Chapter 8
EIGHT
GAVIN SMYTH
As it turns out, I can talk to Shera in my head. If only I could find a way to talk to you that way too.
—UNSENT CORRESPONDENCE FROM QUEEN ARYELLA I TO THE BUTCHER OF NYRIDA
23rd of Aesta, 402 Years Ago
I’d always been skilled at hiding in the shadows when necessary. Isaac and Eden had enforced strict rules while raising me, and I’d followed… maybe a third of them.
It had been one month since she showed up in my shop.
Once or twice a week, she found a way to escape into the city to train.
I knew she had more important things than a lowly blacksmith to think about, but I hadn’t gone a single waking minute without thinking of her .
I would be glad to take my final breath with her on my mind.
I’d rather die drowning in thoughts of her than not know her at all.
Today, I’d taken the extreme risk of knocking an unassuming guard unconscious and stealing his uniform. He would wake up hours from now in only his undergarments, tied up with rope in some eastern Brinnean back alley. He’d probably have to call for help, but he’d be fine.
She said being near her was dangerous. I was not easily deterred.
Was I obsessed with her? Yes.
Did I care? No.
Was I outside her door after scouring the castle for two hours in search of her bedroom? Yes, I absolutely was.
The single blue jay carved above the door gave it away. I knocked impatiently. The moment she saw me, she gasped and pulled me inside, then slammed the door and shoved me against it, glaring up at me.
I smiled at the way her green, gold-speckled eyes lit up when she saw me. No matter how disgruntled she pretended to be, she was happy to see me.
She wore a soft, short-sleeved ivory dress that cinched at the waist and had a modest neckline barely hinting at her perfect breasts beneath.
Her silver-blond hair was unbound and billowed out in angelic waves behind her.
Biting back a groan, I clenched my hands at my sides to keep from pulling her against me.
One of those castle guards could drive a sword through the door into my gut, and I’d still be one lucky bastard to have her be the last thing I saw.
Gods, what a way to die.
“Are you insane ?” she hissed.
“Yes.” My pulse pounded. I was very focused on her fingers flexing into my chest. Her touch, combined with the milky skin of her neck glowing in the morning light streaming in through the curtains, would drive any man insane.
The sweet scent wafting off her hair had me wishing I could bury my face and wrap my fist in it and never come up for air.
I was so fucked, yet I’d never been happier about anything in my entire life.
“You saw me four days ago, Gavin.” She pursed her lips and blushed.
I glanced down at her mouth and tried to keep my own from watering. “So?”
“That’s not very long.”
I scoffed. “I beg to differ.” Four days felt like four hundred years.
“It’s dangerous ,” she reminded me.
My smile widened. “As I’ve said, I’m not sure I care much about that.”
“You should care.” She released my shirt and stepped back. “If something happened to you?—”
“Ah.” I pushed off the door, following her. She sucked in a sharp breath and made a good effort at hiding it, but I’d already become adept at not missing a single thing where she was concerned. “Are you worried about me, Ella?”
“Someone should be.” She folded her arms across her chest.
I chuckled and surveyed her bedroom. I tried not to look at her bed, simply because imagining her there, sleeping without me next to her, made my heart hurt.
A grandiose, golden chandelier with delicate roses carved around the main stem hung from the muraled ceiling.
This time of day, enough daylight streamed in through the windows that the candles weren’t lit, but that chandelier was still the most lavish thing I’d ever seen.
“Do you like roses?” I asked, studying how intricately the petals were carved into the gold.
I hadn’t shaped gold into anything intricately detailed in my short career as a blacksmith, but I’d watched Isaac do it twice, and it was rigorous work.
I didn’t want to think about how long it had taken to craft that chandelier.
“Not particularly.” She looked self-conscious as I surveyed her room. “Why?” she asked, as if it was insignificant.
About her, nothing was insignificant, and what she had to be self-conscious about, I didn’t know. Because fuck , it was extravagant in here. Objectively beautiful? Sure. But stuffy. This room’s main redeeming quality was that it smelled like her. Strawberries, sunshine, and everything perfect.
“What flowers do you like?” I asked.
Her frown faded as she contemplated. “Blue ones, I think.”
I grinned. Blue used to be my favorite color until I saw her eyes. Now, it was green.
“How much time do you spend in your bedroom?” I peered over the edge of her bed at a pile of open books. Some pages had tears, and most of the spines were bent and worn from overuse.
