Chapter 22
My eyes flutter open. I wake tangled in my sheets, quilts, and… I barely move my chin, looking down. A muscular arm wraps tightly around my waist, where a hand is snugly tucked between my ribs and the bed. His thumb lightly grazes the underside of my right breast. Rydian.
His face is tucked into the crook of my neck, breathing deep and soft, strands of my hair fluttering around my face. His chest moves steadily behind me—asleep.
He must have snuck into my bed last night after he returned—I asked him to stay. Frustration grips me at the realization.
How could I be so weak? I was supposed to stay awake, waiting for him, and must have fallen asleep in the settee. I remember sitting down before Rydian carried me to bed.
I stir a little, attempting to give myself distance from this… interaction, when he groans, pulling me in tighter. Closer.
My eyes flare. I don’t need to be closer. That’s the last thing I need—bad idea.
“Don’t go,” he mumbles. “You’re warm.”
A loud exhale escapes through my nose. His squeeze steals my breath when he finally loosens his embrace, though he still holds me firmly enough to keep me there.
“Why are you cuddling me?” I groan.
My ass lies perfectly at the curve of him, and I can’t help but feel the taut muscle behind me, thick and strong. My face heats, and I’m suddenly thankful I’m facing the opposite direction.
How is it that I’m always flustered around him?
Other than Ezra, I’ve never actually spent the night with a male before, let alone shared a bed for sleeping. Any time I’ve needed to get my needs taken care of, I’ve always gone to the brothel and then headed straight back to the castle after. Never… this.
No, this feels intimate.
“I didn’t mean to. It just got so cold last night. You’re like a furnace,” he mumbles, and my eyes roll so hard to the back of my head that I’m surprised I can’t see my skull. I’m tucked so tight into him, I can hardly move. “You asked me to stay, remember?”
“That was a momentary lapse in sanity. I was clearly tired. Now are you going to let me go?” I ask.
“Do I have to?”
“It would be wise. Unless you’d like to be stabbed,” I say, my irritation spiking.
He chuckles. “I do love your aggression, but I can hear your heart beating wildly. Are you nervous?” he mutters, his voice going down an octave. “Do you want to know what I think? I think you want me here. I think you like it when I touch you and are too stubborn to admit it.”
My teeth grind because I know he’s right, no matter how much I deny it. Heat reaches my ears, searing its way across my skin as my heart continues to pound. Every breath I take comes out in pants as I grow more irritated by this interaction.
It’s maddening—the way he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Yet the longer I lie here, the more I want to stay. And I hate that.
My frustration bubbles, and I attempt to fling myself off the bed, desperate for an escape. But before I can move, he reacts.
He whirls me back down, pinning me beneath him with startling force as he hovers over me. His body presses into mine, my shoulder wedged tightly beneath his chest, my head resting on his forearm. He traps me in place, pinning me with ease. The weight of him makes it clear that I won’t be escaping.
The air thickens in the space between us when his brows lower. Something in his gaze changes when his pupils dilate, swallowing the vivid blue of his irises until they’re nearly black. A look I’ve never seen before, yet I find myself completely mesmerized by it.
His eyes slowly shift to my lips, lingering in a way that leaves me to believe he could devour me right here.
I expect my fear to rise, perhaps the need to push him away.
Instead, gazing at him only fuels the fire beneath my skin as it roars to life.
His eyes lift slowly as if savoring the sight of me.
“Yellow… orange… a morning sunrise,” he murmurs after a moment, breaking the silence, but my brows pinch in confusion.
“What?” I ask on a breath.
“I never knew what my favorite color was until I ran into you at the Painted Bird, rewriting everything I thought I knew about beauty,” he says quietly, my breath hitching at the confession.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes quite like yours.
You quite literally took my breath away. ” A small smile.
“Are you going to let me go?” I ask softly, but even as the words leave my lips, a small part of me hopes the answer is no.
He lightly brushes a strand off my face, his gaze pinning me in place. After a few quiet breaths between us, his arm lifts, allowing me the opportunity to get up.
