Chapter 21 #3
But then Amara cups my face, her fingers a whisper of warmth against my skin, and gods, I have dreamed of this. Of her touch, of her scent, of the quiet way she soothes the rage inside me.
“You will not kill him on this ship, husband.” Her voice is gentle, but there is no room for argument. “His fate will be decided when we reach the Sundered Kingdoms.”
I inhale her scent and nod into her touch. “Yes, wife. If that is what you wish.”
Then I flick a sharp glance to Reon and Orios. “Put him below deck.”
They nod, their grip tightening around his arms, hauling him toward the heavy door that leads to the ship’s underbelly. To the cages. To the dark. The Golden Son does not fight. He moves at his own pace, his head held high, smirking despite the blood smeared across his teeth.
And as he passes, he does not look at me.
No. His eyes, bright blue, gleaming, knowing… find her.
And she looks away.
But I see it.
The flicker of something.
A memory. A secret. A shard of him buried somewhere inside her.
It takes everything in me not to crush his skull beneath my hands, to pry open his mind and pick that memory free piece by bloody piece.
But then he is gone, dragged below by Reon and Orios, and my pulse is still roaring, pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
Amara tightens her grasp on my cheek, her touch pulling me back.
I place my hand over hers. “He cannot be trusted, Amara.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Some would say the same about you.”
The words crack against my ribs. My head jerks up, but she presses on.
“When Ronin discovered what Anethesis intended for me, he came to my cage, risked everything, to set me free. If not for his warning, I might already be dead.”
There are a hundred things in her words that should seize my attention, but only one lodges itself in my skull. A name. One I have never heard before. A sound foreign to me, bitter on my tongue.
Through clenched teeth, I ask, “Is that what he is called? Ronin?”
Her eyes widen, startled. Then, a slow swallow, her lips parting as if to take it back, but it’s too late.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, as if she knows she has lodged a knife in my heart. “I don’t know why I called him that.”
Something close to a smile pulls at my mouth, but it is a razor-thin thing. I force the words past my teeth, my mouth working hard to keep them soft. “You call him by his name now? This man who saved you when I could not. Tell me more of the bond you two share.”
Amara's brown eyes narrow, her spine straightening like a drawn bowstring. “Husband. Is this really the path you want to take with me? After our time apart. After the birth of our daughter. You truly want to play the jealous husband now?”
Her reason claws at my insides, but the petty, bitter part of me wants to snap yes.
Yes, I am jealous. Yes, I want to tear him apart with my bare hands for every moment he was near you.
For every word he spoke to you. For every breath he stole in your presence, and if he touched you, gods help me, if he touched you, there would be nothing left of him to bury.
I would grind his bones to dust in my fist.
But I cannot say these things. Because she is right.
There is nothing more important than us right now. Than our family. We are together, and I will not let my jealousy, my seething, insatiable, marrow-deep, gut-wrenching, soul-consuming jealousy ruin that.
So instead, I slide my hand around the soft curve of her waist and pull her against me. I feel the sharp hitch of her breath, hear the pounding of her heart, watch the rise and fall of her chest. The swell of her breasts beneath her nightgown would have me hard if I weren’t such a gentleman.
I whisper against her lips, “No, wife. I want nothing but to bring you peace and ease.”
Our mouths brush, a feather-light touch that sends a tremor through her breath as I feel the warmth of her beneath the thin fabric.
I crave her. I always have. The way she yields to my touch yet remains unbowed. And before I can feed my addiction to the way she tastes, the way she shatters under my hands, there is a soft cough behind us.
We pull apart slowly. Reluctantly. Frustratedly.
I turn, a growl forming at the back of my throat, until I see who it is.
Solena bows her head. “I am sorry to interrupt, but…”
“Solena!” Amara breathes, and just like that, I am forgotten. She pushes me aside, barely sparing me a glance, as she rushes to Solena, throwing her arms around her.
Solena’s smile is tight with relief, her eyes slipping closed as she falls into Amara’s embrace. Her fingers dig into Amara’s back the same way mine had a moment ago, desperate, as if afraid she might slip away again.
They hold each other for a long while, and when they finally part, their fingers remain laced.
“Thank you, Solena,” Amara murmurs. “Thank you so much.”
Solena shakes her head. “Amara, no. You do not need to thank me for anything.”
“But I do,” Amara insists. “And I will thank you for the rest of my life. You brought my daughter into this world. You were the first pair of hands to hold her, and there is no one else I would rather share that with.”
Despite Amara’s words, Solena only looks away, her smile brittle, her voice strained.
“I was only doing what needed to be done.”
Amara tilts her head, studying her. “Well, you and I have much to talk about. So much time to make up for.”
Solena nods, but something flickers behind her eyes. “Yes. Of course. We have waited for this day for so long.” Her gaze shifts to me. “But I need to check Rook’s sigils. He went into the void to pull you free, and I fear they have weakened.”
The warmth in Amara’s expression dims as her attention drifts to me.
“Rook?” The word sits sourly on her tongue. She raises an eyebrow at me. “Sigils?”
I nod. “Runes that keep me hidden from Gygarth. They helped me keep control while I searched for you, but they are not permanent. Solena has been reapplying them often.”
A silence settles between us, heavy and brimming with unspoken things. It makes my skin itch.
“She has?” Amara asks, her voice even, but the furrow of her brow betrays the curiosity threading through her words.
Her gaze flickers between Solena and me, sharp and assessing, before finally settling on me.
It burns like a brand against my skin, and I recognize that look.
The same one I wore when she called that bastard by his name. Ronin.
“I have,” Solena murmurs, dipping her chin.
“Well then, by all means,” Amara says, and the clipped edge of her tone does not go unnoticed. “The last thing we want is for my husband to lose control.” She exhales, then turns to Solena, squeezing her hands tighter. “I should be with my daughter, anyway. But we’ll talk soon, please?”
“Yes, soon.”
Neither of them lets go. Their hands remain clasped, fingers interlaced in a silent standoff, as if waiting for the other to be the first to break away. When they finally part, it is Amara who releases first, their fingers drifting apart like something reluctantly severed.
She returns to me then, rising onto her toes to press a kiss against my cheek.
“I will see you soon,” she murmurs, softer now.
Then she slips into the cabin, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving only the whisper of her warmth in the space she’s abandoned.
A stifling silence stretches between Solena and me.
“Well, that was fucking awkward,” Zyphoro drawls from above.
Solena and I both glance up to where she’s perched on the railing, her legs swinging lazily, expression entirely too entertained.
“Looks like everyone has some explaining to do.”
I exhale sharply, running a hand down my face.
This ship suddenly feels far smaller than it did before.