Chapter 30
ChApter
Thirty
Ezra only spent twenty minutes in my room before he gave up on fighting the heat.
We were supposed to practice controlling small amounts of my magic, but neither of us could concentrate, so we called it quits for the day.
I feel a little guilty that I didn’t mention using my magic the previous day to keep Dante safe during his snake walk.
I also didn’t mention the book Nadya’s great-aunt gifted her.
Sweat beads along my spine as I pace the length of the room, fanning myself with little relief. The air in my chamber is thick, sticking to my skin in damp waves. Even at night, the heat presses against me from all sides, suffocating.
Outside, the city is still alive. Music thrums through the warm air, blending with laughter, moans, the clatter of feasting. I move to the pane-less window and peer out to the courtyard and beyond.
The courtiers are indulging in their endless revelry.
Bodies tangled on silk-draped lounges, mouths seeking, hands roaming.
A woman arches beneath a man’s touch, gasping into the night, while another pair dances in a slow, sultry rhythm, their bodies moving as if they’ve long forgotten the presence of anyone else.
I wonder if every night is a party in Bastos.
I swallow hard, my throat dry despite the glasses upon glasses of water I’ve been drinking.
Dante was taken away with the queens and their lovers an entire day ago, and I haven’t seen him since.
I can’t exactly go around asking where he might be or what trial he was forced to face, so I have to live with this hollowness in my chest, at least for a little while.
I clench my fists, willing intrusive thoughts away, thoughts that convince me that he’s been thrust into an all-day orgy, or worse, into an entire pit of vipers, without me to help him step safely through them.
But the thoughts and fears fester beneath my skin.
Those dancers who circled him, their hands grazing, their movements deliberately seductive…
they could very well have been the least of my problems. And gods, the way the queens looked at him, as if he were something they might devour whole.
But the danger he might be in worries me more. Because I don’t know what I’d do if he—
Fuck. I need to stop thinking this way. Surely, he’s fine. The palace would have been alerted if the future prince of Hedera had succumbed to death. Silas would be in an uproar.
I turn from the window, shaking the images from my mind, when a sharp knock startles me. I whirl, heart lurching, and cross the room in four quick strides. My pulse pounds as I unbolt the door and pull it open.
Dante stands before me.
Sweat hugs his skin, his tunic loose at the collar, his hair damp as if he’s just stepped out of a fire. His breaths come heavy, lips parted slightly, and the scent of liquor lingers on him, warm and heady. His eyes—hooded, unreadable—flick over me, then past me, as if checking to see if I’m alone.
“Can I… Can I come in?” His voice is rough.
I nod and step aside, barely thinking, thankful that Indira is busy running errands for Queen Eleanor.
He enters without another word, moving straight to the nearest chair and sinking into it with a weary exhale. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together as he stares at the floor.
I watch him, my pulse thudding. Gods, he looks ruined.
“What happened? What did they make you do?” I ask, bracing myself.
His shoulders rise and fall with a slow breath. “Something unexpected,” he says finally. “Something stupid.”
I swallow hard. My heart is in my throat, hammering against my ribs. “Dante.”
He drags a hand through his hair, frustration shadowing his expression. He winces when his arm comes back down. “It’s done,” he mutters. “I endured it.”
That’s not an answer.
Irritation flares sharp and hot in my chest, a desperate need for clarity. “What was it, then?” I snap, the words escaping before I can stop them. It’s been hours since Nadya and I returned from her great-aunt’s cottage, and I momentarily wonder if Tia’s tea is still affecting me.
Dante exhales, then lifts his hands to the buttons of his tunic.
I freeze, my frustration twisting into something sharper, something more uncertain.
He undoes the first button. Then the second.
My brow furrows, unease pooling in my stomach. “What are you—”
The tunic slips from his shoulders.
My breath catches.
His arm—his entire shoulder—is covered in ink.
A sprawling design, intricate and dark, the curving lines sharp and precise, curls over the muscle. Gorgeous, detailed peonies surrounded by leaves and artistic swirls. The skin beneath it is still red and swollen, the ink gleaming, fresh.
My lips part, a gasp slipping free.
Dante leans back in the chair, letting his tunic fall the rest of the way, watching me as if waiting for my reaction.
But I can’t speak.
