Chapter 61
LYRAE
The throne room doors closed behind us with the boom of a giant’s fist.
For a heartbeat, the sound echoed through the white-veined marble corridor, then the vastness of the Citadelle swallowed even that up, returning to the empty hush of night—all the fawning royal courtiers gone, no one except us and a few disinterested guards, who recognized my seething temper enough to avert their eyes as I stalked past.
Two days.
Two days for Rooke to use the Triune.
I led the way, everyone else strung out behind me, heading—out of habit—for my rooms at the far end of the palace. It was too late for Rooke to return home, and we’d never talked about what would happen after our audience with Anaria.
Hadn’t wanted to plan that far ahead, I supposed.
Rooke’s shoulders were rigid beneath his dark cloak, still marked by beads of water where the snow had melted.
Ryland moved beside me with that lazy predator’s grace he wore like a second skin.
Varian behind us, quiet as a blade—watching everyone, missing nothing—while Ariel craned her neck to see… everything.
Gods, my sister. Probably already planning how much trouble she could get into.
And me?
I was pure, unadulterated fury held in check by little more than my shredding will and my clenched fists.
Rooke didn’t want me back in the Shadowlands.
He’d held my hand and stared down at me like I meant something to him, while I’d handed him my heart, shown him this city I loved, and then…he’d begged the queen to let me stay. To live my life here, in Tempeste. To continue being the commander of the armies, as if that’s what made me happy.
I turned sharp left at the end of the hallway, worn-out boots flying over the pristine marble, nothing in my head except escaping this crushing weight in my chest, the way my lungs felt like they were caving in.
Ryland caught up to me. “Lyrae,” he murmured, low. “Talk to me.”
I ignored him.
If I started talking, fuck knew where that would lead. Probably to an all-out screaming match, and I knew how voices carried down these halls. No fucking thank you.
Bad enough I felt humiliated and betrayed.
No sense for our doomed little mess to become tomorrow’s hottest palace gossip.
I had no plan except to reach my rooms without falling apart, strip off these leathers I’d been in for far too long, and soak in a hot bath until my skin pruned.
Maybe I could time everything so I never saw Kaden Rooke again.
Maybe he would fly himself back down to his realm and eventually I’d forget all about him and—
“Lyrae, slow the fuck down.” Ryland caught my arm, spun me around. “Just…where the fuck are we going?”
“My rooms. There’s…” I waved my hand at everyone, doing some quick mental calculations that fizzled out because my temper was running the show right now. “Enough room for all of us. I think.”
“Why are you so angry?” Rooke caught up to us, his puzzled gaze flickered over Ryland and Var, then landed back on me. “That went well. We all got what we wanted.”
My quiet laugh turned ugly. “Yes, I suppose you would see it that way.”
I turned on my heel. Ariel jogged alongside me, shooting Rooke evil, sideways looks that told me she understood exactly what was going on.
Ryland and Varian were smart enough to stay quiet until we reached my rooms, where I pushed the door open in a whoosh of stale air, striding across my living chamber to light a bank of candles.
I set one beneath a pile of already-stacked logs in the fireplace, letting the kindling catch before I stepped away, flames crackling up the dry wood.
Burning to ash, just like the future I’d pretended existed for six wonderful hours.
Ryland set his hands on his hips and let out a low appreciative whistle as he spun in a circle. “I thought you said you didn’t live in the palace? This is…impressive.”
“This is just a place to sleep,” I grumbled. “Ari, there’s a separate bedroom in there with a bathing chamber, fresh sheets on the bed, extra blankets in the armoire—if Varian can get a fire started.”
With a dip of his head, Varian took one of the candles, pushed the door open, then the two of them were chattering away in there like teenagers, a soft golden glow flickering against the walls.
“I’ll take the couch,” Ryland grumbled, shooting me a resigned look. “If we’re all flying back tomorrow, I’ll need the sleep.”
“We aren’t all flying back,” I corrected. “And I’m taking a bath. See you in the morning.”
I headed for my bedroom, intent on slamming the door and shutting out this absolute disaster of a day.
I didn’t get far, blocked by a big body that I would have to touch to shove out of the way. And I refused to put my hands on this male who’d…fuck, I didn’t know.
Handed me back to my queen, now that he was finished with me.
Or that’s what this felt like, anyway.
“Why in the fuck are you so pissed at me?” Rooke demanded. “What did I do that was so godsdamned terrible? I bowed to your queen. I gave up the Triune. I gave Anaria what she wanted, which I thought was the plan.”