But I don’t move—I can’t.
It’s as if all sensibility escapes me while I remain frozen in place. My heart beats wildly in my chest, my mind racing as he hovers over me. I know I should get up and push him away, but I don’t, and the desire to kiss him—to pull him back down—claws at me as I struggle with the decision.
Pride keeps me in place.
I’m suddenly torn between wanting more and refusing to let him know how badly I want him. Even though I know he can sense it. My breaths become uneven as I decide—kiss him or get up.
His eyes search mine, calculating, as if daring me to make a choice. I hate choices, especially when it comes to emotions. Yet the tension between us simmers, waiting for one of us to shatter it.
But he’s right. I’m too stubborn.
My eyes flick to his mouth before I quickly shuffle out from under him, leaving him alone in the bed. He lets out a low chuckle, putting his weight onto his elbow and resting his head in his palm, glancing at me.
There’s no mistaking the heat between us. But is that all it is? A spark, something temporary? Or is it more? Perhaps that’s all it is for him, but for me—I’m currently pining for the king of Aurelia, and I think that’s more terrifying than any mission I’ve ever been on. What is wrong with me?
“Get out,” I demand, putting distance between us as my back hits the wall. Then he reaches for me. “Get out,” I repeat with more force this time.
I’m not explaining myself because I can’t. I close my eyes, urging him to leave before I make a really foolish, impulsive decision. And it’s not because I don’t want to, but because it frightens me. He frightens me.
And although I want to cross that line with him, doing so would feel as if I’m accepting my role as heir of Aurelia.
A role I’m not quite ready to accept yet.
My eyes remain closed when I hear the soft whooshing sound, the only indication that he’s left my chambers. The room feels empty, much colder than it was just moments ago. My eyes open on an exhale, scanning my chambers only to land on a piece of parchment lying on the table near the door.
A black orchid lies atop the paper just as it starts to bloom, the only flower in Elderheim that blooms at dawn during the colder months—deadly and typically found in the castle’s courtyard.
Or if you’re adventurous, the northern woods.
It tugs at me, realizing that he must have plucked it when he was walking the castle last night.
I glance down, eyeing what looks to be a sketch of myself sleeping in the settee before the fire. My heart stops at the sight of it.
He somehow caught the warm ambient lighting from the fire, soft shadows casting across my face, my cheek propped against my knuckles.
He captured the way my lashes lay, drawing every freckle on my face, even the solo one beneath my right eye.
My lips are slightly parted as I hold my whiskey glass in my right hand, resting in my lap.
He’s captured me, just as a mirror would.
And I look peaceful—beautiful, even.
I find myself wondering how late he stayed up to sketch me before carrying me to bed, suddenly feeling guilty for kicking him out. If his goal was to make me feel bad, it worked.
I dress quickly, knowing that I have to find him and mentally kick myself because we need to formulate a plan on how to get into the archives.
Only I wasn’t thinking about that when I kicked him out, too flustered at the thought of him being so close. I’m fully aware that he won’t come back unless I invite him—not from the wards, but out of respect for giving me space.
As I go to rush out the door, my hand stalls on the knob, remembering that I was able to communicate with him through the Veil last night. I lean against the door with a huff, wanting to try before I decide to travel in the cold. No need to waste precious time if I can reach him through the Veil.
I close my eyes, searching. Feeling for the warmth that accompanies me when I touch the edges of the Veil. Then I feel the coolness of his presence, the earthy scent of oakmoss flooding me as the spot behind my eyes tingles.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing if he receives my words, getting nothing back. I bite my lip, fearing I may have been too harsh. “Can you come back so we can discuss our plan?”
Agonizing minutes go by. I’m still propped against the door when I push myself off, turning for the knob again when he finally responds.
“Say please,” he mumbles and I groan, banging my head against the door. Is he really going to make me beg? “Oh, come on. I know you can do it.”
“I’m not going to beg like a hungry animal.”
