Chapter 57 Antony
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Antony
Thyra’s asking me for a faith I don’t have.
And yet, she recognizes I can’t hold it.
She’s offering to carry it for me.
On her narrow shoulders. In her small hands.
Angry tears burn behind my eyes, a physical reaction I wouldn’t have even had to battle before I met her, because tears and sorrow and grief were weaknesses I banished years ago.
If I push past Thyra’s power to end the curse and to define my fate, and past her ability to send my body and my senses into overdrive, because, even now, I’d give anything to push her up against the wall and coax needy moans from her mouth…
Could it be that she is simply my hope?
A single truth in my world of lies.
She tips up her chin, the silver in her hair catching the light, the metallic threads hugging her curves, transforming her into a softly shining beacon.
I find myself saying, “Yes.”
Even though I’m a fucking liar and I have no right to accept anything more from her.
“Yes.”
Even though I’m certain I’ll destroy her.
I close the gap between us, but I don’t touch her, my voice lowering even further as I repeat one final time, resolutely, “Yes.”
She answers me with that small smile.
That fucking powerful smile that stabs at my heart and nearly drives me to my knees.
“Okay, then,” she says.
As if she hasn’t just willingly accepted the weight of my future onto her shoulders, she glides back to the table, finally reaching for the food I brought her.
“So hungry,” is all she murmurs before she begins devouring a pastry with as much relish as she ate the thistleberry the other night.
Her moans of delight send my body into overdrive, my cock hard up against my armor, the spiral of my emotions from rage to hope to peace too much of a mess for me to fight my rising need.
I’m at her side in moments, my hand falling lightly to her shoulder, my thumb grazing her bare neck, stroking up across her earlobe, at which her eyes flicker closed, and a different sigh leaves her lips.
I’m about to ask for her consent when she brushes the crumbs from her chin before rising to her feet. “I’m sure I can conserve my strength enough for the day.”
Her arms slip around me, her body straining upward to reach my height so her lips can crash against mine. Only to part a moment later as she gasps for breath. “In case you have any doubt about what I want, please fuck me.”
I can’t stop my brutal smile, holding her close while sweeping my arm across the table behind her, clearing off the food, sending it crashing to the floor, along with that fucking envelope.
Meanwhile, Thyra tugs urgently at the armor covering my stomach and chest, pushing at it with her palms.
I wrench off the pieces, sending them scattering as wildly as the food, aware of the way her clothing has parted all the way from her shoulders to her upper legs, her naked breasts colliding with my finally armor-free chest, her legs slipping around my hips as I hoist her up onto the table.
One of my arms is still covered in armor. So is my left leg. I’m wearing the leather strap I’ll never remove in her presence. But none of that fucking matters.
She pulls herself toward me, her hand closing around my cock, drawing me into her, arching back as I complete the thrust.
I can’t get enough of her. Her moans. The way she rocks against me.
The firmness of the nub between her folds and the cry she makes when I rub my thumb gently against it.
How she rests herself back onto the table, her legs wrapped hard around my waist and her hips lifting, taking every pounding thrust.
She’s more than my hope.
More than a single truth.
She’s everything.
Every shred of distant light. Every sliver of faith. Every promise of an impossible redemption.
As she arches up against me and her body tightens around me, her orgasm sends me crashing into willful destruction.
“Mine to protect,” I snarl, riding the waves of pleasure until only one thought remains.
Come what may, my poisoned heart is hers.
The moment we emerge from the catacombs, my instincts prickle.
The hallway is bustling with activity. Unlike yesterday, guards line the walls, constant eyes watching us.
Placing Thyra back on her feet after carrying her safely through the blood magic, I keep my voice low. “It’s clearly Mother’s intention not to lose sight of us today.”
Thyra’s bright smile is far from gentle, a sharp contrast to her true nature. “Will I obey your first rule?”
It takes me a moment to remember. “Remain within my sight at all times.”
“Gladly,” she says, sweeping ahead of me, but not so fast that the ruby circlet will pull taut between us.
The chain chimes softly as the noisy hallway quiets, and each of the guards drops to their knees at my approach.
I can’t stop my cold smile, that, effectively, they’re kneeling to Thyra before me. Some of them seem to realize it, hovering a little until I’m closer to them, but all it takes is a glare, and they drop to their knees.
