Chapter 17 Astrid #3
“ ‘Rescuing’ is an interesting choice of words, Prince,” Astrid says bluntly. Rescue implies that Zryan believes they need saving—and if he thinks that, then it’s not too much of a leap to think he might not agree with the conscription.
Zryan’s eyes capture hers. “Apologies, Princess. I obviously misspoke. The rebels are… disruptors rather than murderers. On the whole anyway. There will always be extremes in any group, and I’m sure the rebels have theirs—people who are capable of and have the means to hire assassins, people with strong republican sentiment. We shouldn’t rule them out.”
“No. I suppose we shouldn’t.” And who the Hel else could it be if not these rebels?
WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH THE CORPSE? Bastet asks, and Zryan drags his focus to her familiar. The image of Zryan cradling Bastet to his powerful body flashes in her mind’s eye, and an intense ball of heat grows low in her belly.
“Bastet, is it?” he asks. “The Princess’s actual familiar, I presume.”
INDEED. Bastet narrows his eyes, adding, HOW DID YOU KNOW WE WERE IN NEED OF AID?
“I was walking below your balcony when I heard the princess scream. You have the doors open.”
“No one else heard me scream.” Which is a good point: Why didn’t Fionn come in when she called them? Surely they heard the commotion?
“The bedrooms are all soundproofed,” he says. “For reasons I’m sure you can guess.” His lips curve wickedly and she feels her cheeks flame.
“Why were you even by my window in the middle of the night?”
“I’ve been out. I was headed back into the castle when I heard you.”
She notices his clothes then. He’s wearing another sleeveless shirt, this one hooded—his muscled arms sensational in it, if she’s being honest—and black pants to match, looking for all the world like any regular citizen of Vatra.
Although Zryan could never pass for regular anything.
His presence is overwhelming, his gravitational pull more akin to that of a moon than a man.
“Where have you been?”
He lifts a brow. “So many questions, Princess. As I said, I’ve been out.”
“Out hiring assassins?” She knows full well Zryan isn’t behind this—it’s impossible he could be—and anyway, why the dramatic rescue if he was? She’s not sure why she’s baiting him, but something in her thrills her to do so.
His eyes darken, sucking her in like an abyss.
Oh Goddess, the way he’s looking at her—she knows she should be terrified, but that’s the last thing she feels.
He prowls toward her, movements languid, then leans over and braces his hands on the back of the sofa on either side of her head, eclipsing everything else.
He lowers his face until there are mere inches between them.
His nose is slightly crooked—obviously broken in the past. It only makes him more attractive.
“We’ve spoken about this.” His deep voice has a dangerous edge to it. “You will not die by my hand. In fact, you won’t die by any hand—not yet.”
Not yet. Not until the duel. When he needs her to die.
“Why not let them kill me? You could have saved your kingdom and kept the Heart, reclaimed your right to the throne—all you had to do was sacrifice me and your sister.” She can’t help the shake in her voice, the anger vibrating through her.
They stare each other down, or rather, he stares down at her while she strains her neck to glare at him, and she’s stunned to see pink tinge his cheeks.
“Assassins came for me,” he eventually says.
“They killed someone important to me, someone very important to a close friend of mine. That person died to save me. No matter the predicament Vatra might find itself in right now, I will never stoop so low as to allow another cowardly fucking cutthroat to kill someone while they’re in my home.
You are under my protection until the duel.
” The way he’s looking at her makes her skin tingle. “You and Skylar both.”
He’s somehow closer now, so close she can smell the mint on his breath, see the black rings around his silver irises. She needs distance. Needs a big bucket of water.
“My dad died to save me, too,” she says. “Died because of me. I could barely live with myself after—it just seemed so wasteful. That he’d die for a dead woman.” She has no idea why she’s saying this, to him of all people. “I’m sorry, about… your person.”
He straightens, regarding her. “It’s the cost of what we were born into.” He says this bluntly, though there’s a softness in his tone, and she notices the way he brings his hand to his torso, absently running his fingers down the center of it. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Neither of them speaks for a moment, allowing what’s just passed between them to settle.
“I know your mother didn’t tell you what she was planning,” Zryan says. “I saw your face when she brought Skylar in, how shocked you were.”
She’s about to deny it when she understands why he’s telling her. He wants her to know he doesn’t think badly of her. Doesn’t think she’s some coward, too, a coward who chose a missing bastard-born girl to take her place to die. Goddess, and she finds she cares what he thinks.
The syrupy tension in the room has a new texture and she needs to break it, needs to move them to safer ground.
“No, she didn’t. And I know your dad didn’t tell you about the dance.”
He barks a laugh, incredulous. “I don’t think the two scenarios are comparable. You had to dance with me. I got usurped from my throne.”
“No, you got out of having to duel to the death. I had to make a fool of myself in front of a crowd of people who’d watch me burn alive and complain about the smell.” Astrid smiles at him, and he shakes his head, eyes roaming her face.
“You’re right, I’m fortunate I don’t have to duel. How could I kill someone with dimples like yours?”
Okay, this is not the safe ground she was hoping for. She turns away, face hot, and her eyes land on the body. She grimaces. There’s a dead body in her room. How can she have forgotten?
“Ah, yes. That.” Zryan’s palm falls to the handle of his blade at his hip. “I’ll have one of the guards come help me get rid of it, and see about someone to sort your room.” He gives her a grim smile. “Hold tight, I won’t be long.”
He turns for her balcony, to Teleport away, and the thought of other people coming to her room and seeing it like this, seeing her like this, has dread unfurling in her gut.
The tether with Bastet pulls taut, more physical than she’s ever felt it, and she leaps up, running for Zryan, reaching for him.
Her fingers curl around his forearm, a keening mewl escapes her familiar. But too late.
She’s swallowed into oblivion.
It’s like being battered by a blizzard on Stor Isfjell, snow and ice barreling into her, suffocating her, and she couldn’t scream even if she wanted to because there’s no air. The darkness is all-consuming; her skin is being ripped from her body.
And then it’s over, no sooner than it began.
She topples forward onto her hands and knees and retches into the long grass.
Grass? A second ago she was on a stone floor.
She raises her head. She’s out in the castle grounds.
Above her, the balcony to her room. Bile rises again and she heaves, though nothing comes out.
Slowly, she gets to her feet. Braces her hands on her knees and takes deep, shuddering breaths.
She’s hollowed out, not just physically but emotionally, her tether to Bastet feeling raw and stretched.
Sensing Zryan, some connection to him, she follows it. He’s standing a few feet away, fists clenched, face drawn, looking at her like she just declared herself queen of the dragons.
“Did I just Teleport with you?” She pants. She’s not sure why he’s so tense.
He stares at her a moment longer before answering. “Yes,” he grinds out. “Please don’t ever do that again.”
What? Is he serious? “I didn’t choose to do it. And I really don’t want to Teleport ever again—it’s horrendous.” Stars, how does he do it so easily? She heaves another breath. “I need to get back, before anyone sees me.”
The prince apparently takes pity on her, because the tension leaves his shoulders. He holds an arm out. “Come, I’ll walk you back to your room. In case someone else tries to murder you on the way.” While his words are light, there’s an edge to his voice.
“Just walk me to my corridor.” What will Fionn think if she turns up covered in blood with the prince of Vatra in tow?
He nods, then places a palm on her lower back, guiding her toward the castle.
Enemy, she reminds herself, as she leans into his touch.