Chapter Thirty
My eyes fly open and I bolt upright with a gasp.
A sharp, stabbing pain rips through me, causing me to collapse in sobs. Clutching my side, breathing ragged and shallow, the tears flow hot down my cheeks.
I lie there, as still as possible, doing my best to breathe through the pain. Blinking through the brightness of the sunlight that pours into the room, my muscles begin to relax as the pain subsides.
I refuse to move.
Instead, the room comes into focus as my eyes adjust to the light.
I notice several things at once.
First, I’m disgustingly soaked in sweat.
It’s as if I’ve run for miles in the hot sun.
Second, I’m in Ryc’s bedroom. Again. Third, despite the pain, the darkness I’ve carried with me feels lighter.
Not by much, but enough to notice. Last, and likely the most important, I should have awoken in the hells.
I should be dead.
My eyes drift to the foot of the bed where a small pile of folded clothing and a towel rest. I definitely need a bath or shower. Just from the quick glance of my hands and arms, I’m covered in dried blood, both red from the harpies and the silver of my own, and tacky with sweat.
I don’t just feel disgusting, I am disgusting.
Drawing in as deep a breath as I dare to manage, my upright ascent is slow and painful.
Grimacing against the pain, my feet slide to the floor, the cool of the lacquered wood a welcome sensation upon the soles of my bare feet, but I remain seated.
Waiting for the energy to push myself from the bed, the door behind me opens.
A wave of relief that isn’t my own washes over me as I toss a glance over my shoulder. It’s Ryc’s, coming through our channel like a much needed breath of cool air.
The intensity of his relief takes me by surprise.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. His voice is quiet and reserved.
Honestly? Like death.
I stare at the floor, considering my answer.
“I’m fine.” My voice is hoarse, betraying my statement.
My own screams echo in my head. Flashes of Cora, of harpies, of blood, of Kassil…
The soft footfalls of Ryc’s approach pull me from the thoughts.
He wants me to hear him, fae move silently otherwise.
Such a small kindness I would have never considered.
As I continue to stare at my feet, he moves around the bed to sit beside me.
His weight bows the mattress, my left side pressing into him.
“You had me worried, little demon,” he says, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. “You had everyone worried.”
My shame consumes me, twisting my stomach and clenching my heart. I scoff and shake my head.
“You should have let me die,” I whisper.
“I’m not going to do that,” Ryc responds, his voice quiet, gentle and I can feel his eyes on me. He folds his hands in his lap.
“He’s dead.” It isn’t a question coming from me.
“Yes.”
Slowly, I nod.
“Lilith found the contract, but it burst into hellfire shortly after. Ashes remain.”
“Good.” My lip curls as I recall Netharis’ signature on the line. “Have Eve burn its ashes with hellfire.”
Ryc looks at me, questions about Eve lingering behind his eyes. He doesn’t voice them. Instead, he asks, “What can I do for you? I’m sure none of this is easy.”
Tears threaten to appear behind my eyes and I lift my face to stare out the window, blinking rapidly to keep them at bay.
“Promise me you’ll never treat me like a trophy,” I whisper, my vision blurring. “A thing to try and possess.”
“You’re my equal, little demon,” Ryc says quietly, drawing me into him with a gentle arm around my waist. “I do not seek to possess you, but wish to simply share my life with you.”
I welcome the touch, the closeness, and rest my head against his shoulder.
“I will always revere, honor, and encourage you.”
“Why?” My voice is no more than a whisper as I stare at his hand in his lap. My hand reaches out, entwining my fingers into his.
I’m too tired to fight against the things I feel.
“Because together, we are stronger.” His fingers tighten around mine.
It’s an answer that isn’t truly an answer, but I’ll accept it for now. I’m too numb to argue for anything more.
“Cora?” I ask weakly.
“Gone,” Ryc answers into my hair, kissing the top of my head and my tears fall. “I’m sorry.”
Oh gods, Cora.
She didn’t deserve this.
The black ribbon falling from Kassil’s fingers, the look upon her face, the sound of her scream—all of it replays itself in my head and guilt rips through me without mercy.
I’m so, so sorry.
I don’t bother to stifle the short sob and let the tears flow without restraint now, my heart splintering.
“Eve?” I manage through a shuddering breath.
“Attending Cora’s care,” he answers softly.
Another sob seizes my chest.
This is my fault. If I hadn’t… If she didn’t carry my scent… all of the mistakes leading up to that moment make themselves as clear and jagged as shards of glass.
