Chapter 51 #2
Thalassis took a step backward and dipped his head in Rìan's direction. “I didn't mean to keep you, Elowen,” he said, retreating another pace. “How gracious of you, Aedric, to lend your mate to me for so long.”
Rìan smiled, but it promised a slow, painful death. “Anytime.”
Judging by the way Thalassis averted his gaze, the warning had landed—even if he believed it had come from Aedric.
“Wait,” I called.
He paused and glanced back over his shoulder.
“I wouldn't mind a proper tour of Pelaga. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
His blue eyes flicked to Rìan beside me, waiting for an objection. None came. Even so, I didn't need to look to feel his stare burning into the side of my face.
“Lady's choice,” Rìan said through gritted teeth.
“Excellent.” I clapped my hands together.
“After breakfast?” Thalassis suggested politely. Whatever warmth the Ambrosia had coaxed from him moments before had vanished, replaced by the careful deference of a High Lord addressing another male's mate.
“Wonderful.”
He bowed once more before disappearing into the crowd.
I watched him go, then angrily shoved an errant lock of hair behind my ear.
“What the hell was that?”
“He was getting too close.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “What concern is it of yours?”
“You've taken Ambrosia.”
“So have you.”
“Yes,” he said pointedly. “But I'm not the one who can't control herself.”
A spark of indignation flared through me.
“Excuse me?” I took another step closer, close enough that I was breathing his air. “All we did was dance.”
“If that were all it was,” he said evenly, “I wouldn't have intervened.”
I let out an incredulous laugh.
“If you wanted to dance with me, Aedric, all you had to do was ask.”
The words escaped before I had the chance to swallow them.
The ballroom around us softened into a blur, bands of color gliding across his skin.
The silence between us stretched, the music fading beneath the relentless pull of the bond.
For one breathless, stomach-dropping moment, I thought he might actually do it.
That he might close the distance between us, take my hand—
“No.”
For one confusing heartbeat, disappointment opened inside me, hot enough to sting my cheeks, before irritation swept in to mercifully bury it.
I straightened, regaining my composure. “It might be worth noting that I provided the distraction you needed for tomorrow.”
“Noted.”
He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in just above my elbow as he steered me toward the exit.
I twisted against his grip. “I’m not ready to leave.”
The movement only drew curious glances. His hold tightened, hard enough to bruise, and he bent close, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You'd think after your little performance in Illyra, you'd know better.”
All at once the memory crashed over me. Heat flooded my face so violently I thought I might burst into flame. With everything that had happened, I'd had no time to dwell on what I'd done when my magic had taken control.
When I’d lost myself. In front of him.
The Ambrosia only made it worse. My humiliation swelled until it was almost physical, embarrassment burning so fiercely beneath my skin that it hurt to breathe. My eyes stung with the sudden threat of tears.
Seven hells. I hated Ambrosia.
I ripped my arm out of his grasp and stomped ahead of him, out of the chamber and into the corridors beyond.
He followed at an unhurried pace, saying nothing, until I realized—with no small amount of annoyance—that despite being the one in front, he'd somehow still managed to herd me exactly where he'd wanted me. Like a sheep.
He closed the door behind us, leaving the apartment bathed in dimness, the only light the ghostly luminescence of the ocean beyond the windows, washing the chambers in spectral blue-green.
I stormed straight to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me before ripping my hair free from its intricate updo, sending pins scattering across the vanity as I yanked them out one after another.
The air was still oppressively humid despite the magic that held back the sea and kept the palace at a comfortable temperature.
Within seconds, my hair was plastered to the sweat gathering along my back.
Muttering beneath my breath, I reached behind me for the row of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons fastening my gown.
Why were there so many fucking buttons?
I couldn't reach half of them, and the ones I managed to touch slipped uselessly beneath my damp fingers.
The room still swayed faintly beneath my feet, the Ambrosia turning every small frustration into a monumental one. I twisted this way and that, straining to reach the endless line of buttons marching down my back. My gown tangled around my legs.
With an undignified yelp, I crashed to the floor, taking a small side table down with me. A vase toppled, shattering across the tiles.
My bedroom door burst open.
Rìan all but flew inside, an iron blade already in his hand, his eyes sweeping the room for an attacker before they landed on me, an inelegant heap amidst the wreckage.