“I never thought you would, but I bet you’d beg if I—”
“Please!” I blurt, stopping the train of thought before it enters my mind and ruins me. He makes me want to scream in frustration, but as soon as I blurt the words, a faint knock sounds at my door.
“Let me in,” he demands.
I only realize that I’ve slumped against the door again when my eyes land on the flower and sketch beside me. My stomach lurches, leaving me to frantically shove them into the drawer, my movements rushed. With a scowl tugging at my face, I yank the door open.
He storms past, folding his arms only to stop in the center of the room to stare at me. I mirror him, lifting my brows.
“I already apologized,” I say.
He unfolds his arms and walks to the table holding the whiskey bottles, then pulls the corks and sniffs them individually. “For what?”
“Did you discover anything last night?” I ask with a sigh. I suppose that’s how the rest of the day is going to go, pretending like nothing happened.
“I did. Are you going to rein in your anger long enough to hear it?” he quips.
“Yes,” I say slowly, hands clenching at my sides as I stare daggers at his back. He finally faces me, casually leaning against the table as if it were any other day.
“Good, because I think we’ll be able to sneak in fairly easily.”
“Really?” I ask cautiously, doubt lining my voice.
“Yes. There are two guards stationed at the archives—”
“There are four,” I correct, shaking my head.
“Two outside the doors, two inside the archives. You probably didn’t stay long enough to see that the two inside the archives change shifts around midnight.
They take a break before retrieving the other two guards.
I’m not sure if they’re supposed to, but after following the two of them, they stop outside to smoke a pipe. ”
He blinks. “Regardless, it’ll be easy to get in. How long is the break?”
“Are you insane?” A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of me when he throws me another blank stare. And then I sigh. “It’s a fifteen-minute break.”
My brows furrow, and I glower like he’s grown two heads.
I’d like to know at what point he thought this was going to be easy.
Getting into the king’s private archives with four guards stationed there at all times will be difficult.
With two of them being inside the archives, we’ll never be able to get in and look for what we need.
It’ll be impossible to leave if we do happen to get in.
“Yes, easy,” he reiterates, taking a seat in front of the mantel and lighting a fire with a flick of his wrist. He must have refilled it with more wood last night, leaving my brow to arch. Silence stretches as he carelessly rubs a hand over his jaw as if lost in thought, clearly planning.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” he says, angling toward me. “We’ll arrive in the Veil just outside the doors and wait for the two guards stationed inside to change shifts. We’ll have fifteen minutes to look around before the next two arrive.”
“And how would we get in?” I ask because that’s the tricky part.
“We’ll sneak in the doors when they open for shift change, walking right past them as they leave.
Then, we’ll Veil out of the archives and into the loft arriving with the map…
or a copy of it. See? Easy.” He smirks and leans back, his posture reeking of arrogance as his forearms rest against the settee.
Like he’s had a revelation formulating this plan, though I’m not convinced.
“What if it doesn’t work? We need another plan,” I say.
I’ve been in the brotherhood long enough to know we don’t go into missions without a secondary plan and another exit. He has holes, and in my experience, nothing ever comes easy.
He scoffs, looking like I’ve just wounded his pride.
“Don’t insult me. We can Veil out of there in an instant. We’ll be fine.” He waves a hand like he’s shooing my words away with a scowl plastered across his face.
“Okay, so when will we be doing that?”
“Lucky for you, Ivy and Orin arrived just this morning. We can steal it tonight while Orin shifts into the captain. We could use him as a distraction in case something goes wrong. After that, we’ll need to visit the Siphon I tracked,” he adds, pulling his focus away from the fire and meeting my gaze.
“You want Orin to shift into Ren?”
My stomach drops. I hope that Ren doesn’t decide to take a stroll to the kitchens like he did a couple nights ago. He’d have to walk past the courtyard in order to reach them, and as much as I believe we could win in a fight, a small part of me doesn’t. Ren’s one of our most skilled fighters.
Rydian studies me, a mischievous look slowly forming as he rises, then throws me a teasing wink. “It’ll be fun.”