Frigid Warlord
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ayouthful officer stood before me. He slightly inclined his head, then turned on his heel once he delivered the response.
Denied.
Another request was rejected, and I was running out of time.
I clenched the panel of my dress. Another dawnlight came and left; the third consecutive request. Cassiel refused to see me.
Or was it Drusilla?
His handler.
My fingernails bit into my thighs as the officer retreated. I stood and began pacing the fire-lit parlor. He had not come to visit me in the feeder wing. Not once.
My heart pinched.
I had turned the reality of being his bondmate over and over, but I could not fully focus on it. Not until I saw him. I returned to my chamber and almost bumped into Branwen as she was leaving, dressed in a thick blue cloak with fur at the hood.
Branwen stepped back, eyes wide.
“Branwen?”
“Amara,” she croaked and nervously tucked a curl back under the hood. She shuffled from one foot to the other and continued avoiding my gaze.
“Where are you off to so late . . .” Blood fled my cheeks. I did not need her to tell me. “To see Lord Draven,” I said, not feeling my lips.
“He requested a visitation tonight,” she whispered. “For a feeding.”
The vision of him and Branwen tangled over fur sliced through my thoughts. Was this a pointed slight?
A flash of his hands on her, caressing, touching her, and tightening until the snap of bones. I ground my teeth together.
“Let me take your place.” She pursed her lips, blinking. “Please,” I begged, approaching to take hold of the outside of her arms. She chewed on her lower lip.
“A carriage awaits me outside the Grand Hall,” she said, reaching for the button clasping the cloak at her chest. “An officer will meet you outside this door and escort you to it.” She shrugged the robe off and swung it over my shoulders.
I took over and buttoned it. “Keep the hood covering your face.” Her eyebrows furrowed.
“This will not affect you,” I promised, squeezing her hands briefly. If I must lie and state I had stolen the cloak, then I would.
“Do you . . . like him?” she asked.
“I might,” I whispered, lying, knowing full well I was infatuated with the King of Sycarious.
Her concern did not fade, but she did not stop me from retreating.
I kept tucking the fur of the cloak closer to my cheeks while slowing my pace to make my limp less obvious.
When I settled my weight on my injured leg, I popped my hip out a bit more to roll into the next step.
It took a lot more effort and I wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long.
Fortunately, with the moonlight out and most slumbering, there wouldn’t be many eyes.
Just as she stated, a different officer stood waiting in the middle of the hall. I passed the other officer posted near the door. Since I kept my head down, I was only able to see his trousers and boots. I inclined my head.
“Lady Branwen,” he murmured and began down the hall.
He sounded familiar. I waited until he was a healthy distance away and lifted my head a bit more.
It was Egan. I kept pace.
Cassiel had requested a feeder.
I gritted my teeth, stewing in anger. We reached the foyer before the Grand Hall.
“Have you made progress with your embroidery?” Egan asked, a soft, polite tone to his voice.
I grunted an affirmative.
He hesitated and came to a stop so fast that I stumbled to a halt a pace before slamming into him.
“Lady Branwen?” He turned, suspicion in his voice.
I hummed, bobbing my head. The silence told me he had already caught me. With one pace forward from him, I lifted my head. Egan gawped, and suddenly, in a rush of movement, he grabbed me by the elbows, pulling me closer.
“You are up,” he breathed, eyes scanning me. Moonlight fell across the side of his face, casting the other half into shadows. He narrowed his eyes. “You must return to your chamber,” he ordered.
He released one elbow and began to tow me in the opposite direction.
“Egan,” I muttered, yanking and tugging.
Nothing was working. He reached the door, but right before he opened the one leading to the connected passageway, I yanked my arm down so hard he finally had to release me or he would have wrenched my shoulder.
“Please, I must see him.”
“He almost killed you,” he hissed, anger flashing across his face. Showing me the most raw emotion I had seen from him.
“Please, Egan, take me to him.”
“I do not think it is best.”
“Please.” I clasped the lapels of his Guard uniform. “I must. It could mean my life.”
His throat bobbed. I was using his . . . kindness toward me against him, and I knew that, but there was no room for guilt in the face of my desperation. Not when he had to know I planned something. Egan was not ignorant, he must know my behavior was odd.
His hand cupped the bottom of my jaw, and I stayed perfectly still, pleading with my eyes. My lips quivered, but I managed to keep tears at bay. His care for me was unmistakable.
“Fine,” he exhaled, so close that his breath touched my lips. A flush reddened the bridge of his nose as he stared at my mouth.
Right as I feared he would bend to press his lips to mine, he straightened abruptly and turned on his heels.
