Chapter 44
“By royal decree, the Guild for Religious Conservation is permitted to instruct the Order of the Veil on behalf of the king.”
It had been two weeks of pointed silence—two weeks of evading Rowan’s gaze, his voice, his presence.
Every time he entered a room, I found a reason to leave it.
With every glance he offered, I purposely averted my eyes.
I was running from him, but more than anything, I was running from myself.
Deep down, I knew avoidance wasn’t sustainable.
Eventually, I was going to give in.
Rowan must have sensed it too, because after lunch one afternoon, he finally cornered me in an isolated corridor. He stepped in front of me, his tall frame effectively blocking my path, his arms folded resolutely across his chest.
“We need to talk.” His voice was firm, though a hint of uncertainty softened the edges of his usual stoicism.
“I disagree,” I retorted flatly, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Mavis,” he sighed, stepping closer. His scent, warm and comforting—sandalwood and a hint of leather—flooded my senses and sent an involuntary flutter racing through my chest. “Please.”
I finally lifted my eyes, intending to snap a biting remark, but the look on his face halted the words on my tongue.
He wasn’t guarded; not now. Instead, he stood exposed, vulnerability clear in the crease of his brow, the quiet desperation reflected in his expressive eyes. I released a heavy, reluctant breath.
I clenched my jaw, the part of me that still wanted to punish him warring with the one that just wanted to understand.
“Fine,” I said at last. “Talk.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “I wanted to apologize for the way I left so abruptly. I know how it must have seemed.”
I arched a brow. I doubt he apologized often, and it meant a great deal, but this hurt couldn’t be so easily erased. I had felt rejected by someone I had corrupted my morals for and grown to care about. That couldn’t just be swept aside.
“When you kissed me… I was surprised,” he continued quietly, his voice barely audible. “Not that I regretted it. I didn’t, and I still don’t… but I was called away, and honestly, I needed to get away to sort some things through.”
“Did you figure it out?” I asked, my voice softer than intended. “Whatever you needed to sort?”
He took a deep breath, stepping even closer. His voice was low, intimate. “I’m starting to.”
I pressed my lips together, unwilling to make it easier for him. His hesitation lingered, the tension thick between us.
“I know you’re still angry with me, partly because I left and partly because I can’t tell you everything yet,” he said, straightening slightly, a faint challenge entering his gaze. “Maybe you’d like to take out some of that frustration?”
My curiosity stirred momentarily, overriding my stubborn pride. “You’re offering to spar?”
“Yes. I want to see how much you’ve improved while I was gone.” His lips quirked. “Let’s see how angry you really are.”
A small, wicked smile spread across my lips.
“Deal.”
Our journey to the gym was silent, yet tense with words left unspoken.
The quiet hum of anticipation was building within me.
I had grown to cherish my time on the mat—the burn, the fatigue—it made me feel in control.
In a place where nearly everything was out of my control, these moments kept me from breaking entirely.
I rolled my shoulders back and stepped onto the mat, immediately slipping into a fighting stance. Rowan mirrored my movement, the muscles in his arms flexing as he readied himself.
I felt better than last time, steadier. I must have just had an off day, that’s all.
“Ready?” he asked softly.
I responded with action, launching myself forward, unleashing every ounce of pent-up frustration, anger, and longing into each strike.
I moved swiftly, aggressively, forcing him onto the defensive.
Rowan blocked skillfully, but a flicker of surprise lit his eyes as he absorbed the ferocity of my attacks.
“You must be angrier than I thought,” he grunted, dodging an aggressive kick. “It feels like you’re genuinely trying to hurt me.”
I narrowed my eyes, unleashing another relentless series of attacks. “Maybe I am.”
In an instant, Rowan turned my momentum against me.
He caught my wrist, twisted skillfully, and swept my legs out from beneath me.
My back hit the mat, air rushing from my lungs.
He followed immediately, pinning my wrists above my head.
His body pressed firmly against mine, warm and heavy, as our breathing synchronized.
My pulse thrummed loudly in my ears, and I could feel his chest heaving as well.
We stared into each other’s eyes. The challenge was replaced by unspoken yearning. Something shifted. My anger dissolved, taken over by a fierce, undeniable need. I lifted my head, closing the small distance between us, and captured his lips with mine.
He responded instantly, his mouth urgent and demanding against mine.
His hands released my wrists, sliding slowly down my arms, fingertips grazing bare skin, igniting trails of fire in their wake.
He moved against me, his touch bolder, more desperate, drawing me tightly to him.
The kiss deepened, heated, breathless, and intoxicating.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him even closer, feeling as though I might combust from the intensity.
Rowan’s hand slid daringly along the curve of my waist, thumb brushing the sensitive skin beneath my ribs, sending sparks racing along my nerves.
Each touch intensified the ache building between us.
Abruptly, Rowan broke the kiss, chest heaving, eyes dark and hazy with desire. I groaned in frustration, clutching the fabric of his shirt.
“As tempting as this is,” he whispered, voice hoarse with restraint, “we can’t—not here. Not even if it’s empty. It’s too risky.”
I let out an impatient sigh but nodded. Suddenly bold, I offered a suggestion. “Come to my room in an hour.”
His eyebrow arched in surprise.
“Talia will be in the rec room doing crafts. It’s the only thing she still takes part in. Trust me—she won’t miss it.”
Slowly, a mischievous smile spread across Rowan’s face, eyes gleaming playfully. “An hour, then.”
He stood, pulling me gently up with him.
We left the gym quickly, anticipation in every step.
As we parted ways, we shared one last glance at each other.
It was brimming with promise. I felt feverish, but it wasn’t because I was coated in a sheen of sweat.
Heat lingered on my skin from his touch, branding me.
I showered, trying to clear my mind and relax my muscles. It didn’t work.
I slipped into a simple nightgown, fingers trembling nervously as I combed through my damp hair. My chest tightened slightly, a small pang of discomfort. I rubbed the ache until the soreness subsided. Then, I slid beneath my covers, counting down the moments.
A gentle knock echoed at the door, and my breath hitched.
“Come in,” I called out shakily.
Rowan entered silently, the door clicking shut behind him. His eyes immediately sought mine, filled with tenderness and carefully guarded desire.
“You can come a little closer,” I said huskily.
He took a step toward me and stopped.
“Hi,” I murmured shyly, feeling vulnerable yet emboldened by his heated gaze.
A mischievous smile spread across his face, eyes glowing excitedly in the dim light. My hands trembled as I clutched the covers tighter.
“Hi.”