Chapter 28
Iwas at war with myself, and no one had ever taught me how to fight a losing battle. The previous winter, I’d been in the midst of the defense of our realm when the Demons were weeks away from taking Sivy, and still that was nothing compared to the struggle I faced now.
Sylaira unraveled me. She saw me to my core, even when I tried to hide it. Her words were swords and salves.
And after watching those males surround her, flirt with her? Surrendering to the cold embrace of numbness was impossible. The ice that encased my emotions had shattered, and the warming water was rising fast enough to drown me.
Every hour on the road from town to town was torment. Especially as my mate continued to join me on the driver’s bench.
Not to mention the self-restraint it took each night when I worked with Sylaira on exercises to strengthen her knee.
I told myself it was clinical; it had become far more than that.
My control over myself frayed, thread by thread. I was the one breaking. The male who stared back at me in the mirror was foreign.
All because of this fucking female, stretched out across the bed in front of me.
Sweat beaded her brow as I took her through the range of motion, and yet she didn’t complain. She never did, like a warrior trained for battle, born to breathe the fight. That inner strength, that defiant determination surpassed many of the males in my crew.
“Tell me something about dance,” I murmured as I put the deepest bend in her leg yet.
Her ice-blue eyes flicked up to meet mine, a heady mix of mistrust and curiosity storming in them. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “Figured it would distract you from the pain.”
“It’s not that bad,” she panted through a grimace.
I lifted an accusatory brow.
She blew out a breath. “Your pain tolerance is less than mine. The bond is merely relaying the actual intensity. But I’m not weak.”
“I never said you were.” Carefully, I extended her leg again.
Sylaira reached for a glass of water and downed the entire thing. With the back of her hand, she wiped her forehead. “I’m first class in Vaela?.”
I blinked at my mate. Vaela? was the most prestigious of the dancing arts. Should she have been raised noble or around Sivy, she would have been principal at any cultural center or theater with that certification. Very few achieved such a rank, even after hundreds of years of practice.
I realized then I didn’t actually know her age.
Bitterness coated my tongue. I knew so very little about her at all…except for all the ways I’d hurt her.
“That’s quite the accomplishment,” I noted. It was true, and I respected her dedication to the craft. But it didn’t absolve me of the sins I’d committed, burning every path that might have led to her success.
“The youngest in my tutor’s history,” she commented, pride leaking into her tone. This glimmer of confidence she offered me only served to twist obsession tighter in my chest.
“And who was your instructor?” I asked, unable to help myself. There were few teachers capable of assessing classes at that level. And since she had been raised among the Elessarum, I had a good guess as to who it was.
“Madame Daela,” she admitted freely. “I haven’t seen her in years, though.” Sylaira’s shoulders slumped, and the crown of her head fell, along with silky silver strands. “Before the raid that killed my parents, actually.”
Guilt speared into my gut. I didn’t temper it. Let it flow untempered between us so maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t return to viewing me as a monster based on the reminder. I wasn’t entirely certain if she’d believed my apology at the tavern.
“They must have been proud of you,” I commented, securing her foot and preparing to take her through the range of motion again.
Her gaze lingered on her thighs, fingers twisting together while I took her through two rotations. “They were.” The words were so quiet I thought I’d imagined her melodic voice among the silence. Grief, more acute than the agony in her knee, flooded our connection.
I welcomed it. Let it mingle with my own feelings.
If there was one thing we shared, it was this tempest. The confusion. The conflict.
It was so much better when I felt nothing at all.
“What is your favorite dance?” I asked her, hoping to lighten the mood. I didn’t want to lose her, not after I’d gotten her to open up about something so personal. After she’d been letting me in, slowly, with each passing day.
“Sleeping Maiden,” she sighed, fists tightening subtly in the blankets.
“I’d always imagined playing the maiden one day before the royal court.
” Finally, she met my gaze again. “But that was a foolish child’s dream.
When I was older and understood the principles of Elessarum, I never wanted to meet the Koron and Korona, let alone share my passion with them. They don’t deserve it.”
Her dream was a delicate thing; I was a male made for breaking.
