” I shrug as if I don’t care either way.
“I would like,” she says, a hint of violence in her tone.
“Now get out so I can get dressed.”
I freeze. “What? We’re training now?” I steal a glance out the window at the still dark sky. “It’s barely dawn.”
“Yes, now,” she confirms, not looking at me while searching around for her leathers.
I watch her for a long moment. Rowan isn’t asking to train, she’s asking to fight. And after waking to the sound of her scream, I think we both know what she’s trying to outrun.
The princess finally glances up, catching me staring.
“Out,” she growls.
I huff a quiet laugh, playfully tugging on her shirt before heading for the door.
“Yes, Your Highness.”