Chapter 15 #3
Around them, couples had started dancing again, circling the part of the dance floor the king didn’t occupy, careful to keep their distance from the guards.
From the dais, Airmal Ycken descended with one of the young women at his arm, his expression calculated and serious as his eyes flitted over the crowd as if in search of something—or someone.
The black of his eyes pierced Lory like a dagger as they landed on her, and his face lit up with recognition.
Whether he remembered the street rat who stole the Almelyte from him or the Flame-born who had been allowed to live, Lory couldn’t tell.
What she could tell was that Airmal Ycken was about to make it through the barrier the guards formed, the woman trailing behind him on his arm as he approached.
“We need to dance,” she hissed at Khayrivven. “Now,” she amended when he didn’t react, still trapped in his fight against better judgement.
“Khayrivven.” The warning in her tone didn’t get through to him, neither did her own instincts let her think clearly as the king’s advisor for all things magic made his way toward them.
She stepped in front of him, chest against his front, taking his hand into hers—the hand that had been between her thighs not even half an hour ago—and lifted it in front of his face, a brow raised in a silent prompt for him to follow protocol as she sank into a curtsy.
Like in a trance, Khayrivven’s head bowed, mouth lowering onto her knuckles in a whisper of a kiss, and as Lory seized the opportunity, turning their joined hands under his nose, his back stiffened, his eyes snapping up to hers as he inhaled deeply.
A shudder ran through his body, and he pulled her against his front, straightening just in time for her to crash against his chest. Their hands he led up to his mouth, burying his face between them as he seemed to suck the air from the room in a single deep breath.
His eyes shuttered, and when they locked on Lory’s, the fury had toned down. “Your scent, Lory”—he kissed the inside of her palm, his free hand snaking around her waist as he started moving slowly to the rhythm of the music—“your scent will save me.”
She wasn’t sure if the fire behind his irises was that of desire or the remains of his fury, and it didn’t matter when he led her away from the guards and from Lord Ycken, whose path was now blocked by moving pairs.
Three rounds did they make it around the dance floor before they were interrupted by a man in white and gold, a gold-tipped spear in his fist and a serious expression on his deep umber face.
“The king wants to speak with you, Captain,” the guard said by way of greeting, and Lory’s heart lodged in her throat.
A glance around the room told her that Ulder had vanished from the dance floor, once more sitting on his throne, from where he studied the moving crowd. Elina stood behind his shoulder, her smile as lovely as ever.
“Now, Captain,” the guard hissed when Khayrivven didn’t immediately stop his swaying movements to jump at the king’s whim.
He merely shrugged off the tension in his shoulders, turning to his side and giving the guard his best smile as he let go of Lory’s arm.
“I’ll see you later,” he said to Lory, placing a kiss on her knuckles in a hint more than what societal protocol demanded, and Lory would have yelped her protest had the guard not deviously grinned at Khayrivven, enjoying the captain’s squirm as he declared, “Her, too.”
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze as Khayrivven stood like a statue, deliberating whether to burn the guard alive now or later, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.
“She’s not needed for the conversation,” he ground out between clenched teeth, his composure not remotely as much in place as needed to keep up the facade.
As if noticing that himself, he straightened an inch, putting on a glorious grin as he gestured at Lory like she was a piece of furniture.
“In fact, she’s not needed at all. Go home, Vednis,” he drawled, jerking his chin at the wide double doors they’d entered the room through earlier that night. “The carriage will be waiting.”
Lory was of half a mind that she wasn’t going to leave him alone in such a state. He was too close to breaking, and if the king’s smirk when she glanced up at the dais was anything to go by, Ulder knew it too.
“Not a chance,” the guard blocked his attempt at getting her out before something happened. “The king wants to see her, too.”
Nothing prepared Lory for the look on Khayrivven’s face when he glanced at the dais, measuring the distance between his sister and the closest guard. She could almost read the thought from his face: Get her out. Grab her and run, no matter where, no matter how far, just run. Save her.
But all four guards on the dais had their spears angled toward Elina—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough to stipulate a warning. One wrong move and she was dead.
So Lory inclined her head at the guard blocking their path. “Lead the way.”