Chapter Twenty-Nine
Milo
It had been a long day. I’d spent most of it doing damage control after the bombings and keeping Raghnall at bay.
The man was ready to storm down to the lower rings and start smashing heads against the cobblestones until he got some answers, but I managed to talk him down, advising him to hold off until we could devise an actual strategy that would help us uncover those actually involved rather than pissing off the whole of the lower rings.
The last thing we needed now was to turn everyone who wasn’t already with the rebels against us.
That would create a force in Sanctuary we couldn’t possibly hope to reckon with.
Still, I couldn’t keep the journal from my mind.
Maybe I was going mad too. I certainly felt like it at the moment, standing in the middle of my own bedroom and staring at the glowing necklace on my wife’s vanity table with dark circles under my eyes and a dazed expression one only got from lack of sleep.
I dreaded the very presence of the amulet and yet I couldn’t look away from it.
I could almost swear I heard it calling to me, even standing a few feet away as I was.
My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to reach out and brush against the smooth metal one more time.
I had to test my theory. I had to see if it spoke to me every time.
I had to discover why it didn’t speak to Isla.
I reached out, stretching my shaking hands toward the glowing object. The moment my fingertips made contact, I heard him. He spoke in a voice as ancient as the city itself, as thunderous as Cosmo bellowing at the crowd, as rigid as Raghnall when he only barely managed to restrain his fury.
Free me, mortal. I can make you a king. I can make you a god.
I pulled my hand back as if burned. This had to be it.
The reason Simi went mad, the voice he was hearing in his head.
Had he worn the necklace around his neck, never knowing it was the cause of his madness?
Or had he simply been near it, touched it, too many times and that thing had buried itself inside his mind?
Was such a thing possible? Then again, how was any of this possible?
So many questions swirled through my mind whenever I thought of this strange amulet and the voice inside which claimed to be a god but one stood out above the rest: where did Simi get it?
Had it come from his mother before him, passed down the way Nascha claimed?
If it was such an established part of our history, why was he the first to hear the voice?
It seemed like a simple question, a matter of timing and logistics, but somehow it felt vitally important, like knowing where this object came from might be the only way to truly understand how it could exist. But the only mention of the necklace was after he’d already given it to his wife who, as far as our history told, had never gone mad.
Which meant she hadn’t heard the voice either.
So it didn’t seem to affect women. Had Simi known that?
Is that why he gave it to her, for safe keeping nearby but far enough away not to plague him?
I needed to ask Isla. There was nothing else to be done.
Maybe she’d think I was mad. Maybe history would record me as having lost my mind before I even managed to inherit my House.
Maybe my journals would be studied someday by some academic and they’d say ‘he just snapped and no one ever knew why’.
But I had to ask because I was who I was and it actually would drive me insane if I didn’t.
I heard the door of the bathing chamber attached to our room, where my wife had been taking her evening bath, creak open then and I turned to do exactly as I’d planned.
“Isla–”
My words died on my tongue.
My wife stood in the doorway between our bedroom and bathing chamber wearing a slip of light blue silk trimmed in matching lace.
It was short, falling against the smooth skin of her upper thighs with a slit that went even higher.
Over her breasts was simple lace, dipping low and sheer so as to leave nothing to the imagination.
I forced my gaze to rise to meet hers.
“You–you look–” I started.
“You’re my husband, Milo,” she interrupted before I could pay her the compliment she was certainly due. “And you’re a good man who’s held me to no expectations but, well, I have some expectations of my own.”
She strode across the room and stepped in front of me, reaching up to the blue silk tie resting against my buttoned shirt.
With a soft pull, she loosened it, relieving some of the pressure on my neck.
I breathed out involuntarily, watching her move as she pressed forward, resting her palms against my chest.
“You’re kind and thoughtful and intelligent and so very honorable,” she said, somehow managing to make the compliment sound more like a curse. “For once in your life, Milo, I’m asking you to do the dishonorable thing here.”
I raised a brow and reached up to grip her hands, holding them in my own between us as I gazed into her deep brown eyes.
“Or are you going to tell me your thoughts are as pure as your actions?” she asked, disappointment evident in her tone.
“I’ve never claimed to be pure, Isla,” I reminded her. “I’m not a perfect man by any measure of the word but I’ve tried to do right by you. I’ve tried to give you time to come to terms with this marriage, with our union, because I know it was never your choice.”
“You would have been my choice,” she whispered, so softly I had to lean toward her to hear. Her gaze snapped to mine and widened as if stunned she’d spoken aloud, but I hardly noticed.
Something within me was stirring at her words, at a reality I hadn’t dared to dream of.
That someone might have wanted me, might have chosen me, if they’d had the chance.
That she would have chosen me if only I’d seen her when it mattered, if only I’d let her.
The gods, whoever or whatever they may be, had bonded us together in that First Trial so long ago.
I’d been so wrapped up in the loss of Cora, I hadn’t ever given her sister a chance, because I didn’t do well with unexpected changes.
I didn’t function the way I was supposed to around anything based on religious context.
I’d let the magnitude of the events and the confusion of the shift distract me from my actual partner. And now she was my wife.
I hadn’t pressed myself upon her because I wasn’t the sort of man who ever would and because, I realized now, I needed her to choose me too.
I’d always needed that. Even though I’d grown up knowing my marriage would be arranged, that I would be bound to someone I may not even wish to tolerate, I’d only needed her to choose me.
Effort was all I required but this was more than that, more than I’d ever dared to hope for.
She was gazing into my eyes now with something like admiration mixed with desire I’d never experienced aimed my way before, not in any true sense.
I didn’t call it love. I didn’t know enough about that feeling to identify it.
But I could tell this was something special and something primal within me urged me to show her that.
I reached out, tangling my fingers in her fiery copper hair as I pulled her toward me and pressed my lips to hers.
She melted into me at once, fists balling into my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt tight.
This was Isla at her softest, most vulnerable.
This was an Isla I’d never seen, that no one ever got to see.
I could feel her letting go, giving into the moment, and I wanted to make sure she enjoyed it.
So I bent and lifted her up with my good arm cradled under her ass.
My lips were still on hers as she wrapped her legs around me with a soft sigh.
I squeezed the smooth skin of her thigh as I carried her backward toward the bed and let her fall onto it.
Hair spilling out perfectly, red stark against the blue sheets, she bounced a bit, a smile curling her lips as she bit the lower one and looked up at me.
I paused for a moment, enjoying the view, savoring the look of her like this; happy and waiting, mine.
Her legs fell open as she beckoned me forward, a mischievous glint in her eye I couldn’t ignore.
I climbed over her, putting all of the weight on my unbroken arm and pressing another kiss to her lips before trailing down the soft crook of her neck to her collarbone and across the curve of her breast. She sighed again, louder this time, and I took it as permission.
Shifting to lean on the opposite elbow, I slid the strap of her gown delicately from her shoulder, kissing every inch of skin it revealed as it went.
The moment her breast sprang free, I took it into my mouth, sucking and kissing until she was writhing beneath me.
I reached beneath the lace to the other one and rubbed small circles with my thumb until she was breathless and I was straining against my own zipper.
“Milo, please,” she gasped out, wide eyes shooting to mine. “Touch me.”
I grinned against her, still toying with the tip of her nipple with my tongue, grazing her with my teeth.
She moaned as my hand found her hip and slid up, taking the thin silk with them.
My fingers found her center as my teeth found her neck and she jumped against me, tangling her fingers in my hair, scratching my shoulders as she clung to me.
She was more than ready for me as it was.
She certainly didn’t need any more encouragement, but I wasn’t finished yet.
So I slid back down the silk and buried my face between her legs.