His brows lifted, and his grip loosened, the dagger lowering to his side.
Heat crept up my neck all over again.
"It's the damned dress," I muttered, wrenching off one sandal, then the other, before hurling them both into a corner. "I can't get it undone."
A quiet sound escaped him, almost a huff. I snapped my head up.
"Are you laughing at me?"
He slid the knife back into its sheath without taking his eyes off me.
"Yes."
I drew in a breath, fully prepared to unleash every curse word I'd ever learned.
Instead, he held out his hand.
I eyed it for a long moment before finally slipping mine into it. He pulled me effortlessly to my feet, as though I weighed nothing at all. The moment I was steady, I pulled away, turning this way and that as I fumbled behind me.
Behind me, he watched in silence.
I let out a frustrated sound and twisted farther, determined to undo at least one of the godsdamned things.
He stepped forward. "Let me."
"Absolutely not."
Before I could move away, his hands settled lightly on my shoulders—large, dry, warm—turning me until I faced the mirror. He came to a stop behind me, his reflection towering over mine, both of us standing stiffly in the silence.
The radiance that had illuminated his eyes throughout the evening had faded now, the power he'd wielded over the Court of Pelaga no longer necessary now that we were alone. His dark gaze found mine in the mirror for the briefest heartbeat before dropping to the row of fastenings at my back.
I wasn't sure I was even breathing as he slowly gathered the heavy curtain of my hair and drew it over my shoulder. His knuckles brushed the side of my neck, the lightest of touches, and yet it felt as though he'd traced fire across my skin.
Suddenly, he was everywhere.
The Ambrosia sharpened every sensation until it was unbearable.
I could feel the warmth radiating from him at my back.
Hear the quiet rise and fall of his breathing.
As he reached for the first button at my nape, he stepped that little bit closer, and his scent enveloped me.
Clean leather. Wind. And beneath it all, that familiar crackling wildness, like the charged air before a storm. Unmistakably him.
He slipped it free. His hands followed the long line down my back, patiently easing each one from its loop.
His fingertips accidentally grazed my spine, rough callouses brushing my skin, and I couldn't stop the shiver that raced through me at the unexpected touch.
They were strong, capable hands. Hands that had dealt killing blows and committed unspeakable atrocities.
Yet here they moved with a patience and gentleness I'd never imagined him capable of.
I fixed my gaze stubbornly on my own reflection, refusing to look at him, though the frantic pulse fluttering in my throat betrayed me in the mirror.
He cleared his throat. "There are… a lot of buttons.”
A snort escaped me before I could stop it, sudden and thoroughly unladylike. I squeezed my eyes shut in renewed mortification. When I opened them again, I caught his reflection in the mirror just as the corners of his mouth lifted.
That smile again.
It came quietly, as though it had slipped past his guard without him noticing.
The solemn reserve that always defined him eased away, revealing a softness and openness I'd only ever glimpsed once before.
It wasn't dazzling like the sun, demanding to be seen.
It was beautiful in the way the moon was beautiful—gentle enough that you only appreciated it if you took the time to look.
And then, carved deep into his cheek, the damned dimple winked into existence.
Seeing it there felt strangely intimate, as though I'd stumbled upon something I was never meant to witness. I found myself unable to look away, riveted by his reflection as he remained completely absorbed in the careful work of his hands.
I had the ridiculous urge to turn around. To see him properly, up close.
I didn't.
The Ambrosia had already stripped away enough of my dignity for one evening. I wasn't about to surrender what little of it I had left.
I fiddled with my fingers, not knowing what else to do, as I studied his face. The last time we'd looked at each other through a mirror…
Oh gods.
The way my magic had reached for him. Desired him. It had tried to ensnare him, and I’d been powerless to stop it. And afterward… his rejection.
As though he sensed the shift in me, his gaze lifted to meet mine in the mirror. The smile slipped from his face as he took in my expression. His fingers stilled at my back, but he didn't move away.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "For what happened in Illyra. That wasn't... I would never... And with you..."
The words tangled in my throat.
"Had I been in control," I added hurriedly, "I assure you, seducing you would've been the last thing on my mind."
He exhaled, his breath a caress on the back of my neck.