He remained quiet as he helped me onto the awaiting carriage and shut the door. A driver had not been present, and the shaking of the carriage told me that Egan would drive the carriage.
Such a secretive, illicit event.
This was how women were summoned for His Highness. I gritted my teeth and gripped the edge of the cushioned seat.
I had plenty of experience stamping down what I truly felt. This was a moment unlike any other where I had to set aside my frustration and anger.
Part of me wanted to toss accusations at him . . . but he was also a victim of this system that had been set up for the betterment of bluebloods.
Losing my temper would be a hindrance. I had plenty of experience in keeping my composure. Releasing a stream of air did nothing to abate the tension drawing my shoulders toward my ears.
Cassiel had to believe me, but how would I approach him? He was volatile at best, hateful toward redbloods at most.
What would I say to him first? There had to be something he would stop and listen to.
The carriage jostled from side to side and slowed.
It had not taken long to reach the Citadel. Egan opened the carriage and helped me down. He squeezed my hand once before releasing me. I padded across the polished floor and ascended. The first landing turned into the second and so on until I strode toward the entrance of his chamber.
I stepped inside, my gaze swallowing the place, and I could not help but slow when I saw him propped against the pillows with one leg hanging off the bed, his arms crossed as he leaned back.
“Come, feeder,” he droned, his eyes remaining closed.
His face was terribly striking and devastatingly beautiful. My gaze fell to his harsh hands. My body moved before my mind caught up, and I angled to the side to keep the exit within view.
I drank him in with his silk robe on as I released a slow breath, forcing myself to stride to him.
Despite the robe being tied at the front, I had no doubt he was nude beneath it.
Another wave of anger swelled, but I had to stamp it down.
He inhaled, nostrils flaring, eyes still shut, and the line of his body became impossibly stiff.
“You do not belong in my chamber.” His tone vibrated over my skin.
“Why have you not allowed me to see you?” I frowned and shuffled closer to Lord Draven—Cassiel. He’d become Cassiel to me since our return from Lifton Village.
“So you were informed of my wishes,” he drawled.
“I am not leaving,” I announced, set my jaw and lifted my chin.
He opened his eyes until they were a thin slit.
Not a twitch of an expression.
He studied me with those cold eyes. There was no part of Cassiel there, not the one I had come to know. He sat up and I approached, my gait faltering from the tightness that wouldn’t let me extend my legs properly.
He inhaled sharply, sitting up. Concern flitted over his face briefly before it turned to distaste.
“Pathetic human, you never listen!” he roared.
I flinched, squeezing my eyes even tighter. He cupped the bottom of my jaw, squeezing hard. Excruciating stings sliced across my cheeks, forcing my eyes open. His hand on my face tightened, and I braced for that snap.
Liquid dripped from the slices of his nails puncturing my skin. He yanked my chin higher and bent even closer. His tongue ran up my cheek, over the stinging cuts.
I shuddered, fear and desire mingling. “Return to the feeder wing or I’ll have you dragged there.”
“Cassiel, please—” He had me on my back, the fur of the hood touching my jaw.
Had it been concern that crossed his face or was it my fruitless hope? His fangs hovered a pinky length away from my mouth, his lips curled in a sneer. But I would not stop.
Hatred bled from his hard gaze, but despite the anger, his length was a prodding stiffness.
“Cassiel,” I mumbled. “I must tell you many things. I—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “I am your bondmate.”
A beat of silence—stillness so eerie the hair on my arms rose.
Breaths sawed free, and his eyes became wilder with every word that spilled out.
“You think me a fool?” His perfect eyebrow arched up.
“Not by choice,” I blurted, his arrogance rousing mine in a challenge. I clenched my teeth so hard they clicked.
He scoffed, and his head fell back with a harsh laugh. He raised his hand and dragged the back of it against my cheek in a caress. There was nothing kind about it.
He did not believe me, of course he did not.
“Please, Cassiel, listen. Your powers, I know why they falter.” I did not stop. “You are nothing more than an assassin. A figurehead.”
“Silence!” he roared, grabbing my chin and squeezing.
He became frighteningly still. Nerves turned in my stomach. In a smooth, feline glide, he pushed off the fur and stood before me. Moonlight beamed in from behind him, casting him in shadows.
“You think to trick me?” The silky threat in his tone rendered me frozen. Cassiel gripped my arm and pulled me closer, his head lowering. “You will not fool me again, filthy redblood.”
Without releasing me, he dragged me after him, the harsh grip pinching into my skin. I staggered, struggling to keep up with the pinch in my hip and leg.
“Drusilla!” he bellowed as he ascended the steps. Calling the very woman with a hand in orchestrating the destruction of his own bondmate.