Chapter 8
8
H er boots echoed in the palace hallway as she struggled to keep pace with Arye. His long strides ate up the distance, making her feel like a child scurrying after an adult. Despite being only a head shorter, the difference in their gaits was stark.
“Your Highness,” Skylar hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. “A physician needs to examine you. Just in case.”
Arye didn’t slow. If anything, he seemed to move faster. “For the last time, Duke, I’m fine. You’re overreacting.”
His dismissive tone sent a flash of irritation through her. Skylar clenched her jaw, quickening her steps. The rapid click of her boots on marble became a staccato counterpoint to Arye’s measured stride. “With all due respect,” she said, each word sharp-edged, “ensuring your safety after an assassination attempt is hardly overreacting.”
They reached the ornate double doors of Arye’s chambers. Without breaking pace, he pushed them open, the heavy wood giving way with a soft groan. Skylar followed him inside, turning to close the doors behind them to ensure their conversation remained private. As she grasped the handle, a sharp twinge shot through her wrist. She suppressed a wince, not wanting to draw attention to herself. The latch clicked softly, sealing them off from the rest of the world.
As she faced the room again, her breath caught. Arye had already shrugged off his coat, tossing it carelessly over a nearby chaise lounge. His fingers worked at the buttons of his vest, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the crisp white shirt beneath. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders, hinting at the muscled form underneath.
Skylar’s mouth went dry. She’d seen Arye in various states of undress before—it was unavoidable given their years of friendship and shared battles. But this… this felt different. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost predatory.
She found herself captivated by the play of muscles beneath his skin, the graceful line of his neck as he tilted his head. The fading sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows caught in his raven hair, turning the edges to liquid gold.
“You know,” Arye murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement, “entering someone’s private chambers uninvited can be quite dangerous.” His eyes met hers, dark and intense, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Her gaze darted briefly to the large, ornate bed dominating the far side of the room before snapping back to Arye. Skylar’s pulse quickened, a rosy tint rising to her skin. She forced a laugh, trying to mask her nervousness with their usual banter. “Oh my, I thought you preferred women,” she said, injecting a teasing lilt into her voice. “Am I ending up as your new bedtime companion?”
“Perhaps.”
The single word hung between them, charged with possibility. Skylar couldn’t see his face clearly; he stood backlit by the window, shadows playing across his features. But she could hear the smirk in his voice, could picture the way his lips would curl at the corners.
She rolled her eyes, pushing aside the flutter in her stomach. Striding forward, she placed her hand on Arye’s shoulder, guiding him firmly toward the chaise lounge. “Stop wasting time, Arye,” she said, her voice huskier than intended. “This would’ve been over ages ago if you’d just cooperate.” She pressed him down onto the chaise. “Now, sit.”
Arye’s sharp intake of breath at her touch sent a thrill through her. For a moment, he remained perfectly still, tension radiating from every line of his body. Then, slowly, he allowed himself to be pushed down. His compliance surprised her; Arye wasn’t one to yield easily, even in jest.
The chaise creaked softly as he settled, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The leather upholstery was butter-soft and warm from the afternoon sun, its rich burgundy a stark contrast to Arye’s pale skin.
“Well,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “This is… interesting. Such boldness.” His gaze raked over her, intense enough that Skylar could almost sense the heat of it against her flesh. “It’s unusual, but not entirely unpleasant.” A slow smile spread across his face, predatory and enticing. “Tell me, Sky, do you always speak to people this way?”
Skylar’s hands moved efficiently, checking Arye for injuries. She kept her touch clinical, professional, even as her heart raced beneath her ribs. The familiar routine helped ground her, allowing her to concentrate on something other than the heat she could feel through her gloves and the persistent ache in her wrist. She flexed her fingers subtly between movements, willing away the discomfort. “I’m a Duke,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tremor that threatened to overtake it. “Apart from you and His Majesty, everyone else is beneath me in rank. So yes, I’m quite accustomed to giving orders.”
“Even in their bedrooms?”
“Perhaps.” Skylar grinned, memories of past encounters flashing through her mind. She was finally herself in those moments—a woman on the hunt after men who could satisfy her hunger. Nights spent in dark inns, where she could only make out silhouettes and raven hair, imagining… She pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. “I have my ways.”
A low chuckle rumbled through Arye’s chest, vibrating against Skylar’s hands as she checked his ribs. “I see,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. “And here I thought I was special.”
Skylar’s fingers faltered briefly before resuming their examination. It took all her willpower to restrain herself from pressing Arye against the chaise, climbing over him, kissing him forcefully, taking him in a way he would never expect from his childhood friend.
“You are special, Arye,” she said softly, almost to herself. The words slipped out before she could stop them, heavy with a truth she could never fully express. “More than you know.”
Silence fell as Skylar continued her inspection. Arye remained uncharacteristically quiet, allowing her to manipulate his limbs and check for hidden injuries. Only their breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as Skylar moved broke the stillness.
“Should I undress further?” Arye’s voice was low, husky. There was a challenge in his tone, a dare that made Skylar’s pulse quicken. “To ensure a… thorough examination?”
Skylar’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Arye’s. The intensity she found there stole her breath away. His gray eyes were dark, pupils dilated, and there was something in his demeanor that she’d never seen before. Time seemed to stand still as she lost herself in the depths of his gaze, drowning in unspoken possibilities.
