Chapter 29 Landon #3
"No, but you're my patient," I say, moving closer. "That gives you certain rights to demand my presence."
I settle into the chair beside her bed, the same one I occupied earlier when checking her vitals.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, falling back on my role as her healer.
"Alive, thanks to you." She studies my face with those extraordinary eyes and I have to look away. "Better than I should be, from what I understand. The healers said I was dying."
"The transfusion helped," I say carefully. "Fresh blood from a compatible donor made the difference."
It's not entirely a lie. Hrolf's blood did help initially. I just don't mention that the real reason she's recovering is the golden threads connecting us.
"Still," she says. "You saved my life. A fae healer saving an elven queen. That's not exactly common."
"No," I admit. "It's not."
She studies me for a long moment, then asks quietly, "We're enemies. Our kingdoms are at war. You could have let me die. Why save me?"
I almost tell her it changes nothing. She will die all the same tonight. What comes out is closer to the truth than I'm comfortable with.
"I owed a debt." I meet her lilac eyes briefly. "Healing you settled it."
Her brow lifts slightly.
"You saved me once," I add after a beat. "That makes us even."
"I suppose it does." A faint smile touches her mouth.
But then it fades. Something shifts in her expression. She looks away, toward the window where pale light filters through. The change in her pulls at something in my chest.
The bond stirs, telling me she’s thinking about the suffering of her people.
"I need you to know something," I hear myself say.
She turns back to me, waiting.
"I wasn't part of the main force that attacked your kingdom."
I don't know why it matters that she knows this. In a few moments she will be dead. Yet the words rise anyway. “The wyvern riders who burned the western regions. That wasn't my command.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
What the fuck am I doing? I’m going to kill her tonight anyway. But something about the sadness in her face, the weight she's carrying made me want her to know the truth.
She studies me quietly. "Then why were you there?"
I hold her gaze for a moment, then look away. "I was sent to observe. The king's mistress acted on her own and brought an army without proper authorization. I was sent to extract her if things went wrong."
They fucking did go wrong.
I don't tell her about the betrayal or the riders who turned on me mid-battle. The explanation feels inadequate, but it is the only truth I allow her. For some gods-damned reason, it felt important that she understand I wasn't the one who led that slaughter.
Rhianelle is quiet for a long moment, processing. She shifts against the pillows, trying to sit straighter. The movement draws a sharp breath from her.
"You're in pain," I observe.
"My ribs," she admits. "And my side. It's not terrible. But it’s—”
I move closer before I can stop myself. My hands hover over her ribcage, not quite touching.
"May I?"
She nods.
I press gently through the thin fabric of her nightgown, testing for instability. The bond stirs at the contact, warmth threading through my fingers. Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away.
"Two cracked ribs," I murmur. "Left side. They’re healing cleanly, but still tender. You'll feel it for a while. Give it time."
"Time," she echoes.
I withdraw my hands, restoring distance between us again. "You should rest. Let the healing continue."
"I've been resting for days," she protests. "I'm tired of sleeping."
"Recovering isn't weakness."
"Tell that to the kingdom that needs its queen." Her voice tightens. "People are dying. The war continues. And I'm lying here being useless."
"You're healing," I correct quietly.
She exhales, the sharpness draining from her. "I know. It's just… difficult. Feeling helpless."
Helpless.
The word cuts close to wounds still raw. I understand that better than she knows.
She leans forward slightly despite the pain, studying me now. "What happened to you?"
I shouldn't reveal anything about my fallen legion or the betrayal that sent me into hiding. I don't want to give her anything real. But something about her presence, the way she listens, loosens my tongue.
"I was betrayed by someone I trusted," I say carefully. "The fae king arranged for an attack that wiped out most of my command."
"I'm sorry," she says, and there is nothing performative in it. Only quiet grief. "That must have been devastating."
It was annihilation. But I only nod.
Silence stretches between us.
She breaks it first.
"There are gaps in my memory." She isn't looking at me now, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the wall. "I don't remember much of my life before…"
My heart rate increases. This is dangerous territory.
"People speak to me with familiarity I don't share," she continues slowly. "That man… the vampire who came with you. He looks at me like I should know him. But when I try to remember, there's nothing."
Her fingers press to her temple. Pain flickers across her face.
I keep my expression carefully neutral. "Memory loss isn't uncommon after severe trauma."
What a miserable situation to be in. A fae can't lie. But I need to play along or the vampire will kill me.
She's watching my face closely.
Her hand moves to her chest. "There's a space carved out. When I try to focus on it, my head throbs."
"Don't force it," I say quickly. "You could damage yourself."
"But it should be there," she insists. "It feels important."
The moment she strains toward the memory again, I see the pain hit sharply. Her breath hitches. Her hands move to her head as if something inside is stabbing her.
I should follow Arescaine's orders. Keep the truth buried. But I'm going to kill her anyway. So why does it matter if I come clean? Might as well just go to Hel with it.
"Some things are better left alone," I say instead. "At least until you're stronger."
The pain fades as she withdraws from the attempt.
"Why does it hurt to remember?"
Because someone carved him out of you.
She studies me. "There's something you're not telling me."
Of course there is.
"I'll tell you," I say carefully, "when you're stronger."
"Promise?"
The word hangs heavy between us.
Promises are not light things for a fae. We're bound by our oaths.
"I promise," I answer.
You won't live long enough to collect it, little elf.
She nods, seeming to accept this. "All right. I'll trust you."
The faith she's placing in me, a fae commander she barely knows, is staggering.
