20. Follow the Lodestar #2
I suppress another tremble when his free hand eases my mug from me. Porcelain clinks, meeting the counter. Before I can form any words, he grasps my shaking hands, and I feel the twin tremor inside him.
“I know, but—” he exhales, positioning himself directly between my knees. I feel the press of his hips against my thighs. “I need something steady when this happens. Something to anchor me, like Mum says. You’re steady, Chess.”
The compliment lands in the centre of my chest, the blade twisting painfully. Its hilt is made of precious diamonds, glittering with the sincerity of his words, but the steel cuts terribly. Something is bleeding, and I tell myself to ease him back, but I’m frozen solid.
“Tell me,” he pleads, pupils star-bright. The grip around my hands cinches, gentle and possessive all at once, and the intimacy feels dangerous now. “Tell me that the wind’s lying to me. Tell me that tomorrow will be brighter.”
This isn’t the boy who chased Percy and me through the corridors; this is a man staring at me as though I’m medicine.
I page through all other instances when he’s been this restless, but there are no references to work from.
No clear instruction on what to do next.
He’s always been tactile; I know that, but never like this.
Never between my legs and watching me with restraint.
A throat clears from behind him. Everything snaps sharp.
Eric fills the doorway, posture impeccably straight and shoulders squared.
I never heard the door open; he might as well be a spectre moving through walls.
His face is expressionless as always, but those eyes sizzle, fixated on Edmund and heavy with fury.
His gaze slides down to Edmund’s hands around mine, pausing dangerously on how he’s slotted between my legs. Red burns in my cheeks, and the back of my eyes begins to itch.
Edmund drops my hands and backtracks as though burnt. “Your Highness,” he clears his throat.
Eric ignores him and stays staring at me. He notes my relief, the rapid rise and fall of my chest, and the mortification seeding in me. His gaze softens a fraction, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “Cousin Edmund. Give us the room.”
Unlike last night, my cousin makes no move to heckle the prince.
Between now and then, something has changed, and the stuttered beat of my heart tells me it’s this moment here.
It makes my eyes sting and my throat tighten because Edmund knows Eric now has leverage.
Knows that needling him wouldn’t bode well.
Knows that this intimacy was wrong—and yet he did it anyway.
He did it anyway.
My cousin bows his head at me, spitting out a small, “Still on for reading, yeah?”
I nod before I can stop myself. Ghostly hands move me, warning against shattering him. ‘Anchor’ , he called me. I can’t let him sink. Can’t let go, not until I’ve got help from his father and sister.
And then he’s off, offering that too-deep bow again to Eric, who says nothing, just watches him leave.
My heartbeat settles into something steadier when he shuts the kitchen door, and it strikes me as strange, this level of comfort in the presence of this man that’s practically a stranger yet somehow safer than Edmund.
His voice is dark. “You’re not on for reading.”
The command—because that’s what it is—is resolute, and I’m too unsettled to argue.
“Kairos leaves for the capital soon, and he’s specifically requested your company at the airfield. In the seventeen days he’s known you, you’ve managed to capture his heart in those muck-caked hands of yours.”
His words earn him the first genuine smile I’ve felt in hours. “Kairos is easy to like.”
“Unlike some people,” he murmurs, closing the distance between us in three strides. His attention narrows to the spot on my leg where Edmund’s hand once rested, and I adjust my robe self-consciously. “Are you alright?”
Defence of my cousin pauses on the tip of my tongue, but relief leaks from me in ways I can’t hide. And Eric notices every drip. His hand settles on the counter next to me, and air fills my greedy lungs.
“Fine,” I manage. “Edmund’s storms are just weather. He means no harm.”
“ Weather ,” he echoes, tasting the word as he studies my face, cataloguing every tremor.
“The dossier calls it hypomanic surges. Restless, prone to intense moods. I researched your family before daring the maws of this castle. None of what I’ve read explains why he had a hand on your thigh and looked seconds away from testing the opening of your robe with his fucking mouth. ”
The bluntness steals all breath from me, and I let out a horrified wheeze. “Eric—he’s my cousin .”
