Chapter 27 #2
As I stare at the half-eaten pastry in my hand, I nod as I tilt it.
Scanning the sugar-coated edges like it may tell me the secrets of its recipe.
“Yes. My family…we’re bakers in Kilamber.
It’s all I’ve ever really eaten growing up, because we couldn’t afford much else aside from the scraps we’d have after baking.
The shop made enough to cover the costs of the roof over our heads and…
” My jaw slowly relaxes until my lips part.
Medicine.
The reason we were in such an unfortunate situation is because the cost of medicine was so high.
I stare at my brittle fingers holding the pastry.
The pale skin covering the fragile bones.
Tightening my grip before my hand can shake, I drop my hand to my side to look at him.
Hoping he didn’t just witness what dawned on my face.
I really am sick. But he cannot know. He’d never choose a wife who might be sick enough to be a burden.
He twists his head slightly to question my trailing statement. “Enough to cover the costs of the roof and…?”
I clear my throat and dip my head, blurting the closest excuse I can find. “The repairs from the fires, of course.”
It isn’t a lie. Just another truth that bubbled to the surface. That’s why I was so terrified of dragons growing up.
A flash of a wild, red dragon bursts in my mind. The way it tore through the sky, showering fire down across the town in hot lines as all of us screamed and ran.
So incredibly opposite from the sweet, dainty things floating about back in the gardens.
“Ahh, I see.” Cyrus frowns. “I’m so sorry to hear you were also affected by the fires of Kilamber. I sent soldiers there to help clean up the ash and to help rebuild.”
I look down at the half-eaten pastry in my hand. Then decide to take another bite to occupy my mouth.
“Hey,” Cyrus breathes, and when I look up, he’s right next to me. His body heat radiates over me. That gaze flicks from my eyes down to my mouth as he inhales almost inaudibly.
I straighten, licking the sugar off my lips in case it was dusted there. He looks back up at me with a timid grin.
“You, umm…” He lifts a hand, and points at his left cheek. “A little bit of sugar there…”
Blushing, I dip my head and swipe my hand across my cheek as I place the last bite of pastry on the counter.
“Sorry, it’s actually here.” He shakes his head with an awkward laugh and points at a spot on my cheek.
I still, caught in his eyes. Slowly, I inch my chin up a touch toward him. Waiting for him to move.
Blinking rapidly, his lips part as he shifts his attention from my eyes down to my cheek. Only then does he ever so slowly, so gently, brush a shaky thumb across my cheek. His touch scatters a pleasant chill over me.
“There,” he whispers.
“Thank you…”
He drops his hand from my face, and our eyes collide again. Both of us sink into soft grins. We’re stuck in this proximity, neither of us wanting to break the connection. The silence isn’t unsettling. It’s warm and welcoming. Yet, it feels dangerous to be in it.
I whisper to break it, before we’re lost, “What is it you’re looking for in a wife?”
A hesitant smile falls upon his face as he looks down at his boots. “Truthfully, I don’t know. I only hope she can be proud of who I am.”
“Why would a woman not be proud to stand next to a King?”
That drags his gaze up. “Because what if that’s the only good part of me?”
My breath sticks in my lungs at the implication. “Titles are neither good nor bad. What determines your worth is your character.”
He pulls at his bottom lip, chewing it thoughtfully as he nods. “And what determines your character?”
I open my mouth, then blink a few times as I work for a perfect answer.
But the truth there…perhaps there is none.
The only thing I can find is, “What you say and do behind closed doors. When you think no one else is watching. When you think no one will ever know, and yet you still do the right thing. That is what determines your character.”
A genuine smile warms his features, and Gods does it flutter my heart.
There is no denying his looks. And perhaps that is what will get me in trouble.
The sharp cut of his jaw, the regal lines of his nose, and hauntingly beautiful eyes.
How warm he is when he smiles. Because if it’s not me who he picks…
if I get too close—it might devastate me.
He murmurs, “Then I hope to match the character you are someday, Lyra Goldbrook.”
I huff a laugh, lowering my gaze to our feet. “And what if you already are? What if you are more so than me?”
“Why would you think that?”
I glance back up at him. “Because if you’re asking how to be of good character, it shows you care. And that, in itself, is an indicator of a good person. You even said it the first time we dined together that you cared far too much.”
“As did you,” he says softly.
“And a man who tends to flowers cannot be impatient, rough, or irresponsible. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a garden thriving beyond these walls.”
He captures a soft laugh behind his lips as he glances to his left at the counter. “You flatter me.”
“Then you admit there’s some truth in it?”
He swings his attention back to me, leaning his hip into the counter. “I admit that I try my best. But I heard of what you did. I’d argue what I’ve done cannot shine in comparison to you.”
My eyes widen, unsure of where he’s going with this. “And…what is that?” I pluck the last bite of the pastry and eat it.
“I heard you risked your life for other women during the trial. That you saved Marcella. And, from what I’ve been told, you and Marcella hadn’t gotten along before then.”
I pluck up some slices of cheese. “No, we hadn’t.”
“Why not?”
