Chapter 49 - Nerina #2
His tone was even, but something in it reached past my defenses before I could stop it.
“Let me show you something,” he added. “You don’t have to speak. You don’t have to stay. Just… see it.”
Suspicion flared. “Where?”
His eyes glinted in the firelight, storm-gray and unreadable. “A surprise.”
“That’s vague,” I said flatly.
A flicker of mischief—quick, restrained. “It’s better that way.”
“Five minutes,” he said. “If you hate it, we leave.”
I should have refused. But some small, traitorous part of me—the part still raw and shaking—wanted to see. Slowly, reluctantly, I nodded. “Fine. But only because I can’t sit here with you and this silence for another moment.”
My gaze slid to the snowy white gown. It had felt like a taunt earlier. Now it felt like armor.
“I can dress myself,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. I lifted my chin toward the door.
Veyrion rose smoothly, inclining his head. His eyes lingered—too steady, too knowing—before the corner of his mouth curved. “As you wish,” he murmured. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy helping.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I yanked the furs tighter around my shoulders and glared. “Out.”
His low chuckle rumbled like distant thunder. He slipped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him.
Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding.
The fabric shimmered as I lifted it—heavy with that silver-threaded hem. I slid the gown over my head. The fabric fell down my skin like water. The fur-lined cloak settled over my shoulders.
I smoothed my braid over one shoulder and stared at myself in the bronze mirror.
My eyes were red. My cheeks pale.
But the dress made me look untouchable. Like someone who wasn’t coming undone.
When I opened the door, Veyrion was waiting. His arm bent toward me—an escort offered without words.
I arched a brow, fingers tightening on the clasp at my throat. “Not enough mead tonight for that.”
His grin flickered, but he didn’t argue. He simply turned, boots echoing softly against stone.
I followed. He led me down a long corridor hung with banners, torchlight flickering against carved wood, until he stopped before a heavy oak door bound with iron.
My stomach tightened.
I froze. “This is your chamber.”
“It is,” he said, expression unreadable.
Veyrion strode past me without hesitation, as though I hadn’t just accused him with every inch of my posture. He shed his cloak across the back of a chair and reached for a heavy iron kettle resting on the hearth.
I stayed rooted just past the threshold, arms crossed tightly over my chest. “I’m not coming in there.”
“Okay,” he said simply.
I scoffed. “I’m not one of your conquests, or a whore, or whatever else you drag behind these doors.”
That wolfish grin flashed—infuriating in its calm. “No,” he said, quiet and certain. “You’re not.”
He crossed the room with unhurried steps and set the tea tray on a small table near the bed. I should have turned away. Returned to my chamber. Locked the door. But something about his calm—about the space he left me to choose—kept my feet rooted.
The room was larger than mine, warmer too.
Fire crackled in a wide stone hearth, throwing heat into every corner.
Furs draped the carved bedframe, pelts spilling onto polished floorboards.
Shields and axes lined the walls in symmetrical display, iron gleaming in firelight.
The headboard rose high, knotwork carved deep into dark wood.
A warrior’s den—softened by warmth and flame. Beneath it all, the scent of him: pine and smoke, cut with something colder, sharper—fresh-fallen snow.
I crossed my arms tighter, unimpressed on principle, even as my pulse betrayed me. “Cozy,” I said flatly.
Veyrion’s mouth curved. “I think so.”
Without another word, he crossed to a heavy oak door at the far wall and pushed it open, revealing a narrow stair spiraling upward.
I blinked, startled. “I didn’t know Skeldrhall had another floor.”
He gestured toward the steps. “A surprise.”
Caution pricked in my chest—but curiosity tugged harder. I gathered my cloak tighter and climbed, stone narrowing around me as the stair wound tighter with each turn. The air grew cooler, faint light spilling down to meet me. Then the final step gave way—I had never seen anything so beautiful.
The ceiling above was not stone. It was glass, arched wide and tall, framing the heavens. The sky blazed.
Rivers of green and violet shimmered across the dark, pulsing and shifting like a living song written over the stars. The lights moved with a slow, impossible grace—like the ocean turned inside out, waves of fire instead of water.
Everything fell away—the ache, the betrayal, the taste of lies still fresh on my tongue—washed clean by wonder.
My hand drifted to the glass as if I could touch it, pull that brilliance into myself. Behind me, boots whispered against stone. Veyrion’s presence brushed close—steady and sure. “With all the excitement,” he said at last, voice low, almost reverent, “you didn’t get to see them last night.”
He paused, and when I looked back, his eyes were catching the lights too—frost-bright. “They’re why you stayed,” he added quietly. “After all.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Not bitter. Just wonder.
His mouth curved, low and dangerous. “I’ll admit,” he murmured, stepping closer, “I was half afraid you’d forgotten how to smile.”
Heat bloomed in my cheeks, traitorous and fast. I hated that he could pull it from me so easily—hated it almost as much as I hated that my lips threatened to curve again.
“Don’t start,” I muttered, waving him off like smoke. “You ruin everything the moment you open your mouth.”
His chuckle was quiet—dark at the edges. He leaned in just enough for his voice to curl low. “Would you prefer I do something else with my mouth?”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the glass, desperate for the distraction of the lights—and cursing myself for letting him see even a flicker of my reaction. Behind me, his low laughter rumbled like a storm breaking in the distance.
Above, the aurora shifted—green and violet weaving across the night in slow, breathtaking arcs.