Chapter 7 Still Mine
Still Mine
Asterious
Asterious wasn't worried about the bandits. They were mere child’s play to his men.
Tyrios and Wryan had been two of the fiercest warriors in his father's army, and Riven and Gariel were lethal spies.
They could handle themselves with their eyes closed and one hand behind their backs.
But something far more deadly lurked in their midst, and his only option was to protect her—to protect them all from something far more tragic occurring.
If that made him look like a coward, so be it.
It didn't matter, he reminded himself. Whatever this woman thought of him was irrelevant. It only mattered that he didn’t let her words seep into his mind, and that he got the truth out of her eventually.
But her insults and accusations ignited something in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
She stirred up unchecked emotion that he thought by now he’d learn to suppress, and her body scraping against him all day didn’t make it any easier.
He considered making her ride with Tyrios, but for some damn reason he didn’t like the thought of her being pressed up against him the same way.
There were still a few days left until they reached the old Vaerwynd lands.
The second night they made camp and rested, something was particularly intriguing about Caramyn as she sat staring into the dying fire.
Gariel kept watch in the distance while the others slept, silent as a statue like always.
Asterious found sleep evaded him, and he stood up, walking over to join her.
"You should eat that," he gestured to the half-eaten leg of freshly hunted rabbit at her side.
"You'll need strength for the rest of the journey. "
Caramyn sat with her arms in her lap, hunched over, drawing Asterious' attention to her bound hands. By the fire's dim light, he could see the reddened, irritated flesh around her wrists. "Why do you care?" she mumbled.
“I don’t.” He grunted. "But you're more valuable to me not starved to death."
"Then I'll make sure I don't eat another bite tonight. Try not to lose sleep over it." She looked away with a shrug.
Why did she infuriate him so? She had every right to hate him, to be so callous toward him. Anyone in her position would. Yet her remarks left him scathing for reasons he couldn't explain.
He should've walked away. Should've gone back to lie down and tried to get some sleep despite the nightmares.
Let her be hungry and stubborn and alone.
But he couldn't stop thinking about her hands, damn it.
He stepped away without a word, over to the horses, and reached into Tyrios' saddle bag, only to make his way back to her, much to her displeasure. Like a very stupid moth to a flame.
"Here," He sat down beside her and opened the tiny jar of salve in his hand. "For the rope burns."
To his surprise, she said nothing, only sighed and offered him her hands with a small movement. But when he started to roll back the edge of her sleeve past her wrist, she yanked them away. “That’s far enough.” She hissed.
He nodded and dipped a thumb into the salve, the icy healing balm cool on his fingertip.
“Of course. Whatever you’ll allow. Nothing more.
” Taking her hands in his, he rubbed the salve over the marks on her wrist. She kept her gaze fixed on the embers of the fire, but he couldn't tear his away from her. He studied those ethereal eyes that spoke of something otherworldly. He’d never seen or heard of—or killed—anything like her.
Sapphire, red, emerald, white, gold, and silver.
Those were the only eye colors a Lightborn could possess.
Spellbounds were harder to identify unless they’d carved their runes into their flesh.
And Shadowbloods were unmistakable, their eyes black as voids, dark veins lacing their skin as proof of the blood that ran within.
But she was none of these. Her magic was new, unnamed, if it was even magic at all.
What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? She was a potential source of information. Nothing more. He quickly put the salve away and stood up.
"Gariel." He motioned for the spy on night watch, who came to his side without a sound. "Unbind her."
"You want to let her go, Sire?" Gariel scratched at the nape of his cropped dark hair, an eyebrow raised.
"No, she's still mine." Asterious spoke under his breath while looking at the strange girl crouched by the fire. "But just look at her. She’s still weak. She won't get far if she tries anything. No need for the rope."
Before Gariel could protest, the prince walked on, back to the simple blanket spread on the ground and lay down. He pressed his head against the cold ground, facing away from the fire, and away from the girl beside it.