Chapter 69
Gideon
Gideon Sage didn’t think he’d ever have cause to see his family’s home again.
Yet there he stood.
In front of the cottage that held some of his best memories, and some of Evie’s worst.
After Lyssa had transformed the kitchens, she’d pulled him aside, twirling prettily in her sparkling tulle dress, and made a request of him.
To find all the stories she’d written and left behind.
He couldn’t deny her. He was tired of letting down his sisters.
There had been no time to consider how he’d react to the place.
He assessed it now, his eyes roaming greedily over every detail.
The thatched roof that he’d repaired with his father when he was just twelve had held up.
The flowers lining the walk that their mother had planted continued to bloom, and the dew still formed on the grass as it always had.
The only thing that appeared to be any different was him.
“So, this is where you grew up?” The voice startled him, and he unsheathed his blade and aimed before he realized who it belonged to. Captain Keeley stared down at the knife with amusement. “You going to run me through, Sir Knight?”
Gideon scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. As if a mere blade would be enough to dispatch you.”
Keeley tilted her head. Her hair was loose—because she wanted to torture him, apparently—and she still was in not her Malevolent leathers but the magical outfit Lyssa had gifted her with.
Her shoulders were bared by the gauzy white top, her small waist cinched by a white-and-gold corset that made her lovely skin look radiant with the rising sun as a backdrop.
Gideon had been to all manner of brothels in the kingdom’s capital, as the Valiant Guards were frequent visitors and their most generous patrons. He’d seen many naked women’s bodies without a blush. He’d even had his way with one or two willing participants from said establishments.
There was no reason for him to lose himself over Keeley’s collarbones.
“What would it take?” Keeley asked.
Gideon blinked, disoriented. “What?”
Keeley rubbed her lips together. “To dispatch me. What would it take, do you think?”
“I do not know. An army.” Gideon turned toward the cottage, needing the distraction of childhood trauma.
“So, this is your childhood home,” she said, her breath brushing the back of his neck.
“It appears to be.”
Keeley leaned her elbow on his shoulder, in a gesture so casual another person watching the scene would think they did this every day.
He wished they could. But the bright star he used to wish upon wasn’t there. It would never be there again. His mother.
Gideon’s thoughts grew loud.
You failed your family.
You failed your sisters.
You never should have come back.
And then Keeley shattered them all. “It’s not the abandoned tower I grew up in, but the tulips are nice.”
He was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude. When one descended into the dark of their mind, it was always lovely to have a companion. “I wish I had met you sooner,” he murmured, and her golden eyes widened.
She didn’t respond, just started walking toward his house.
“Where in the deadlands do you think you’re going?”
“To see your house. Isn’t that why you came?” Keeley threw open the door and entered without turning around, and Gideon hurried after her, stumbling over his own feet to keep up.
Gideon threw the door wide open and found her already making herself comfortable.
He was so arrested by the image of her quietly perusing a bookshelf in the living room that he began to have somewhat peculiar delusions.
Of the two of them living there, raising a few demon children, Gideon taking up gardening.
He shook his head, holding his temples, alarmed.
“I’m inclined to ask if it’s Evie or your father who has such an intense taste for erotica. But I’m really hoping it’s your sister.” Keeley scanned the shelves, pulling down a small paperback.
And Gideon grew more alarmed.
She opened the book, riffling through the pages. “Oh my. Is this position even possible?”
“Would you like to try?” Gideon suggested, then grunted when a throw pillow slapped against his face. “But yes, I’m sure those are Evie’s.”
Keeley squinted back at the modest bookshelf, digging for another piece of his family.
She pulled down a few more books—an almanac, a cookbook—then drew a bound pile of parchment from the shelf, staring at the top page with a mix of fascination and amusement.
“Trystan and the Lost Princess. By Lyssa Sage.”
His lip tugged upward. “Let me see.” They both sat down next to each other on the sofa, their legs brushing together, their eyes locking in a moment of tension, a heartbeat, and then she was tossing the books and papers into his lap.
Clearing his throat, he stared down at the work. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”
Keeley hummed her agreement, leaning over his shoulder as he paged through the ten-year-old’s story. “She’s got a big imagination. That is a gift.”
“Don’t all children?” Gideon mused.
“I suppose in a sense. But not all are allowed to let it flourish. Your sister did a very good job with Lyssa; you can see that she’s fearless in who she is.” Keeley frowned, fixating on something on one of the later pages. “Huh.”
“What?” Gideon leaned over, tried to find what she saw, but when he looked up to catch her eyes, their faces were inches apart. He broke.
“If I kiss you right now, what are the chances out of ten you’ll slap me?”
“Six,” Keeley breathed.
“I’ll take those odds,” he rasped, threading his hands through her hair and pulling her lips to his, sipping at her like it was essential to life, to his next breath, and she responded in turn. Clutching at his shirt, encouraging him atop her until the pages and books fell to the ground.
She pulled his shirt from his trousers, her cold hands finding the flat of his stomach, and he hissed out a breath from the shock and the pleasure that immediately followed her touch.
His lips found any part of her he could reach, brushing down her cheeks, over her jaw, down the delicate slope of her neck.
“Gideon?” Keeley’s voice was questioning, and Gideon noted how she froze beneath him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, sitting himself up, running a hand through his hair. “I got carried away.”
“No, Gideon, look.” Keeley pointed down toward the old cookbook. It had hit the ground with a thud, falling open to a section of hollowed-out pages.
And what they saw…were not recipes.