Her pulse quickened, from relief or fear, she was not sure—perhaps both. “And you were injured in battle?”
“War comes at a cost.” His voice lowered, but his eyes remained fixed on hers.
The molten amber glowed from his stare, two brilliant suns casting their light and warmth into the coolness of her deep blue oceans. She could feel her bonds responding to him, her spine warming and small lightning strikes stretching from her core to her fingers, aching to be unleashed.
Without thought, she cracked the door to Power, letting it flicker from her, giving over to the desire.
Draven did not falter. He did not blink as the white sparks glowed from her hands. His eyes fixed on hers, no trace of fear on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand slowly and deliberately move toward hers.
His fingers grazed hers, and the spark of Power excited at the touch. It moved like a winding ribbon from Astraia’s hand to his—a white cord wrapping around their fingertips. She stared at their hands, barely touching, but her bond freely flowing between them. It reminded her of the sea breeze caressing her skin or the warmth of a fire on cold winter nights. It was calm and exhilarating all in one.
Her breath caught in awe, and her eyes flicked back to Draven’s.
His lips turned upward into a true and deliberate smile. Astraia smiled back, unable to contain herself.
The fleeting desire to feel the warmth of his lips on hers flashed to the front of her mind. She swallowed a lump in her throat, her mouth suddenly dry. Draven’s eyes fell to her lips, as if his mind betrayed him as well.
Then his hand pulled away.
“Maybe you are right,” he said flatly, his tone no longer playful, the smile vanishing from his face. “I should be more civilized.”
He strode past her toward the washroom once more, clothes in hand. “I’ll ask for another room. Wouldn’t want to cause a scandal for your fiancé,” he said.
Chapter 23
The art of healing does not stem from the Starborne ability of Sacrifice alone. It originates in the innate sense of self-preservation instilled in every man and woman at infancy. Without such sense, one would welcome pain and death. Rather, it is with careful, deliberate attention to the preservation of the body and mind that unveils the art of a healer.
Medela, Head Philosopher at Virellia University of Healing
“INSUFFERABLE BRUTE,” ASTRAIA GROWLED UNDER her breath as she slammed the door to the stateroom behind her. The heat was still simmering beneath her skin from their touch, and from pure rage at his indifference toward her. He perplexed her, which only infuriated her more.
But a small voice in the back of her mind, the one she had shut out all those years ago, whispered shreds of doubt that began to crack her walls of self-preservation. Maybe he was a bounty hunter for the king, a trained soldier-turned-mercenary—or maybe, perhaps, he had come to care for her in the way she cared for him. Maybe he could feel the same celestial connection she felt at just his mere presence. The gravitational pull to benear him—as if their story was already written in the heavens and the Stars compelled them to action.
Astraia breathed deep as she pushed a door open that led to the Volpes Manor gardens, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. Blinking, she stepped onto the grassy pathway that curved through the gardens, weaving its way through rose bushes, starblooms, and every kind of tree and flower imaginable. Intoxicating floral scents filling her nose as she strode down her favorite part of the gardens, toward the small stream that nourished all the plant life. A white stone wall surrounded the manor gardens, for privacy more than security.
Many healers, and those like Astraia who were bonded to Sacrifice, attended the Virellia University of Healing to learn how to harness the medicinal properties of the starbloom and other plants for the good of the kingdom. Astraia had yearned to attend the university, but her father had other plans.
She clenched her teeth. The familiar weight of resentment and grief crashed down on her, making everything seem so hopeless. All of her dreams and future had been taken from her.
Never again.
The grass deadened the sound of her boots as she walked and a nearby stream bubbled louder as she approached the one place she had longed to see since they arrived at the manor. Astraia’s jaw relaxed when she saw it.
The cascading branches of her favorite willow tree swayed gracefully in the breeze. Its trunk was bent toward the water, as a dancer would bend and bow to the audience, and the tips of the leaves playfully kissed the top of the stream running parallel to the tree’s trunk.
So many summer moments had been stolen by the willow tree. When they were younger, Elion and Caelan would tease Astraia, trying any way to terrorize her. The willow was her guard from the playful boys. As she grew older, she would spendmany hours reading beneath the cooling branches, letting the stream’s song lull her to sleep in the warm afternoons.
She pulled aside the branches, ducking her head as she closed herself off from the world. Stooping down to the ground, she sat against the small bend in the trunk that perfectly curved around her back.
Another memory came rushing back as she sat beneath the willow. A cool summer night during a masquerade ball, torches lining the pathways in the gardens. Guests laughed and danced through the archways and grassy paths. Caelan’s hand in her hair, pulling her close to him. Their lips brushing, stealing their first kiss beneath the green curtain of leaves.
Astraia closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the willow tree. But it was not the green eyes she expected to see staring back at her—it was fire. Wild, dangerous, and fearless flames danced across her vision. Every instinct told her to run, but she could no sooner challenge the Constellations than run from him.
The sound of rain peppering the stream broke her trance. She opened her eyes and saw through the willow canopy that the sun had lowered. Storm clouds now obscured its rays.
Then her bonds jolted awake. Power lurched in her spine but did not demand release. Astraia recognized the sensation immediately. Like the lightning before thunder, it excited every fiber of her body.
A calloused hand pulled open the willow curtains.