“Precisely my point,” he argues, hand slipping closer but never daring to cross that invisible boundary. “Which is why his proximity troubles me more than any stranger’s would.”
No, no. No, he has to be wrong. He is wrong. The insinuation aches, and I’m shaking my head, breath coming in too fast for my lungs to accommodate. They’re too big for my ribcage, pushing against the bones.
He’s my cousin.
Sound fades from the suddenly cavernous kitchen; everything is out of reach, and my ears are ringing. I grip the counter edge so tight that my knuckles burn.
Two fingers slip beneath my chin, and I’m met with a remorseful gaze. “Francesca,” he says, hand slipping to my nape. The skin there is hot, too hot ; I can tell by the way his brows furrow. “Eyes on me. It’s just us here. Breathe with me, yeah?”
“I can’t .”
“You’ve done it a million times before. Trust me, you can.”
The first inhale is so shaky that I think it might shatter my lungs. Then comes another. And another. His lips move with every single one, counting as though needing to assure himself I’m doing it. I’m breathing, despite it all. He holds my gaze, leading me through each breath.
“Eric, I—” But the words knot.
“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “Just listen. All you have to do is breathe. C’mon, give me another one.
” I take in another shaky gulp of air. Tears blur my vision, but he wipes it away.
“Hold for a few seconds. Out slowly…” The press of his signet ring is grounding, glacial against otherwise inflamed skin.
He doesn’t look away. I watch the steely shade of his eyes darken into a storm, swirling around the abyss of his pupils as they dilate.
Dry as my throat is, I force a swallow and then listen to him.
Not because I have to. Not because he asked.
But because his eyes tell me everything I need to know. Right here, at this moment, I’m safe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Good girl. Breathe for me.” The praise does something obscene to my nervous system, and then I’m getting all of my oxygen from two simple words. His thumb rubs slow circles whilst his other hand finds my knee. “There you go.”
The world slowly comes back into focus.
“Better?” I can only nod, not trusting my voice. “Perfect.”
I attempt words again. “I’m so-sorry. I?—”
He shakes his head. Something bitter burns anew in his gaze, but he tames it, refines it, then tries again.
“No, the apology should be mine.” There’s a tremor at the corner of his frown. “I’m the one who overstepped. That’s on me, only me, and I’m sorry.”
Another apology sticks to the back of my tongue because that panic wasn’t born from nothing.
My body leapt to a reaction before my mind could even conjure denial; some part of me was actually frightened.
Some part of me believed his words, unpleasing as they were.
I can’t even tell if that fear bears my name, or if it’s nothing but Godwyn pulling strings again.
Together, they remind me that I’m back in this cycle of questioning who in this family is out to get me.
“You don’t need to be sorry, Eric.”
His eyes darken, storm clouds rolling in, and I meet it head-on, my chest warming. The hand at my nape seeks out the last of my tears, easing them away. He moves so cautiously, like if he does it too quickly, he’ll scare me off and ruin this fragile moment.
“It’s alright, really ,” I add. “Thank you… for stepping in when you did.”
He inclines his head, and he’s close enough now that the silk of my robe brushes against his shirt.
I watch his hand lift, slowly adjusting the fabric back onto my shoulder, thumb catching momentarily on the black lace of the strap.
I stare down at the lily of the valley curling along his hand, purity inked into a man whose roots are poisonous.
The bells of it tip towards my skin, leaving heat in their wake.
After a millisecond, he respectfully flicks his attention away and takes two steps back.
“Kai leaves in half an hour. I’ll wait outside your door.”
That’s all he says, sounding both pained and relieved. In the next breath, he disappears as quietly as he entered. My heart refuses to settle even after he leaves, and my legs are unsteady when I hop down from the counter. I stay where I am, breathing him out of my lungs, one breath at a time.
It doesn’t work; he’s lodged there, and no matter how I force it loose, spectral hands hold fast.