Chapter 23 Eryx
Eryx
It’s late when I walk Chelsea back to her room. Dinner with her was mostly quiet. Not uncomfortable—just silent. It felt like we both needed time to think, to process. But now, watching her play with the shadow puppy, the heaviness from earlier has lifted.
That’s because you didn’t ask about her nighttime beauty routine.
I shake my head. Surprisingly she didn’t ask about Nightmare. Maybe she sensed it’s not my favorite subject.
I should be. I’m your best friend.
Right.
Chelsea tosses the ball, and the shadow puppy races down the hall after it.
She turns to me. “Can I keep it?”
“The shadow?”
“Yes.”
The dog has the ball in its mouth and runs back to her. She stops and I watch as she folds over. “Drop it.”
The shadow does as she says, and she tosses it again.
“Don’t you think it’s cute?” she says, grinning.
If letting her have the stupid shadow will keep her face like that, you’d better do it or I’ll curse you.
Then you’ll curse us both.
It’s a risk I’m willing to take.
I grimace. “Usually shadows don’t stay around long once they slip through.”
“Not even the ones Nancy ignores?”
”Not even those.” I grimace.
“Sorry. Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No, it’s not that. Her ignoring them makes me sound like…” I rub the back of my neck.
“Like you can’t control your employees?”
“Like that.”
She shrugs. “Nancy’s old. Probably has arthritis. I think—I think by not being hard on her, you’re doing her a favor.”
“Who said I’m soft on Nancy?”
“No one.” She flips her hair over one shoulder, revealing her long, delicate neck.
I could nibble on that.
Shut up, Nightmare.
“No one had to tell me,” she explains. “The fact that she still works here is telling enough.”
One side of my mouth ticks up. “So that suggests I’m not a brute?”
She shrugs and walks off after the shadow.
I stare after her, scratching the back of my head, recalling how she rose onto her toes, how her skin flushed, how absolutely gorgeous she looked when our magics, um—
Did it? I love how you’re trying not to name it.
Don’t you have something else you’d rather be doing? Like plotting vengeance? Telling me to crush bones?
I’m taking a break from killing. I’d much rather learn things about Chelsea. Do that thing with our magic again. That was heaven, wasn’t it? I’ve never orgasmed so hard in my life.
Nightmare wants to convince me it didn’t have anything to do with our magics pleasuring us, but I know better.
It cannot control itself around Chelsea, and I don’t know what to do about that.
Lock her in a tower where I can’t get to her? Keep her as far away from me as possible?
And a far more worrisome thought is—keep her close. Get to know her. Earn her trust and maybe, just maybe this marriage won’t be a sham.
Maybe it’ll be real.
The thought should terrify me. A real marriage means vulnerability. Trust. Opening up parts of myself I've kept locked away since my father died. Instead it feels like… relief.
How interesting that is.
Something shifts inside me at that thought, something that’s been hardened over years spent seeking out my father’s killer.
I catch up to her. She’s playing tug of war with the shadow, which releases the ball when Chelsea says, “Drop it.”
“It likes you.”
She smiles timidly at me, and I can’t help but take a moment to memorize her features—how her cheek dimples when she smiles, how her eyes search over me as if she’s trying to learn my secrets.
Maybe she just thinks you’re hot.
“We should name it,” she says, picking up the ball and holding it as we walk down the hall.
“You can name it whatever you’d like.”
“How about Echo?”
“Because it’s an echo of a dream?”
“Exactly.”
Our gazes lock for just a breath. “I like it.”
“Echo,” she murmurs as if feeling out the word.
We walk a few more moments until I stop. “Here’s your room.”
She eyes the door warily. “So it is.”
“Is something wrong?”
“It’s just… It’s silly.”
“Whatever it is, you can say it. This is your home now. You’re in charge.”
“I’ve never been a queen.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together, show this district who you are.”
She nods somberly as if that’s more responsibility than she wants. Chelsea reaches out and picks up Echo, cradling the shadow to her chest.
I wish she’d hold us like that.
Shut up, Nightmare.
“It’s just,” Chelsea starts, “I don’t do well in strange rooms—hotels, sleepaway camp. You name it. I’m better when I know someone’s close by.”
I’ll stay close by.
Her gaze darts from the floor to meet mine. “Could you just tell me which room is yours so that I know where you are?”
I point across the hall to my door. “That’s mine.”
She nods. “Okay.”
But her shoulders are still tense, her eyes narrowed.
“Do you want me to keep the door open? That way you can talk to me if you want?”
“Yes,” she replies quickly. “I’ll do the same after I get ready for bed. Thank you.”
She opens her door, and my gaze tracks her slender neck, her soft hair. A lump rises in my throat. “Chelsea.”
She stops. Turns around, waiting for me to say something.
Tell her she’s pretty. Kiss her. It’s dark. It’s romantic. Kiss her cheek. Her mouth. Do something. Quit standing there like an idiot!
I slip my hands into my pockets. Damn, this is hard. “I just want to say, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For agreeing to marry me and for…” For promising to see the real me and not listen to all the lies. But I don’t say it. I don’t say any of it except, “For listening to me.”
She nods. “You’re welcome.”
Then she slips inside, leaving a vacuum that only she can fill. It’s like the sun’s been stolen by the moon, and there’s no happiness while it’s gone.
I step inside my own room, noting the vase of black and gold roses I keep on the windowsill. After I change, I open the door as promised and slip beneath the covers.
A few minutes later I hear the creak of Chelsea’s door opening and listen as her mattress sinks under her weight. “Eryx?”
“I’m here.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. Do you like your room?”
There’s a smile in her voice when she says, “Yes, I do.”
“If there’s anything you want, all you have to do is ask.”
“Who should I ask?”
You, tell her you!
“Stave.”
You are such an idiot.
“Or me,” I quickly add. “You can ask me.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “That makes me feel better.”
I break into a smile. The grin stays on my face until sleep drags me under.
When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I do is check on Chelsea.
Do you think her hair is fanned out around her head, her eyes closed? Will you kiss her awake?
But I don’t do any of that because when I knock on the doorframe and peek inside, Chelsea's bed is empty.
Made. Like she's been gone for hours.
Something clamps down behind my ribs.
Where is she? Nightmare asks, suddenly alert. Did she leave? Did she run?
No. She wouldn't. Would she?
I step fully into her room. The pink blanket is folded neatly. Her sparkly shoes—the purple ones from yesterday—are gone.
She's somewhere in the manor. She has to be.
But a darker thought creeps in: What if she's not? What if our marriage, our terms, our one year—what if it was all too much and she went home?
I'm already moving toward the door when I hear it.
Laughter. Distant. Coming from downstairs.
Her laughter.
Relief floods through me so fast my knees almost buckle. She's here. She didn't leave.
She's laughing.