Chapter 34
Emrys
I lost myself in patrolling our border, in the slaughter of raiders for two more days. But on the third, I returned to the castle under cover of darkness. I didn’t want them—not the guards, not my brother, least of all her—to see me with the lingering stains of my fury in the light of day.
I’d rinsed myself in the river several times, but I’d been in a rush to leave.
Without soap or even a change of clothing, I was foul beyond the lowest standards of human decency.
My armor stayed on until I reached the stables.
With numb fingers, I stripped it off and left it there, still stained. I would retrieve it in the morning.
I washed once more in the cold water of a barrel meant for the horses, scrubbing until my skin was red and raw.
But it didn’t matter how deeply I washed; the grime of my shame was beneath the surface.
And I still smelled like a charnel house.
It didn’t matter; I’d sleep on the stone floor of my room and bathe in the morning.
At the very least, I might be safer to be around for a little while.
The torches in the corridor flickered low, throwing lines of shadow across the passages as I moved through the castle. I nodded stiffly to the sentries stationed outside my wing, each of them trained well enough not to ask where I’d been or why I’d returned looking like death walking.
The halls echoed with my footsteps until I reached the door to my chamber…which was open. Strange. When I slipped inside, the hearth was cold—as expected. There was no reason my manservant would’ve lit it in my absence.
What was unexpected was a shape in the dark.
My body stilled. Muscles tensed. In the haze of weariness and the ebb of bloodlust, I almost didn’t trust what I was seeing. My magic should’ve sensed anyone the instant I crossed the threshold.
Magical silence wrapped around me as I advanced on the figure with careful, predatory steps.
The shape was too small to be one of my brother’s guards, a warrior, or even my manservant. A young thief, then? Another Assembly spy?
Bold and incredibly stupid to think of stealing from me. The beast within was sated and lazy enough that I could approach with reasoned caution instead of rage.
I was nearly upon them when I caught the scent of lavender.
My chest tightened, heart stuttered. The scent cooled me quicker than a bucket of icy water.
She shifted, placing something on the table, and the braid trailing down her back shimmered in the faint moonlight filtering through the arched windows.
The same fur robe from our first nighttime meeting hung loose about her shoulders.
I should’ve announced myself, but I was too busy staring.
My fingers reached out before I could stop them. The silk of her braid slid between my thumb and forefinger like spun gold.
“I’ve never seen a thief,” I said quietly, not to break the stillness of the room, “with hair like this.”
Isca’s shoulders tightened as she turned—her robe slipping from one, baring pale skin to the cold air. Her mouth opened, and a shaky, barely audible whisper escaped her lips. “I-I brought you more tinctures. To help.”
She gestured weakly to a few small jars placed carefully on my desk. Her chin lifted, but her shoulders were taut like a bird poised for flight. Instead of panic, which I’d expected to see, her jaw was set, eyes unwavering—enough stubborn determination to quell any man.
That look, I quickly realized, was a challenge.
I was still holding her braid, stroking it slowly between two fingers. I told myself to drop it, but my body wouldn’t listen. The rest of me was frozen, locked in place by the unwavering focus of her attention.
I wanted that stare to be permission—an invitation, to set me free to do all the things I’d imagined in a hundred different ways.
The monster hadn’t been sleeping when it concealed her from me as I entered. It had been setting me up for this.
Isca swallowed, but not from fear—I hoped. “I’m sorry for being in your rooms without permission.”
Her words said one thing, but the tiniest spark of her magic let loose. An infinitesimal, but undeniable, pulse of relief mixed with something like longing came from her.
That longing stilled my entire body, my entire being.
“Is that all you’re here for?” I asked, heart pounding with hope and dread in equal measure.
“What?” She tilted her head to the side, thrown by the question.
My voice warped against my will, though subtly this time. “Did Maeron send you? Nisien?”
The jealousy wasn’t limited to the beast. Nisien’s subtle maneuvering of everyone around him in the game of life was something I’d lived with since childhood. If this longing from her was part of his plan, or the Assembly’s, I had to protect myself from it.
“Nisien?” Her brow furrowed, her expression shifting from confusion to offense.
Fuck. Even in the dark of my room, the affront was written clearly on her face. Isca was no liar. She was thoughtful and far too kind.
“Not this again,” she hissed. “I’m not here to bed you, Your Highness.”
Had I been imagining that spark of longing? Or could it be true?