"You shouldn't trust me so easily," I tell her.
"Maybe not." She attempts a wink and closes both eyes instead. "But my instincts are usually good."
Her instincts are catastrophically wrong. If only she knew how fucking wrong she is. How I stood on a hillside not long ago, calculating the cleanest way to end her life.
"There's something about you that feels… safe," she says softly, almost surprised by herself.
Me? Safe? What the fuck?
Before I can respond, she reaches up. Her hand moves toward my face slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want.
I don't pull away.
Her fingers brush my temple, gentle as butterfly wings. "May I?"
"May you what?"
"Give you some relief. You're in pain. I can feel it."
How does she know that? The bond, probably. The same way I can sense her state and well-being.
My chest still burns from the poisoned blade I took days ago.
"You should rest," I protest. "Save your strength."
Her fingers begin to move, tracing small circles at my temples. "Let me do this."
Warmth flows from her touch. I close my eyes before I can stop myself. When was the last time someone touched me like this?
Her hands slide lower, tracing the line of my neck, settling briefly over my chest. The bond flares.
Heat shoots through me. It spreads up my arm, into my chest, and straight to my cock.
Damn it.
The bond sends me an image of Rhianelle's perfect body writhing beneath me as I thrust into her over and over.
My heart begins to pound. I have slit my enemy's throat without my pulse rising. I breathe heavily through my nose and order the erection to retreat.
She feels the shift. I see it in the way her lashes lower. A faint flush creeps over her cheeks. But she doesn't withdraw. She continues healing me.
I open my eyes to find her looking at me with something soft in her expression. Concern and care. Things she has no reason to feel for an enemy.
"I feel better now," I admit. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She withdraws her hands slowly. "You're very kind, for an enemy commander."
"You don't seem particularly cruel yourself, elven queen," I respond before I can stop myself.
She laughs. The sound is warm and bright. It does something dangerous to my resolve.
"Is that what you expected?" she asks. "Cruelty?"
"I didn't know what to expect."
"And now?"
"Now I'm confused," I admit.
"About what?"
Everything. My mission. My loyalty. This stupid fucking heart that's betraying me with every beat.
The bond thrums between us, visible threads of gold that pulse with light.
"Can you see them?" she asks suddenly.
I freeze.
I look at where she's pointing and my breath catches. "You… see them?"
She nods toward the space between us. "Thank the gods. Since you walked in. I thought I was imagining it."
"You're not." I turn to face her fully. "Those threads are real."
"What are they?" she asks.
There is no point in lying now. "They're a mating bond."
She stares at the threads, then at me. "We're... mates? You and I?"
I hold her gaze. "The gods have marked us that way."
Rhianelle looks at the golden threads again. "They're healing me," she says slowly.
Perceptive. She's sharper than I thought.
"They accelerate recovery," I confirm. "It's why you improved so quickly after I arrived."
"So I'm alive because fate decided we belong together."
"In essence, yes."
"How do you feel about that?" she asks.
The question surprises me. "How do I feel?"
She meets my eyes directly. "About being bound to someone you didn't choose. Someone from an enemy kingdom. This can't be what you wanted."
No one has ever asked me that.
"It's not. I fought against it." The honesty feels like opening a vein. "I sat outside with my wyvern and listed all the reasons I should hate you."
And kill you. I leave that part out.
She laughs again. "Did you come up with many?"
"Dozens." My mouth does something almost traitorous. "You broke into my quarters. Stole from me. Lied to my face while dancing with me."
"And yet you're still here." Her voice goes soft. "I'm sorry."
That catches me off guard. "For what?"
"For this complication."
"You have nothing to apologize for. Neither of us chose this."
"I can still be sorry it's causing you pain." She studies me quietly. "I can see it in your eyes. This is hurting you."
The girl is too kind.
Why couldn't she be the monster I expected?
Why couldn't she make this easy?
The pain catches her before she can hide it, her hand moving to her temple, a sharp little wince.
"Lie down," I say.
She obeys without question.
Trusting fool.
She settles back against the pillows. I drag a chair to the head of the bed and turn it toward her. My hands find her temples. I let healing thread through my fingers slowly, following the ache, easing the pressure where the memory tried to claw its way up and couldn't. Her breathing steadies.
From here it would be so easy.
Her throat is right there, pulse visible and unguarded. One motion. I came into this room intending exactly that, my reasons lined up neat and ready.
She's too trusting. Letting an enemy commander sit at her bedside without flinching. My mate is too soft for this world.
The thought stops me again. My mate.
I don't know when I stopped fighting that word.
I pour more life through the bond, careful not to overwhelm her. Her pain recedes in small increments beneath my touch.
"I have to tell you something." My hands slow but don't stop. "When I walked in tonight, I came here to kill you."
Silence.
She opens her eyes slowly, just enough to find mine. Her fingers lift from the pillow and rest lightly over my hand where it cups her temple. Only a murmur leaves her lips.
"Landon."
No fear. No anger. She says my name the way someone catches a child in a small lie.
"Thank you for being honest with me," she says quietly.
She smiles at me.
Something in my chest shifts. I've buried that feeling beneath duty and war for far too long.
Her eyes close again, but her hand stays over mine.
We sit like that.
The bond hums between us, warm and golden. I can't stop looking at her, enthralled and hypnotized by her mere breathing.
I don't have a name for what this is.
What kind of cruel game are the fates playing?
I should resent it. Instead, as I sit there with my hands in her hair, I realize I no longer want her dead.
I want her for myself.