“Yes, you did give her exactly what she wanted,” I said, my low voice practically a growl. “Good for you.”
Ryland looked between us and sat down on the couch, like he wished he had snacks.
“Go find somewhere else to be,” I hissed.
“Oh, I’m fine right where I am,” he said smoothly, crossing his legs.
“You’re pissed I gave the queen the Triune?” Rooke looked genuinely confused, and Ryland leaned back, an almost-smile on his face. “That was the plan, Lyrae. Peace and solidarity with new Valarian. So tell me—where the fuck did I go wrong?”
“You went wrong by thinking you knew what I wanted. That my future as the commander of the armies was the only thing that mattered.” My hands curled at my sides, my voice getting smaller and smaller, and I hated all of this. “As if I wasn’t…good enough to stay here. With you.”
Rooke’s stillness went deeper, like a lake freezing over.
“Shit. I was only…” he said carefully, dragging a hand through his hair. “But you love this city. Tempeste is your home. You don’t want to leave.”
None of those sentences were questions, but the way he said them…
“No, you don’t want me to leave—there’s a difference.” I pointed at him, finger trembling. “Not that you ever bothered asking me what I wanted. You took one look at me, one look at Tempeste, and assumed you already knew.”
Rooke’s voice dropped, rougher. “You think I don’t want you with me.”
Exhaustion washed through me.
The kind I used to feel after surviving another day in the trenches. Or in the Shadow King’s court, dragging myself back to my room, covered in blood.
The kind that made me want to curl up into a tight ball of misery, cover myself with a blanket, and shut the entire world out because everything hurt too damn much to look at.
Somehow, this felt worse and I definitely couldn’t look at Rooke anymore. Not with all that sincerity straining his voice and yearning making his eyes all soft and vulnerable.
Because that made me hurt even more.
“I think I’m going to bed. I think in the morning I want you gone, and I wish you the best of luck—honestly, I do. I meant everything I said today. You deserve to keep the Triune. I’m sorry you’re giving them up.”
I closed the door before he could say another word, but through the thick oak, I heard Ryland’s deep chuckle, and then—
“Gods, you mucked that up but good. I think you’re the one sleeping on the couch tonight. Don’t you know just because she loves this place, she can’t love somewhere else just as much?”
I dropped into the steaming tub, chest still burning in anger, spots dancing on the backs of my eyelids.
It had been a long time since I’d been this furious, and my foul temper—courtesy of Kaden Rooke—was totally ruining the first really good bath I’d had in weeks. I dumped some of the pink salts in, instantly surrounded by the scent of carnations.
Not helping.
The door opened and closed, then Ryland made a soft sound behind me—amusement or sympathy, I couldn’t tell. “Clearly, he’s kind of an idiot when it comes to relationships. Maybe you should cut him some slack,” he murmured. “He was trying to do the right thing.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending him,” I dunked my hair in the water. “He begged Anaria to keep me here, Ryland. Begged her.”
“He was trying to do what he thought was best.” A sigh, then the scrape of a stool being dragged over, and then…
I moaned when Ryland’s strong fingers dug into my scalp, massaging my temples before he drizzled some jasmine-scented shampoo onto my hair and began working it to a thick lather.
“I missed that. Normally, I wouldn’t tell you this, but you have magic hands, Ryland.”
“There have been four occasions when you have said those exact words to me, though none of them involved me washing your hair. Would you like me to list them? First was that time when we…”
“I get the picture.” I cut him off, cheeks burning. “And we’re not talking about that night again.” I tipped my head back further into his touch. “Ever.”
“If you say so. Best night of my life. So far, that is. You, me, enough oil to…”
“Ryland, I am not fucking kidding.” I gripped the edges of the tub. “For the love of the gods, stop talking.”
“Okay,” he said easily, working his way down the back of my neck to my shoulders, working out knots and tension like it was his purpose in life. Then he went back to washing my hair, until I was drifting in some sort of dozing euphoria, my mind quieting, my body loose and relaxed.
He draped my hair over the edge of the tub and started brushing, smoothing out the tangles, humming softly to himself as he worked, a calm, amicable peace stretching between us.
This is nice. I could definitely get used to this.
Maybe Ryland and Var would stay here at the Citadelle and I could go back to my old life. Morning meetings and afternoon royal audiences. Sorting out holiday plans for the city, arranging patrol schedules.
A life that was quiet. Regimented. Predictable.
And yet, even with Ryland catering to me like I was a queen, even though I finally had the life I thought I’d always wanted, that little, niggling voice kept wondering somewhere in the back of my mind…was this enough?
Or did I want more?