I glance at him quickly before I gather more cheese. “Some people…just don’t get along. It’s sort of like trying to grow roses and azaleas in the same planter. Both have different needs for soil, sun, and water. If you force the two of them together, one or both are bound to fail.”
“I see. But you asked about her earlier. What’s changed?”
I take a bite of cheese, working through each chew to find an answer. Once I swallow, I say, “I don’t know. I suppose no matter my differences with someone else, they still deserve kindness.”
“So you’re now friends?”
I chuckle. “I don’t know if I’d say that. And Marcella might swat you if you implied such a thing.”
His turn to laugh. Until it fades into something more quiet. More serious. “I…I truly am sorry for all the pain and stress this whole process has caused you.”
I stop chewing, noting the gentleness in his gaze. He continues, “If…there is ever a part of you…” he shakes his head, looking down at our shoes, “that wants to return home, I’ll always grant it for you. No questions asked.”
“I’m here because you intrigue me, Cyrus,” I whisper, soft enough to recapture his attention.
“Perhaps it started off as an opportunity to better my family’s life, yes, I’ll admit it.
But the times I’ve spoken with you and gotten to know you…
” I take another step closer to him until we’re only a few inches away.
I search his eyes. “I’ve almost found myself looking into a mirror. ”
His dark lashes flutter as his eyes flick repeatedly from my parted lips to my eyes. I’m inching forward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. What is it about him? His looks? His charm? Surely, even without the title of King, I’d still be reeled in.
A knock sounds at the door.
We both blush and scurry back from each other. Cyrus brushes his long hair from his forehead back behind his neck. I wipe my hands against the sides of my dress.
“My King?” Devin calls from the other side of the closed door. “Are you in here?”
Cyrus clears his throat and answers, “Yes, come in.”
The door squeaks open, and Devin stands there in his golden armor. Looking at Cyrus before quickly focusing on me. His eyes catch mine, before flicking down to my feet, then back up to my face. “I see you’re awake and feeling well enough to stand?”
“Yes,” I answer.
He drags his attention off me back to Cyrus. “I went back to the infirmary to look for you, and Elder Fredrick said you were gone. So, pardon the intrusion. But a letter from Millton arrived for you.” He retrieves a scroll and holds it out.
Cyrus straightens, dipping his head firmly, and takes it.
Devin continues, “I can escort Lyra to join the rest of the ladies in the library if you want to attend to that quickly.”
Cyrus clears his throat and lowers the scroll to his side. “Right. Thank you, Devin.” He looks back at me with a distant smile. “If you wish to stay here a bit longer, you’re more than welcome. Otherwise, I look forward to seeing you later.”
He dips his head and leaves me alone with Devin. I slide my gaze back to the counter. No longer hungry, but not wanting to let my blush be seen by the General.
I pick up a carved strawberry and take a bite as Devin murmurs, “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, so quickly.”
Swallowing, I work to figure out how to respond.
Because as I woke up, Devin had whispered about knowing of my illness.
About possibly sending me home because of it.
So how would he know, and why would he allow me to participate if my illness could jeopardize my standing?
And aside from my weakened physique, what exactly does my illness entail?
“Thank you…” I slide my attention to him and say before taking another bite, “I must not have eaten enough.”
His eyebrows quirk up, clearly announcing his thoughts. “Really? Lyra, you and I both know that’s not true.”
“I hadn’t eaten in days.”
“Because you were sick?”
I can’t tell if he’s questioning my reasoning, or if he’s questioning if I was actually sick. Not because I was locked in my room by Lady Bethany.
“I can get you your medicine, you know,” he whispers and takes a step toward me. “Nobody has to know.”
I freeze. Scanning him head to toe to determine whether I should be frightened or relieved.
He holds out a splayed hand. “You can trust me.”
“What do you want from me?”
He flinches at my brazenness. And when he shakes his head, I press, “You are Cyrus’ right-hand man. Many would consider not disclosing my illness to him an act of treason. So…what is it you want, that you might risk such an accusation? Why help me?”
He slowly lowers his hand to his side. “You don’t recall what I asked for?”
“No,” I breathe. Steadying myself back against the counter. “Should I?”
“Yes, you should. We’ve gone over this many times.”
I squint at him as if it’ll help me remember. “You know I have little memory.”
A silence falls between us as he approaches me, his eyes scanning my face when he gently tips my chin up. My entire body goes rigid. My pulse throbbing in my throat as his attention flicks down to my neck. He softly guides me by the chin to tilt my head side to side, before dropping his hand.
His stubbled jaw clenches. “There’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”
Surely the scratches on my neck aren’t there anymore as no one else noticed them but Aelia and Nora.
Unless I was given medication in the infirmary again.
In which case, perhaps he saw it when he carried me there.
Subconsciously, I rest a hand on my throat and slide farther away from him, shaking my head.
He follows after me. “There’s something you’re keeping from me. Is it about Marcella?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You saved her during the trials. She’s a snake, Lyra. She cannot be trusted. She will twist everything in her power to achieve her ends.”
I pause. The confusion pinching my expression is genuine. I slowly whisper, “There’s…nothing to tell you. I saved her because I didn’t think she deserved to die.”
He straightens, nodding slowly, but his eyes are still surveying me.
I look at the door. “Can we leave now?”