CHAPTER FOUR #4
Ethenn’s brow furrowed. “Wasn’t he one of the Warriors who stood up earlier?” he asked.
Ilain sent him a suggestive glance. “He was indeed.”
“Olsen has been in love with Lainy for the past fifteen years,” Vayden said casually. “She just doesn’t care to return the feeling.”
“Love is a loose term,” Ilain said flatly. “He wants to be Bonded, and I’m one of the few remaining candidates not spoken for.”
“Speaking of . . .” Vayden murmured, then smiled as Lieutenant Lohen approached. “Welcome to the party, naladar.”
The lieutenant gave him a flat stare, though her dark eyes twinkled with humor as she slipped in at Isla’s side.
She said something in Schonese that made Vayden, Isla, and Reyana laugh.
Then she gave a quick scan of the Ephrians.
“The night’s festivities are proceeding at The Rook,” she said.
“And Imelda, the tavern’s owner, requested I inform you all that the drinks of our Ephrian champions are on the house. ”
“Free drinks?” Rafferty said, then catapulted off the table. “What are we waiting for?”
Though Evylin would usually be excited at the prospect of such an evening of frivolity, she couldn’t quite find her smile.
All through the exchange, Deckard had grown more and more tense by her side, his grip on her hand ever tightening.
Whatever her intentions, she’d made a mistake mentioning the Bonding.
She owed him an apology for pushing him into the choice.
While most of the crowd had exited the hall, Vayden, Isla, and Lohen had to stop a few stragglers from approaching them.
They left through the back door, the cold night air prickling their exposed skin.
Evylin struggled to get a breath in as they walked across the courtyard.
She thought to pull Deckard to the side to tell him they should return and find the archminister.
They could take it back. They didn’t have to Bond.
But as Vayden opened a door to their right and Isla guided their troop inside, Deckard’s fingers tightened once more, drawing Evylin ahead toward the Crimson Clover.
While their friends disappeared into the tavern, Evylin let him divert their path.
He was right. They needed to talk and figure this out.
They passed through the kitchen and the halls to the foyer, proceeding up the stairs.
She didn’t bother finding excuses along the way.
She would apologize, and they would work out how best to explain the situation to Fishere.
They weren’t ready to Bond.
Deckard released his grip on Evylin to unlock the door. Then he set a hand to her lower back, ushering her inside.
Feeling the agitation in his sharp movements, Evylin began her apology as he began to shut the door. “Jonn . . .” The words stuck in her throat, and she had to swallow them down.
The door latched, and he turned the lock.
Trying again, Evylin made sure her voice was filled with earnestness as she said, “Jonn, I’m so sorry.”
Deckard faced her, his brow drawn low. “You’re sorry?”
Evylin nodded, hopeful he’d see her contrition. “I am. I wasn’t thinking, and I—I know I should have talked to you before . . . We can talk to the archminister. We’ll convince him—”
“Evylin,” he cut her off, a slow, baffled smile spreading across his face, “I’m not upset.”
She blinked. “You’re not?”
He took a step closer, the smile growing amused. “No.”
“Oh.” Evylin smoothed her hands over the back of her skirt, somewhat embarrassed. “So . . . you didn’t bring me up here to reprimand me?”
Deckard approached steadily, the shadows of the room catching on his sharp features. Only the low-burning lamps lit their room in an amber haze. In their flickering light, his hair took on more of a red tint.
“No,” he said. “I did not.”
“Oh,” she said again, the breath slipping out of her lungs as understanding dawned.
Deckard closed the gap between them, reaching out to sweep her hair over her shoulder. “Why would I have any cause to be angry with you,” he whispered, “when you asked to be bound to me forever?”
A faint laugh escaped her as he leaned forward, his nose brushing hers. “It does sound rather ridiculous,” she managed to say, “when you put it that way.”
“Mm,” he agreed, his hand settling on her waist to draw her closer.
Evylin’s heart skipped nervously for a whole new reason. “You were just so—so serious, and . . .” she stammered. “And tense.”
His lips pressed gently to her cheek. “I was serious because I was struggling to keep my emotions in check after you told me that what mattered most to your future was if I were in it.”
Evylin closed her eyes as his fingers traced her collar, skimming her neck.
“And I was tense,” he whispered against her skin, “because my patience was running thin.”
Smirking as his lips brushed hers, Evylin drew back to say, “I have no doubt that your patience would have lasted.”
He grunted as his fingers worked free the buttons on her blouse.
“You’re the most patient man on Terraeus.”
“That,” Deckard said, his voice low and husky, “was before.”