“Catrin helped me with the herbs and getting the vials.”
My heart started to pound in my chest for reasons that had nothing to do with my monster’s thirst for violence. “May I touch you?”
By all the magic and cursed gods alike, I couldn’t pull the words back in. I felt panic for the first time in nearly two decades.
…But at least I’d asked this time around.
Ashamed, I confessed, “I didn’t acquit myself well last time we were this close. I want to make up for that.”
Voice more firm, I added, “I will never touch you again without your permission.”
Expression so haughty she’d put any queen to shame, Isca looked down at my fingers still holding her braid then back up at me.
“Sorry.” I dropped it quickly, but my hands still ached to reach out again.
To my undying astonishment, she gave a small nod, those big eyes searching my face. There was a wariness behind her bravado, and she watched me with a vigilance that felt like a test, gauging whether I could be trusted with even this inch of grace.
Still, it was a victory, and part of me wanted to celebrate it, while the other part was terrified because her acceptance made the monster perk up and pay rapt attention. I couldn’t lose control with her again—I wouldn’t. I’d cut off my own hands before risking pushing her too far.
I hesitated a beat too long.
“Afraid now, Prince Emrys?” she asked, challenge made manifest. “Can’t you feel this…thing between us? Pulling us together?”
Of course I could feel it. My cock strained at the laces of my breeches so hard that it hurt. I went to bed thinking of it every night and woke up wishing I didn’t have to hold myself back every morning.
My voice, thick with lust, deepened to a husky whisper. “The problem,” my eyes dropped unbidden down her neck to the rise and fall of her chest, “is that you make me want to lose control when your body should be worshiped first.”
I wanted to drop to my knees and do just that.
Her breathing hitched.
It seemed like almost too much of a risk as I traced the line of her collarbone with the backs of my knuckles, but I couldn’t stop myself. Not moving except to breathe, she watched me with eyes that were unafraid. Cautious, yes. But not afraid—and that in itself was a marvel.
My eyes were drawn back to her hair. I let my fingers run up and down its length again, slower this time, savoring the feel. Her proximity, her obliviousness to what she did to me—it was all agonizing.
“Why do we keep meeting in the middle of the night like this, Mage Isca?” I was playing a very dangerous game.
“Maybe you’re cursed with me,” she quipped. Yet her true answer was a heated look that was temptingly close to another challenge.
I would die a happy man if I could have her underneath my skin instead of the curse I shared it with. In truth, I would’ve liked to see more of her during the day, but I still didn’t feel in control enough to indulge myself with her company.
I glanced down. A single pert nipple showed through the thin material of her nightgown, still exposed to the cold air by her partially fallen robe. I trailed my knuckles down the length of that tempting braid to brush the bud.
Her answering gasp was quiet—but real. It made me wish I could feel her beneath me, hear her make that same sound again and again. But that was far too dangerous a thought.
Isca swayed fractionally closer, lured by the same pull I was caught up in. So close that her unbound breasts brushed against my chest.
Perfect. Too perfect for a monster like me.
Her eyes fluttered shut. Her rosebud lips parted. I’d imagined her just this way a hundred times before, open and wanting me. And now it was real.
And then she inhaled deeply.
Isca’s eyes snapped open.
She didn’t recoil in fear but in sudden clarity. Disgust flared as she stepped back, one hand rising to cover her nose and mouth.
“No,” she said, spell broken. “You’re right. We can’t keep meeting in the middle of the night like this.”
Halfway to the door, she paused, looking over her shoulder with her nose wrinkled in distaste.
Isca’s voice, though softer, held an edge of harshness.
“You’ve touched, but you haven’t even kissed me yet, Prince Emrys.
Last time I checked, that was the wrong order to proceed. Also…you stink terribly.”
Of all the things she could have said, that was the one thing that almost made me laugh. Almost.
Maybe it was more of her mercy disguised as mockery—a way to cut through the tension without reopening old wounds. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, let alone her humor, but she’d offered me both in a single, brutal line.
“Thank you for the tinctures,” I whispered, stuck somewhere between hoping she would and wouldn’t hear me.
With her clean scent retreating, I stood there dumbly, fingers still tingling with the memory of her skin. The door clicked shut behind her like the slamming of a cell I’d made for myself. But tomorrow…tomorrow might hold a promise that hadn’t been there before this midnight run-in.