“You’re probably right about that,” I found myself saying. Especially my fucking sister. She’d mine these diamonds from my mate and grow even more brittle for it. She was a jealous, jealous female. Anything she even slightly perceived as a threat sent her into a state of agitation.
And Stadiel?
Well, he made me glad I’d been born male.
Sylaira cocked her head and studied me. “How do you know so much about Vaela??”
I straightened her out again, then dug my fingers into the bottom of her foot, massaging slow circles. The healer had told me keeping the muscles loose and supple was important, especially if she wanted to perch on her toes again.
This had all started from duty—hunting her, then helping her heal her injury. Yet now, after hearing just how accomplished she was, nothing was going to stop me from ensuring she twirled for me. It was a selfish, greedy desire. Something that went against everything I should have been.
If she danced again—because of me—maybe, just maybe, she’d stop looking at me like I was the male who ruined her life.
A low groan slipped out of her, brows relaxing. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It will help you point again.”
A heartbeat passed, then another, as I continued to work on her foot.
Finally, she spoke, soft and low. “It will. But again, how do you know that?”
“I am the head of House R?viel. I grew up noble.” That reminder allotted me a semblance of sanity again. I knew who I was—the emotionless, dutiful brother of the Korona. The Issaraeth. A leader in his own right.
“My father insisted that we were cultured. He thought it would help my sister land in the bed of someone important. Someone more powerful than he was.”
“I see,” she commented.
“House R?viel was not always at Herr level. Before Iaoth married Stadiel, it was Kisst,” I added, wondering if she had known that.
“Really?” she questioned.
That gave me some answers about her age—she was young enough that she wasn’t around for the transition. It had caused quite a stir, so fresh after Stadiel had won his throne, to elevate my house and kick another down.
But he was a political puppeteer, more ruthless and cunning than even my own sire.
“Aye.” Finished massaging her foot, I moved to her calf. I couldn’t deny that I savored the chance to touch her.
I knew I could never truly have her. Not fully. Not freely.
She’d never willingly choose me, and I had to accept that.
Another sultry moan escaped her. “Fuck, that feels good.”
The sound sliced me like a blade. I wasn’t built to resist—to survive—a noise like that. Not anymore. Not when the bond twisted tighter like a noose.
A low rumble vibrated in my chest. “Still want me to stop?”
“No,” she breathed, a small laugh accompanying the word. Damn the moans, I wanted to hear more of that.
Silence stretched between us as I worked my way up her bare leg. Her skin was like silk between my fingers. Lightning arced over every nerve as I drifted to a new spot. Every sense was focused on what she felt, ensuring I wasn’t pressing too close to her injury and harming her further.
Yet I couldn’t shake the sense that I was still the monster she was keeping at arm’s length.
She watched me the entire time, coiled tight like she was about to spin into a starleap. I scooted higher along the edge of the bed, hand wrapping around her thigh. My thumbs dug into the center, and her lips parted slightly, like she was holding something back.
Her breath hitched. Fled entirely when I trailed higher, creeping closer to the apex of her thighs, hidden by the tunic swallowing her lithe frame. Supple muscles relaxed under my care, only to tighten in time with the chain linking us together.
Like a feral beast, it demanded I claim something from my mate.
These touches were not satiating its desire.
Or mine.
Fury and self-loathing slithered in my veins from how much I was enjoying this.
“Tell me something good you did.”
The request caught me off guard, and I stared at Sylaira.
Good and me in the same sentence?
The earnestness in her gaze made me want to confess every act of kindness, no matter how small, if only to offset the list of grievances she carried against me.
“Other than saving Ilae and Ysolthe’s clutch? I don’t force my svaethi to tithe.”
There wasn’t much good I was allowed to do, given my position. My duty was to enforce the rules my sister and the Koron laid out. But this one, in my svaethi, I’d abolished once my father died.
Her mouth dropped open fully then. “You’re lying.”
“Never to you,” I murmured. “There would be no point when our every thought and feeling are shared.”
“Unless I’m blocking you out,” she countered.
A smirk tugged up the corner of my lips. “Which you do exceptionally well. But no, I have no need of their crops or coin. I haven’t been there in…a long time. They are better off keeping it or selling it. All my needs are taken care of by the crown.”