17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
I ’m still in Asheros’s arms when I wake the next morning. It would seem that neither of us moved throughout the night, arms and legs still entangled the way they were when I closed my eyes.
Asheros sleeps soundly, his chest rising and falling with each inhale. There’s no sign of the calm, collected, and calculated male that I’m so used to seeing. His mouth is free from his wicked smirk, white-blond hair falling in front of his eyes.
Without thinking, I brush it back. The moment I realize what I’ve done, I freeze. But he doesn’t stir, and I relax. Studying his features, I can’t help but notice how beautiful he is. Seeing him this way, this peaceful—this at ease—shows me a side of him I’ve never seen before.
My chest pangs. What happened that made him learn to build so many walls?
Perhaps we’re both wounded in ways no one else can see.
My gaze falls to his bare chest, to the toned muscle I see there. Remembering what happened last night, my heart leaps into my throat, my breath catching, and I raise my fingertips to my mouth. The memory of his touch, of his lips on mine, lingers on my body, sending a rush of heat to my cheeks.
Gods above, Lymseia. What have you gotten yourself into?
Before I can consider the thought, Asheros’s brows pinch together, then he opens his eyes and reaches his arms above his head in a stretch.
“Morning,” he says. That effortlessly smooth quality returns to his demeanor. Clasping his hands, he rests them beneath his head. “Sleep well?”
I purse my lips, channeling some of his confidence. “Well enough.”
“Well enough, you say?” he echoes, brows rising. Rising to a sitting position, he leans forward and casually rests his forearms against his thighs. “I have it on good authority you slept like a baby.” He smirks, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. “In fact, you may have even snored.”
My jaw drops with playful offense. I shove him. “I do not .”
Asheros laughs, holding up his palms in surrender. “I’m only the messenger.”
Rolling my eyes, I move to stand.
Asheros clasps my wrist and pulls me back. Pulls me to him. I turn to him when he does, and our gazes lock instantly.
“What?” I ask, suddenly breathless.
“Last night… You were….” His voice trails off and his eyes search my face, falling to my lips. “Gods-damn it, Bladesinger,” he growls, running a hand through his hair, like he’s frustrated by what he’s about to say. “My body calls to you.”
Adrenaline gathers in my stomach the way it would if I was about to step into the ring for a sparring match.
Only, this is so much more powerful and all-consuming. Like I’m abuzz with energy.
“Just your body?” I ask, my voice dropping.
Asheros holds my gaze, not once wavering. “You know the answer to that, Bladesinger.”
Thrilling elation dances across my skin. Because gods-damn me, my body calls to his, too.
And not just my body.
My soul.
I bite my lower lip to suppress my grin.
Captivated by the other, neither of us moves, caught by the confessions we’ve just made, whether spoken aloud or not.
“Wakey-wakey, love birds,” Ronan hollers outside our tent amidst a chorus of snickering sounds. “Get your asses out here.”
Touching the pads of his fingers to his forehead, Asheros sighs. He stands, and holding an outstretched hand for me says, “Come. Let’s not give them any more material to use against us.”
Chuckling, I take his hand and let him help me up. Mostly dry now, my shirt no longer grips my skin, nor does my hair feel damp. Though, given how wet it was last night, I know there are dreaded tangles I’ll need to work through.
Asheros’s own hair is dry, though unlike mine, his falls perfectly over his face. His pants are still a shade or two darker than they should be, thanks to persisting dampness.
“Will you be all right with those?” I ask, pointing to his pants.
“They’ll be dry soon enough,” he assures me, glancing down at them. “Why?” His eyes darken, and he arches a platinum brow. “Would you like to see me without them?”
Gods, yes.
“You wish,” I say instead, pushing my way through the tent’s flap. In the corner of my eye, I see him grinning and shaking his head slightly.
My chest has a weightless quality to it, as if I’m filled with something lighter than air. The lightness I feel is strange and unfamiliar, though not unwelcome. Although, I’ve never felt quite like this. Even with Viridian and Myrdin. It makes me wonder how much emotional weight I carry, even in times when I can lay my burdens to rest .
“Finally,” Ronan groans, drawing out the word.
He, Kheldryn, and Gryska are gathered a few paces outside of our tent. Looking over Ronan’s shoulder, I see Savell and Orim tending to the horses. The other tents have already been broken down and wait in a pile at the center of camp.
Ronan glances at Kheldryn and Gryska. “We thought you’d be in there forever.”
“Apologies,” Asheros says, brushing his hair back off his face. His cheeks are flushed, though, and given the cool breeze, I doubt it’s from the temperature. “We awoke later than expected.”
“Tired, my lord?” Kheldryn asks, waggling her brows. I can tell she’s enjoying this.
Asheros’s facial features pinch together, his eyes narrowed. “Not for the reasons you think.”
“Oh, had some trouble sleeping, did ya?” Gryska booms, elbowing Kheldryn. Crossing her arms, she adds a suggestive look. “I wonder why.”
Ronan cackles, throwing his head back in laughter. Asheros’s look shoots daggers his way, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the remarks.
I tilt my head down, mouth parted with amusement.
Asheros raises a pointed finger, mouth open as if he’s about to admonish them.
I rest my palm on his upper arm, and he immediately turns to face me. “It’s all right. Let them have this. ”
His demeanor softens, and the mask of the composed fae lord falls. Asheros, the real Asheros, looks back at me, the corner of his mouth perked upward. “Whatever you say, my Bladesinger.”
My Bladesinger?
Gods-damn me, my heart flutters. He’s never phrased his nickname for me like that before. It renders me unable to do anything but stare, which earns Kheldryn’s attention. She doesn’t say anything, thank the gods, but I feel her gaze slip between me and Asheros, who doesn’t seem to pay her any mind, a captivating grin playing at his mouth.
Not his usual, wicked, and self-satisfied smirk.
No, it’s a true, genuine smile. As if seeing me flustered by his simple use of the possessive before my nickname makes his heart soar.
Focus, Lymseia , I urge myself, though I know it’s of no use. When it comes to this male, I’m already too far gone.
“When you two are done gazing into each other’s eyes,” Savell calls, the hint of humor underlying his tone, “we’ll continue on to Esvelon.”
I straighten my back, firmly pressing my arms to my sides. Embarrassment heats my cheeks, and I cock my head toward Savell.
With the corners of his mouth tugged upward, he shakes his head and tightens the pack hanging from his saddle.
“Come,” Asheros says, nudging me with his arm. The softness fades from his expression and hard lines form at his jaw. “Our killer is waiting.”
Our killer.
Vorr’s murderer. The one poised to shatter our kingdom.
Taking a breath, I renew my focus. Once, I believed Asheros Larmanne to be a distraction. Now, I know that’s far from true.
He is my motivation.
If Vorr’s killer is successful, they’ll destroy Viridian and Cryssa’s reign and unleash war between the five Courts. So much hangs in the balance. War always costs lives. But not only must I bring Vorr’s murderer to justice to save my friends’ rule and prevent an all-out war, but I must also do so to protect the male who is slowly, but surely, staking his claim to my heart.