She rubbed her elbow. She was nervous. “A lot.”
“Have you been practicing what I taught you?”
She folded and unfolded her arms. Another anxious tell of hers. “Yes.”
“Where? And with who?” Irrational jealousy clouded my vision.
“In here mostly. With myself.” She looked like she was afraid it was the wrong answer.
I stepped closer, and when she didn’t retreat, I gently grasped her wrists and stroked the soft skin beneath the heel of her hand, right over the thrumming pulse that reminded me she was real . “Do tell me who ever made a girl as beautifully miraculous as you feel the need to shrink herself.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I repressed a growl. Maybe she shouldn’t tell me who. I would hunt them down.
“You have nothing to hide and no reason to cower,” I answered, hands shifting to her shoulders. “Remember that.”
Her grateful smile had my anger slowly subsiding. That was until a gust of wind rustled the rose-colored curtains hanging on the window, revealing… No . There was no way. They wouldn’t do that to her, would they?
“Are those fuck—” I bit back the profanity, cleared my throat, tempered my rage, and lowered my voice. “Are those bars on your window, Ella?”
She looked and frowned. “Yes.”
“Why?” I snarled, the fury in my bones so overwhelming I feared I’d frighten her with it if I wasn’t careful. “ Why are there bars on your window?”
“They’ve never really told me,” she answered too calmly. Not nearly angry enough. “They’ve been there since I was a little girl. I assumed it was just because they didn’t want anyone climbing up and inside the castle.”
I wanted that to be true. I wanted to believe it was solely for her protection, but not one other room I passed had bars on the windows, nor did the windows in the hallways or stairwells.
It wasn’t someone coming in they were afraid of.
“What’s wrong?” Her brow knit together in concern.
I gritted my teeth, unsure how to answer in a sane manner. No wonder she’d snuck into the city weeks ago. They kept her in a fucking cage.
Resolve cleansed my mind of everything but her. Protecting and cherishing her. Fighting for her. Before everything and everyone else. Who was putting her first? Her wants? Her needs? I didn’t understand how someone could want to give her anything but the world on a silver platter.
I would do it myself, whatever it took, even if it made me insane. If sanity was living without her, I didn’t want it.
“Come on.” I grabbed her hand and made for her bedroom door. “We’re going to do something fun.”
“No.” She withdrew, despite the twitch of her lips and the excitement glinting in her green eyes. “I think you’re trouble.”
“You know, I think you’re right.” Her withdrawal felt like a punch to my gut, but I wasn’t easily discouraged.
“I’ve always been trouble , and I’m positive I always will be, even with your good influence.
” I offered my hand again and softened my eyes and voice, trying to ease her nerves.
“So show me where else in this castle you like to go, and come be trouble with me.”
Her longing expression nearly put me on my knees.
I’d never been looked at with such light.
Such hope . She glanced at her pile of books, the bars on the window, then the door.
I refrained from scooping her into my arms and running off.
Like usual, she wore every emotion she felt, and the fear trying to dull her hope became my worst enemy.
“You’re going to have to act like a real guard,” she said, finally giving in. “Be inconspicuous and keep far enough behind so no one knows you’re following me.”
I bowed my head, smirking. “Yes, my queen.”
Her laugh sounded sweet and carefree. “I’m not the queen. That’s my mother.”
She would be queen one day. And she was the only queen who mattered to me. “A goddess, then?”
“You can’t say things like that,” she warned me shyly. A rosy pink bloomed across her cheeks.
“Why not?” I reached out and brushed my thumb over the dimple beside her lips, where more color gathered. “You look perfect when you blush.”
It was a partial lie. She looked perfect all the time.
A light mewling sound and something brushing against my leg stole my attention. I looked down to find a sleek, gray cat with a pink nose purring so loud it was vibrating.
“Well, who’s this?” I asked with a chuckle. I had always liked cats.
Aryella’s face lit up. “That’s Shera.” When I stretched out a hand, Shera shoved her eager head into my palm and purred impossibly louder. “She’s mine.” The pride in her voice over something being hers tugged at my chest.
Suddenly, I was jealous of a cat.
“I found her when she was a kitten trying to steal scraps from the kitchen,” Ary continued. “She was quite thin, but I kept her in my room and nursed her back to health.” Sadness dimmed her angelic features. “I’m not sure what happened to her mother.”
“Do you have a thing for strays, Ella?” I gently teased.