Chapter 14
Zara
Fates, he can punch hard.
My jaw throbbed, and I let out a groan as I pushed myself into a sitting position, still on the forest floor. Dirt and leaves were matted into my hair, my clothes, and I sighed deeply as I looked around.
Smoke no longer billowed in the distance, and I winced as I moved my jaw. It hadn’t healed properly and I was sure my cheek was lined with bruises. Snapping it back into place I held in a whimper, but I felt my magic slowly soothe the fracture.
My shoulders rounded, and I sucked in a breath as a sharp pain shot through my breastbone. Glancing down, I saw the long gash from Lex's blade. It was now an angry red line, crusted with dried blood between my breasts, and I glared at it. It hadn't healed completely yet, either.
My magic was still too weakened, and I was too far to shadow back to the castle. Scrambling to my feet, I huffed in anger. The sun was setting, and I wondered how long I'd been lying there. Hours, it seemed. Lex would be long gone by now, and I bitterly turned in the direction of the manor.
I wouldn't dare sleep at the inn, not with this elixir now available.
The rebels were clearly hiding in plain sight and fighting back.
Plus, Atticus was off doing who knows what for my father and I had a room at his manor.
It was protected, and I could rest, recharge, and report what I knew in the morning.
The manor felt cold and unwelcoming as I approached, its vast, mirrored metallic surface reflecting the surrounding landscape.
The setting sun caught the metal, sending a nearly blinding glint across its expanse.
Tall, spiked iron gates stood before me, and beyond them, a long walkway stretched toward the darkened entrance.
The spikes gleamed, stained with dried blood, and the metallic scent hung heavily in the air.
Atticus had cast a spell on them. No one could pass without offering blood.
Only those he approved could enter. Even his servants, some who lacked healing blood in their veins, had to prick their fingers.
I used to find it amusing, but the thought of it now only soured my stomach.
Reaching out, I pricked my finger on a spike, a bead of blood welling and trickling around the metal. The gates groaned open with a slow creak, and relief washed over me as I strode up the path, eager for a much-needed bath and some food.
Pushing open the heavily arched doors, I entered the vast entryway. The ceiling stretched high, open to the two balconies above. Each level overlooked the space below, but the walls were bare, just as cold and unwelcoming as the rest of the house.
It reminded me of the bare walls of the castle, and I rolled my eyes.
A long black rug stretched down the hallway ahead, with doors on either side, leading to an open archway at the far end where the kitchens were located.
To my right, a circular arch opened into the large main sitting room.
The floor dipped in the center, creating a sunken sitting area that made the space feel deeper, almost cavernous.
However, it was the corner of the room that captured my attention.
A twisted metal sculpture stood there. It was a grotesque cluster of contorted bodies, their expressions frozen in eternal agony.
Art, I supposed. It was just another one of Atticus’s sick amusements, a tribute to his magic.
My eyes narrowed on it, but a sound from the hallway had me snapping my head in that direction.
An auburn-haired female peered at me from the kitchen doorway. It was the girl I saw on the bridge earlier this morning, still in that gray dress and apron. She squeaked softly but gathered her courage and stepped into the hallway. She made it halfway down before stopping, keeping a safe distance.
“My lady.” She bowed. “I’m sorry… we hadn’t been told to expect you.”
“It wasn’t planned,” I said, a little too sharply, and the girl flinched but kept her gaze fixed on my feet.
“Do you need anything to eat? We were preparing dinner for—”
“Just bring it up to my room when it’s done. And a bottle of wine, if you have it.”
I was annoyed, but also a little grateful I wasn’t entirely alone here.
“Of course, your maj— I mean—prin— I mean—” she stammered, struggling over the title.
“Zara is fine.” My tone was softer as I added, “Thank you, Miss…?”
The girl's gaze widened in surprise but I could still smell her fear.
“Boone. Astrid Boone, ma’am.”
Miss Boone offered a small, nervous smile… well, almost a smile and I rolled my eyes at the ma’am. Gross. A voice rang out from the kitchen, and the boy she’d been holding hands with earlier appeared at the end of the hall.
“Astrid, are you—”
His gaze landed on me, and he practically ran down the hall, stopping just in front of Miss Boone. My lips twitched upward at the action.