How am I to ever face Eve?
Overcome with exhaustion, I separate from Ryc, and curl into the center of the bed. Pulling my knees to my chest, I close my eyes and silently let the tears flow. The bed shifts as Ryc rises, the sound of his footsteps moving around the bed, toward the door.
He’s leaving me to mourn.
Yet I don’t hear the door open, instead the bed shifts again.
Opening my eyes, I glance over my shoulder.
Ryc slides into the bed, turning on to his side, as he pulls me into him.
Any other day, I’d resist, but today, his warmth is exactly what I need.
He wraps an arm around my waist, leaving no room between us, and his furnace-like heat sinks into my sore muscles and bones.
My body moves on instinct, legs entwining with his, my hand seeking his over my waist. It works itself under his, fingers braiding into his, before pulling his hand up to the center of my chest where he pulls me in tighter.
Greedily, I soak up his offered warmth, his presence, his attention, everything. I don’t care about the implications of being entangled in a bed with the Sovereign King. He isn’t the Sovereign King right now.
Right now, he’s just Ryc.
And I’ve never felt safer.
“The best healer in the city is due soon,” Ryc speaks quietly behind me, and I give him a slow nod. “You rest. I’ll be right here. When you wake, you’ll feel better, and we’ll have dinner.”
He makes it sound so easy, routine, as if we’ve done this for centuries.
And for a split second, I allow myself to imagine what a life with him would look like.
The thought causes pangs of bittersweet to pulse in my heart.
If we weren’t who we are, we could continue to have moments like this for centuries.
But he’s the Sovereign King of Erus, and I’m a daughter of death.
Everyone knows demons don’t get faerietale endings.
?????????????
The second time I wake is much less painful than the first.
Whatever healer Ryc had sent for deserves far more than gold for their service. No lingering pain or soreness, and my side bears no evidence of injury. My mind is still tired, and my innate slowly recovering—as I’d pushed too hard against Kassil—but those aren’t things a healer can address.
Neither are the proverbial rips and tears in my heart mourning the loss of Cora. Nor the guilt that eats at me. Lacking the resolve to stop myself, I ruminate and fester on last night’s tragedy, toiling on what I could have done differently.
There’s much I could have done differently.
I may not be the greatest fighter or warrior, and it’s because of this I wasn’t able to reach Cora quickly enough. If I’d just been faster—
“Guilt will get you nowhere, little demon,” Ryc whispers behind me, his arm tightening around me.
It’s not guilt.
Not entirely.
“I am capable of more. Eve doesn’t deserve to lose Cora,” I respond, staring blankly at the wall, my tone devoid of feeling. “And Cora didn’t deserve to lose her life.”
It’s self-loathing, and guilt, and mourning, and sorrow, and anger.
All of the emotions wrap themselves around my darkened heart and threaten to squeeze the life from it. I could have done more. I could have been faster. I shouldn’t have given her my hair ribbon knowing the hells would soon have information on where I was.
Cora is—was—innocence.
It shouldn’t have been her to die.
It should have been me.
In a weak attempt to save myself from my spiraling thoughts, I roll to face Ryc. His eyes open, a brow arching. The way his hair falls into his eyes and how he stares at me through the dark curtain—the concern in his eyes is clear.
I frame his face with my hands, and a small, lazy smirk tilts his lips.
“I never thanked you.” I don’t mean for the words to sound hollow, but they do.
Ryc laughs, a soft and quiet sound. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“Even so,” I counter as I lean in and place a soft kiss upon his lips. His arm tightens around me in a possessive grasp.
I draw back, searching his face and he does the same.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Behind Ryc, the bedroom door opens, and an older human woman enters the bedroom.
“Your Majesty, if you wish to be ready in time for dinner, I suggest you get out of bed.” she chirps as she moves across the room to throw back the curtains.
As curtains scrape against their rods, light from the late afternoon sun floods the room. It causes my eyes to water and become narrow slits. At the same time, this woman addressing Ryc as your majesty brings the reality of our situation crashing into me.
It’s a reality I want to ignore for just a little while longer. Let reality lie outside of this bedroom, let me have this. Please.
Ryc shields his eyes with a hand and begins to laugh.
“Oraphia, surely you can give us more time,” he says laughing, attempting to squint in her direction. “Ves was in the middle of thanking me. I’d like to hear more.”
A weak laugh escapes me, followed immediately by a wince.