Chapter 29 #2
The floor is made of a dark marble, cool to the touch, but my eyes land on his whiskey table.
It rests by what looks like the main chamber door near the mantel, but I’m not too sure.
Taking my finger, I run it down the length of it as I look around and then halt my steps.
I turn and lean against it, pinning my hands behind me.
I throw him a grin. “Is this your chamber?”
He lets out a breathy laugh, flashing me a grin, none like I’ve seen in Elderheim. It’s vibrant and full of life, as if he’s genuinely happy to be here.
“It is. Do you like it?” he asks.
He stands in front of me, tugging lightly on the end of my braid, and pulls out the tie, freeing my wild hair. I stiffen as he’s loosened the mark from its hiding spot, then quickly remind myself that it’s dim and only a dream. Regardless, I scoff, and shove it over my shoulder.
“I love your hair,” he mutters, eyes meeting mine for a moment. “You should leave it down more.” I remain quiet, as it’s something I find myself unable to reply to. He intently scans my face. “It’s beautiful, like you.”
My breath catches when he steps closer, sliding his hand to the back of my neck. Yet for some reason, I let it happen.
“You could be wearing rags, and I bet you’d look amazing in them,” he murmurs.
I chuckle, shaking my head, though my head tilts back to study him, and I pull my lip between my teeth. I study the soft curve of his mouth, the scar resting at the top of his lip, and his jaw flexes.
“You shouldn’t hide yourself from anyone,” he says, his words soft. “I prefer your hair not tied. It’s wild, just like you. You’re a wildfire and need to be set free.”
“Wildfires are destructive and unpredictable. And since when do I care about what you like, Rydian?” I smirk, though my eyes instinctively dart to his lips again as the memory of us in the cave comes crashing back.
“Wildfires are necessary for new growth,” he counters, expression serious before his lips tilt. “And you don’t, but I’d be disappointed if you did.”
He catches where my eyes have focused, stiffening as if he’s suddenly aware of the thought brewing in my head. His brows lower a fraction, a hunger flashing in his eyes, and he slowly leans in. Like he’s testing the waters, unsure if I’ll run the moment we touch.
But I step into him, my pulse racing as I tip my head back, anticipation humming in the air. He pauses an inch from my lips, his breath warm against mine as oakmoss fills my senses. A scent I’ve started to yearn for in his absence.
His right hand remains steady at the back of my neck, his left hand slipping around my waist, pulling me tightly against him.
Our lips finally meet, firm yet soft, though I can’t help but softly moan into him, lips parting.
It starts slow and tentative, then quickly turns hungry as he deepens the kiss—devouring me—his tongue exploring mine.
My hands slide to the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his hair, noticing that a section at his nape feels shorter than the rest.
He groans, the sound rumbling deep from within, sending a thrill through me as the realm fades, leaving only the two of us. With a gentle pull back, he breaks our kiss.
I groan in frustration, our foreheads touching.
“Isa,” he groans, as if it pains him to stop just as much as it does me. “As much as I love hearing you whimpering for me, we should stop before we do something we might regret.”
“I wouldn’t regret it,” I say, my words speaking the truth, because I wouldn’t. But what would it mean? Does it mean I’m accepting my role as heir to the throne? What does it matter? It’s only a dream.
He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “If that’s true, then I won’t be taking you in the Veil. Wake up.”
What was a kiss seconds ago is now me sitting up in my bed, panting heavily and finding my chamber bathed in darkness once my vision clears. The loss of his touch has me feeling empty, traces of his scent somehow lingering in the air. I didn’t want it to end, now aching and aroused.
Fucking typical.
Anytime something good happens, something has to ruin it.
Smoothing my hair away from my face, I glance out my window. It’s still dark. The moon streams in like it did earlier but is now a little farther across the room—a couple hours after midnight.
I rise, reaching for my water as my racing heart calms. A few seconds go by before a faint knock raps at my door. Setting the glass down, I grip one of my daggers, striding cautiously toward it and wondering who could be knocking at such a late hour. Maybe it’s Ezra.
Cracking the door just wide enough to peek out of, I find Rydian panting in my stairwell, out of breath. My stomach flutters at the sight of him. He rubs the back of his neck and faces me, dressed in the same loose plants and dark green tunic from my dream.
My brows furrow at how familiar this feels and his appearance at my door so late at night. I thought he was still gone on his trip with Orin. Perhaps I was wrong.
Without a word, he pushes himself through the door, our lips colliding.