I steer Thyra toward my quarters. It’s possible to get to the training tower by following the interconnected corridors. Cassia often walks there since her quarters are much closer. But flying will be quicker.
Reaching my quarters, I prepare to pass through, only for Thyra to snag my arm.
“Antony! Look.”
I follow her gaze to the location of the panel in the wall where I stowed the assassin’s dagger.
The panel is chipped and scratched, with pieces of plaster scattered across the small table beneath it.
Quickly, I open the panel and reach into the compartment behind it, pulling out the small chest. “It looks like whoever forced open the panel was smart enough not to tamper with the box.”
Removing my glove, I quickly trigger the blood magic to open the chest, revealing the dagger nestled safely inside.
“If they wanted the dagger, why not take the whole box?” Thyra asks. “Unless they thought the blood magic would hurt them?”
I rub my chin. “They might have feared it. The blood magic would give them a shock, enough to knock them out, if they tried to force it open.”
Now the question is whether or not the dagger’s more vulnerable to theft if I carry it on my person. Not that any fae has been foolish enough to ever try to take one of my weapons.
With that thought, I slip the dagger into the empty holder at my waist.
Moments later, we emerge onto the landing platform outside my quarters, where Azul waits.
As soon as he sees Thyra, he becomes alert, shuffling forward, but she’s already closing the gap, bounding across the platform nearly faster than the circlet will allow and wrapping her arms around his neck.
He closes his eyes, nudges his head to hers, craning his neck protectively around her.
When I take a closer step toward them, conscious of the tightening chain, his eyes snap open, and he casts me a glare that tells me to back the fuck off.
Okay, this is his moment.
“Are you hungry?” Thyra murmurs to him, her voice muffled against his feathers. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any thistleberries for you.”
“He isn’t hungry,” I say, provoking another crimson-eyed glare. “Trust me on that.”
“Good.” She finally steps back, at which Azul lowers himself as far as he can to the ground.
Without further hesitation, I scoop her up and place her safely on his back, once again aware of the shadow that follows us when we take to the air.
The morning sunlight strengthens as we fly, and the magical stars in the sky have fully faded.
“The white towers and white streets aren’t accidental, are they?” Thyra asks me as we fly.
“They strengthen and reflect all light,” I reply. “The brighter everything is, the safer we are.”
Teams of lowborn fae are paid very well to keep everything clean.
A pristine exterior behind which darkness simmers.
When we finally reach the main room within the training tower, Cassia’s waiting for us, dressed in a black suit, her feet bare, and her hair braided, while her expression is tense.
“You just missed Hadrian. He came to give me my invitation.” She waves the white envelope in the air before scrunching the paper in her fist. “I assume you both got one?”
Thyra’s quick to respond. “Well, technically, only Antony did. But I’m certain I’m supposed to be there.”
Cassia blinks at her, and it strikes me that Thyra openly used my name, something only my siblings are allowed to do. And only in private.
Thyra seems to realize her mistake, softly muttering, “Damn.”
My sister takes glances from Thyra to me and back again before arching her eyebrows and uttering an equally soft, “Hmm.”
She turns and gestures to the room before I can say anything. “I don’t know how long this area will remain safe, so we should start while we can. Brother, I’m assuming you’ll stand guard?”
I’ve already assessed potential threats, conscious of Thyra’s perceptive gaze passing around the room as Cassia leads us toward the side containing multiple large, square tumbling mats.
On the other side of the room are two cordoned-off areas, one of which is occupied by sword-fighters.
Weapons of all kinds line the opposite wall, while the wall on the right contains targets. Another cordoned-off area forms a lane running perpendicular to the sword fighters, where a fae is practicing knife throwing.
The sword-fighters and the knife thrower lower their heads and briefly kneel.
They’re all Constellation guards under Mother’s control. Not a good sign. Not that I expected to see my soldiers here. They train on the field. Controlled environments like this won’t help them in a battle. Of course, the same could apply to Thyra, but she needs to start somewhere.
When we reach the side of the tumbling mat, Thyra catches my eye before her focus glides pointedly back to the door.
Rohan appears, blocking the doorway before he steps to the side and takes up position against the wall. He’s wearing dark, leather armor in the same deep-brown color as his hair, but he isn’t carrying a visible weapon.