“And you are?”
“Asher,” he said stiffly, almost aggressively, and I raised a brow.
“Ma’am,” he added.
“Enough with the ma’am,” I growled. “I’m going to my room. Just knock when the food is ready.”
Without waiting for a reply, I turned and headed upstairs.
I reached the third floor and walked across the landing, my hand sliding along the smooth railing of the balcony as I strode along the familiar path to my room.
I always kept separate quarters from Atticus.
It wasn’t as if we were exactly the cuddle type.
Opening the door to the right at the end, I entered my room.
It overlooked the front of the manor, allowing me to see the swinging bridges from the villages up in the trees.
As I stepped inside, the hearth sprang to life, its flames dancing as the magic acknowledged my presence.
In the center of the far wall was a large, plush bed, its four posts engraved with carvings of animals that I always found weird and disturbing.
Why did someone want to look at squirrels and pigs when they were going to bed?
A crimson-and-gold rug covered most of the floor, its vibrant colors echoed by the heavy red curtains draping the windows. My gaze, though, went straight toward the door to the left of the bed. The one that led to the bath.
Seeing it, I almost moaned with relief, desperate to wash the day away.
I practically ran toward the door, discarding my clothing unbothered onto the floor. My foot tapped impatiently as I waited for the tub to fill. Steam rolled off its surface and when there was enough water, I stepped in with a contented sigh.
After scrubbing myself vigorously with a cloth, I leaned back into the tub and let the hot water soothe my aching muscles. My hair was caked with dirt and leaves, and it took me a considerable amount of time to get it clean.
Just as I stepped out of the tub, steam curling around me, someone knocked on my door.
Finally. I was starving.
Crossing the room, I grabbed a black silken robe off the back of the door and threw it on, tying it loosely around my waist.
“I hope you brought—” My words froze on my tongue as I pulled open the heavy door. It wasn’t Miss Boone standing on the other side, but Atticus.
Fuck. What was he doing here? I thought he was away.
Atticus stood in the doorway, his enormous frame filling the space as he rested a corded arm on the frame, a lopsided smile on his lips. His dark hair was tied back in a tight bun, and his metallic eyes gleamed hungrily as they roved over my mostly exposed body.
My stomach twisted, and I crossed my arms over my chest, tightening the robe around me. I wasn’t one to be prudish, and I didn’t know why I had done it.
Atticus was shirtless and appeared to be damp with sweat. He was wearing only black uniform pants and mud-covered boots. His muscular chest, defined abs, and muscular arms were on display, and I usually found them impressive, but now they looked less impressive compared to—
My back stiffened, no. No, I won't allow myself even to think, to compare… but that was exactly what I was doing.
“Zar,” Atticus said, shoving past me and into my room. In his hand he held two glasses and a bottle of wine, but no food.
My stomach grumbled.
Glowering, I let him slip past and watched him as he crossed the room, setting the contents down on the nightstand and turning back toward me. He stalked toward me, hunger and lust heavy in his eyes.
This should’ve felt familiar, a twisted kind of comfort but all I felt was a weight settling over me. My arm began to itch, and I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of unease.
My eyes raked down his sculpted muscles as he approached, and I had to lift my chin to look at him as he stopped in front of me. I knew what was going to come next and I had to decide before it happened. But what did I have to decide? Why was I overthinking this?
“Where were we?” Atticus said gruffly, and then his hands were on my waist pulling me into him. My hands instinctively landed on his chest and his mouth crashed onto mine.
I had to decide, think. But today had been a shit day, and I didn’t want to think—I wanted to forget. His tongue parted my lips, and the memory of what he could do with his tongue had me wrapping my arms around his neck.
Fuck it.
Atticus lifted me, my robe falling back as my legs wound around his waist. Atticus deepened our kiss, his tongue brushing mine, and I felt like I was choking. Where my skin met his, it felt scratchy, wrong. The kiss was too wet, and our mouths weren’t syncing up properly.
Atticus didn’t seem to mind, or notice and I tried to shake it off. I decided it was because I was away for so long. I tried to focus but even his hold on me felt wrong. Like he couldn’t hold me up properly.
“Bed,” I breathed between a kiss, and his tongue lapped at me like a dog as he carried me in that direction.