“We will need to be cautious. The Shardborne bandits are known to lurk in the mountains closer to Asynjur. They can be almost as disagreeable as you,” he added, glancing over at her, a tendril of his hair falling across his forehead. She had the urge to either move it behind his ear or tear it from his scalp.
“You truly know how to make a woman feel exceptional,” she quipped, yanking the map away from the table. She turned and made to walk out of the library only to feel a tug on her arm, a rough hand wrapped around her wrist.
She stopped, turning to look at her wrist, then at Draven.
His eyes were wild as he closed the distance between them. She attempted to pull away, but he only held her tighter. She tried to control her breathing, willing her lungs to inhale and exhale slowly, but it was no use. Just his scent alone made her feel faint.
He tugged her toward him, all her willpower evaporating at his touch. His lips grazed her ear as he whispered, sending a shiver down her spine.
“One day, Starborne, you will finally wake up and realize how exceptional you truly are. And I hope I’m there to witness that day. When not even the Stars would question your glory.”
Her heart stopped. The air between them heated, and her bonds screamed, begging to be set loose.
Draven pulled away from her, standing only a hand’s breadth away. Astraia could see the end of his tattoos peeking out of his shirt collar, the faint pink lines painted along with the black—mysterious scars that marred his beautiful skin. A small tick on the side of his neck pulsed, his heart beating just as fast as hers.
Her gaze landed on his lips, smooth and soft, parted ever so slightly, and finally, she met his stare. Longing stared back at her, pure and unfettered. She leaned toward him, overwhelmed with the desire to feel his lips on hers, to feel exceptional by his touch.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, then he dropped her wrist. “Someday soon, I will make sure you never second-guess your worth again.” Moving away from her, he strode for the door. Hand resting on the doorknob, he turned his head back toward her. “I will meet you at the stables.”
The door clicked closed, and air rushed back into her lungs. She gasped, bracing herself on the table. It took several moments before she could no longer feel her heart beating wildly in her chest and her skin cooled. Her body was a symphony of exhilaration and undeniable desire, but her mind was a storm of frustration and uncertainty. The combination of both only led her to one conclusion: Draven was more dangerous than she thought.
Cursing under her breath, she left to gather supplies.
Chapter 32
“Luxterra has been overrun. His Royal Majesty, King Illias, Ruler of the Celestial Court, King of Astradeon has fallen. Do not send the Drakari and Drengr. Save your people.”
General Duxada of the Celestial Guard
ORION SNORTED AS ASTRAIA NUDGED him into a walk, leading him along the dirt road out of Volpes toward the hilly countryside. It was mid-morning when they had finished gathering provisions for the journey to Asynjur and set out from the manor. Their path led them close to the Virellian military training grounds, and several Empyrean guards had stopped their sparring to watch them pass.
A few of the guards saluted Astraia, no doubt due to rumors of her fight against the wraiths. She nodded back at the young men, giving them a small smile in thanks. She could have sworn Draven stiffened in his saddle as she did.
As they passed the last outlying buildings of Volpes and entered the forest, she breathed deeply, dampening the sliver of fear that threatened to split open her resolve. Glowing red eyes seemed to flicker behind every tree while the shadows morphed into black cloaked demons. A shudder ran down her spine, her knuckles turning white as she gripped Orion’s reins. The weightof her bow pressed into her back, and arrows knocked together in her quiver.
She eyed Draven by her side as he rode. His face was unreadable, placid. The black iron broadsword was strapped to his back, nearly the length of her entire body. How he managed to wield such a blade was beyond her comprehension. In the sunlight, the faded scars on his arms and neck shone, only a small representation of the rest of the scars she knew carved his entire back and chest.
“See something you like, Starborne?” The insufferable smirk pulled at his mouth as he looked at her.
She rolled her eyes, straightening in her saddle and refocusing her gaze ahead. “Do you enjoy provoking me to anger?”
“Immensely.”
“If I asked you how you got those scars, would you tell me the truth, a half-truth, or a lie?” she asked, glaring at him.
“If I asked you about your life before your brother died, what version of the truth would you tell me?” he countered, tilting his head to one side, a challenge in his eyes.
“Very well. One truth for a truth,” she replied. Even if he told her the honest truth, she was still uncertain she could believe him. There was a lot of his nature and past she had not unearthed. Yet a small voice in her mind whispered through the waves. It was a voice she had not heard in many moons, begging her to allow him through the wall she had taken years to construct. A wall fortified by grief, guilt, and betrayal—a wall of nightmares.
The voice of hope.
“Hmm.” He paused, running a hand through his beard, then looking back at her. “Fair. But my story is not a pleasant one. You’re certain you can stomach it?”
“Yes.”
Draven straightened in his saddle, rolling his shoulders back. He glanced around them, checking their surroundings before he spoke. “My fate was determined before I could learn how to dream, much like your own.” He stared ahead, lost in old memories she could sense had not been unearthed in some time. “My father was a very influential figure to my people, one whose voice commanded any room. He led legions of soldiers into battles, annihilating our enemies with the wave of his hand. So he would not have a son any less fearsome.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch onward until it was nearly suffocating. She almost screamed at him to continue before he took a deep breath, his voice lowered as he spoke. “I was trained to destroy any threat. Many scars were won from those fights. But if I was not the perfect warrior, my father made sure I remembered my failures. Strike for strike.” He flexed his jaw, tensing his shoulders as if to stretch the skin pulled tight by the scars.