Because for all my worrying, all my misplaced jealousy, all the tension I’d built up in my mind—this was never what I expected. And I still don’t know what it means. I don’t understand how this happened.
I exhale slowly, dragging my thoughts back into focus. Dante’s chest still rises and falls with uneven breaths, his skin gleaming with sweat, his muscles tight with lingering pain. Whatever liquor they forced on him is only dulling the edges. It won’t last.
I step toward him, my bare feet nearly silent against the stone floor.
His lids are heavy, the grey of his eyes a bold contrast to his lashes as he gazes at me. He shifts in the chair and then winces, freezing in place.
“You’re still in pain.”
“I can’t even focus on it completely.” He struggles through the words. “The alcohol in Bastos really fucks with your mind.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have to suffer anymore.” I step closer, holding my hands out, palms facing him. “Let me heal you.”
He watches me a bit longer, then exhales and leans back in the chair, giving me access.
When he nods, I inch closer, standing between his spread legs.
I unbutton his tunic completely and carefully remove it.
My fingers hover over the ink stretched across his skin.
His arm is still swollen, the lines red and raised, the fresh ink gleaming in the dim candlelight.
Gently, I press my hands against his shoulder, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his body tenses beneath my touch. I close my eyes and let my magic pulse outward, coaxing the pain away, easing the sting of the needle’s work.
For a moment, I’m afraid that my magic will force the ink out of his body, so I adjust, aiming my healing powers toward the inflammation without drawing out the artwork.
Dante lets out a slow breath, muscles relaxing as the worst of the pain fades.
“Talk to me,” I say softly. “What happened?”
He huffs a tired laugh, shaking his head. “I thought they were going to make me sword fight. Like in Podrosa.”
I smirk. “That, at least, you would’ve been prepared for.”
He grunts. “Instead, they dragged me into town. Into some loud, crowded pub. There were people everywhere—drinking, shouting, hands on me every time I turned around.” His jaw tightens slightly.
“The queens kept making me drink. More and more. Concoctions I’ve never tasted before. I was starting to lose focus.”
I keep my hands moving, my magic sinking deeper, soothing the raw edges of his flesh. “And then?”
“They led me to a back room,” he says, voice rough. “I thought—” He hesitates, dragging his free hand down his face. “There was a raised cot. I didn’t know what it was for. I thought maybe they were going to make me… participate in their kind of partying.”
I swallow because I had the same fear.
His eyes flick to mine. “The queens wouldn’t tell me what was happening. I didn’t know what to expect. I was checking the room for the quickest exit. Looking for something I could use as a weapon because Sir Donovan still had my falchion. And then, a man came out of the back room.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Oh, no.”
“He was a big guy. Wide, I mean. About a half a head shorter than me, but arms like Mylo’s. And for a minute, all I could think was… fuck.”
A laugh bursts free from my lips. My mind can’t help but conjure the image of Dante—drunk, brooding, and entirely out of his element—coming face to face with a man like that and not knowing what was expected.
“He told me to lie down—”
My laughter gets louder, and I have to hold my stomach.
Dante tries to glare at me, but I see the flicker of reluctant amusement in his eyes. “Then he took the needles out, and I spotted the ink. That’s when it started to make sense.”
I shake my head, finally composing myself as I examine the tattoo more closely. “So you chose this.”
His expression shifts, something raw and unguarded slipping through the exhaustion in his eyes. “Because of you,” he murmurs.
The words settle deep in my chest, making my heart stutter.
“What do you mean?” I think I know, but for some reason, I need to hear him say it.
“They’re peonies.” His eyes are locked with mine. “They remind me of you.”
I let out a shuddered breath.
“Not just because of our last night in Hedera, but that night at my manor. The first time we… made love.” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip.
“After you left, the next morning, I went outside to watch you ride off. All the peony bushes around the manor were in full bloom, the scent completely surrounding me.” He glances at his tattoo. “Now I have you with me wherever I go.”
My heart thrums. I find it hard to breathe. “It’s… I can’t even begin to describe how this makes me feel.”
He raises his free hand and softly caresses my cheek. Desire threads through my blood.
“Does it still hurt?” My voice is breathy.
His fingers find my waist, his thumb tracing small circles on my skin. “Not when I’m distracted.”