Maybe…
She cleared her throat, attempting to project calm she didn’t feel. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, inwardly cursing her breathless tone. “You appear to be uninjured.”
As she spoke, Arye’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her wrist. His touch sent a jolt through her, a mixture of pain and something else she didn’t dare name. She bit back a gasp, unsure if it was from discomfort or the electricity of his skin against hers.
“You’re hurt,” he said, eyes narrowing as he examined her wrist. His grip became impossibly gentle. “It’s swollen.”
Skylar followed his gaze, noticing for the first time the tear in her glove. Arye carefully peeled the soft leather away, revealing the full extent of the damage—red, puffy skin that looked worse than she’d realized. Now that her attention was drawn to it, the dull throb of pain radiating up her arm became impossible to ignore. She’d been so focused on Arye, on controlling her own reactions, that she’d pushed aside the discomfort of her own injury.
“It’s nothing,” she tried to dismiss, attempting to pull her hand back. But Arye’s grip remained firm, his skin warm against hers.
Before she could protest further, he was on his feet, guiding her toward his bed. The mattress loomed before her, a vast expanse of crisp white sheets and plush pillows. It looked impossibly soft and inviting, and Skylar had to resist the urge to sink into it.
With his free hand, Arye yanked open a drawer in his bedside table, retrieving a roll of clean bandages. In the dimness of the room, the linen seemed to glow.
“You keep medical supplies in your bedroom?” Skylar asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why not simply call for a physician?”
A roguish grin spread across Arye’s face, transforming his features. His eyes sparkled with youthful mischief, reminiscent of the boy she’d grown up with rather than the burdened prince he’d become. “Sometimes it’s faster this way,” he said with a wink. “Besides, you never know when you might need to… restrain someone.”
Heat flooded Skylar’s cheeks, her mind conjuring images she desperately tried to push aside. “Oh?” she managed, aiming for a teasing tone. “Is that what you’re into, Arye?”
His laugh was rich and warm, filling the room and sending pleasant shivers down Skylar’s spine. “Perhaps,” he said, eyes glinting with mischief. “Care to find out?”
Before Skylar could respond, Arye gently pushed her to sit on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, soft and inviting. She resisted the urge to lean back, to allow herself to be enveloped by sheets that carried Arye’s scent.
With surprising tenderness, Arye began tending to her injured wrist. His touch was feather-light as he cleaned the abrasion, his fingers leaving trails of fire on her skin. The cool, damp cloth he used to clean the wound contrasted sharply with the warmth of his hands. Skylar watched, mesmerized, as he worked. This side of Arye—gentle, attentive—was one she rarely saw. It made her heart ache with longing for something she could never have.
“I’ll send a healer to your quarters,” Arye murmured, focused on her wrist.
“I can take care of myself,” she asserted, though her voice lacked conviction. Part of her wanted to pull away, to maintain the careful distance she’d always kept between them. But a larger part reveled in his touch, savoring every moment of this stolen intimacy.
Arye’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, captivatingly dark. “I know,” he said, his voice a low, intimate growl. “But I prefer to ensure what’s mine remains… unmarred.”
The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down Skylar’s spine. His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. She searched his face, trying to decipher the emotions swirling in his eyes. Mine? Surely he couldn’t…
No. She couldn’t allow herself to hope. Even if he did like her, liked men in general, it would be an awkward situation once he found out. He must mean her being one of his loyal subjects. His friend. Nothing more.
The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and suppressed desires. Skylar’s heart raced, each beat a reminder of the precarious line they were walking. She knew she should pull away, should reestablish the boundaries that kept them safely in their respective roles. But she remained frozen.
Arye’s thumb traced small circles on the inside of her wrist, the gesture seemingly unconscious. His eyes lingered on the bandage, but Skylar could see the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. She noticed how delicate her wrist looked compared to his hand, how easily he could encircle it with his fingers. It made her feel delicate, feminine in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.
The realization sent a jolt of panic through her. She recoiled suddenly, breaking the spell. The abrupt movement caused a sharp pain to shoot up her arm, making her wince. “I should go,” she said, the words catching in her throat. She hated how breathless she sounded.
Arye’s hand dropped, and Skylar immediately missed its warmth. He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice rough. “You shouldn’t be here.” He turned away, returning the bandage to the drawer with movements that seemed almost mechanical, closing it with a soft thud that echoed in the sudden silence.
Skylar stood, smoothing down her clothes with trembling hands. She breathed in deeply, trying to compose herself. “You’re right,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “The Captain is probably looking for me.”
She made her way to the door, each step feeling like it took monumental effort. Her body screamed at her to turn back, to throw caution to the wind and act on the desire that thrummed through her veins. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him her secret, not like this, not now. Never. No matter how much it hurt.
As she reached for the doorknob, the cool metal a stark contrast against her heated skin, Arye’s voice stopped her. “Sky.” The single word was soft, almost vulnerable. It made her pause, her hand hovering over the ornate brass handle.
Skylar turned slightly, not quite looking at him. “Yes?”
There was a moment of silence. Then, “Rest well.”
Skylar nodded, not trusting her voice. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, the cooler air a shock against her flushed skin.
As she closed the door behind her, she heard Arye’s voice, soft and indecipherable. She paused briefly, hand on the doorknob, before shaking her head and walking away, her mind swirling with confusion and longing.