Blinking, and on the verge of panic, I took in my surroundings, the feel and scent of the space around me. And it was then that I knew without a doubt, this was Rhyan’s room. The bedroom he’d grown up in.
“Are you all right, Lady Lyriana?” Kenna sat in an armchair beyond the fireplace. She looked uncomfortable, stiff, and tired. She’d clearly been on guard.
“You’ve been here the whole time?” I asked, unable to keep the anger from my voice. Then added, “Your Grace.”
“Aye, I was,” she said softly. “I fixed your tunic for you. Used a sewing spell while you were asleep. I hope you don’t mind.”
My cheeks burned as I realized I’d been carried unconscious through Seathorne with my shirt torn open. Exposed. Again. In front of Rhyan’s father, in front of Kane and Dario. And Kenna. I looked down at the silver thread. But all I could see were Kane’s hands, see him ripping the fabric, and all I could remember was the feel of terror and humiliation washing over me, the pain of the fire that burned in my heart.
But aside from the horror of meeting him, there was also the small bit of knowledge I’d tucked away. He was a Guardian. A fucking Guardian. Only Hava, Cassarya, and Shiviel were unidentified. According to the stories, Shiviel was the only one of the three to join forces with Moriel. He’d turned on Auriel and Asherah just as Moriel and Ereshya had. And if I had to guess, I’d put money on it: Kane was the reincarnation of Shiviel. The one God said to be more monstrous than Moriel. And he was in charge of Glemaria’s legions.
“I’ve been watching over you,” Kenna said. “Imperator Hart asked me to stay, he said you’d want a female companion. You don’t have to worry about when you were unconscious. You haven’t been disturbed here. I swear.”
I stared down at the bed—Rhyan’s bed—realizing suddenly why I was here. Not out of kindness, nor because I was a “guest” of Imperator Hart’s. I was here as a unique form of cruelty. A reminder that before me, Rhyan had a lover. For seven months. Sevenfuckingmonths. Far longer than he and I had been together. And now, I was trapped with her.
Gods. I could feel him everywhere. Calm, soothing colors filled every corner from the curtains to the couch cushions. They were in the soft fabric of the pillows and bedspreads. So much muted green against the dark wood of his furniture. Everything was neat and tidy, just the way he’d kept things in his apartment. The way he arranged our practice weapons in our training room at the Katurium. Even the way he somehow managed to make living in a cave look purposeful. The ghost of Rhyan was etched into every inch of the room. Including the bed. Where he’d slept.
With Kenna.
My throat dried painfully, and just like that, my imagination ran away from me. I could see her in my mind, see her as she would have been. Her belly flat, her body lean and lithe—the opposite of mine in every way. I could see Rhyan naked. I could hear the sounds he would make when he lost control, feel the specific way his hips moved, the way he kissed, the way his eyes locked with mine when he was deep inside me. Gods. That knowledge was private. Intimate. His. Mine. Ours. A secret we carried between us.
But it was a secret Kenna had been privy to as well.
In this bed, right where I lay, for seven months, his eyes had locked with hers.
It would have been kinder for the Imperator to lock me in the prisons. But he wanted to hurt me, to break me. And I had to remember that. He could do it physically if he wanted to—and I had no doubt he would soon. But emotionaltorture was where his expertise lay, combat through mental warfare. Humiliation was just as sharp a tool in his arsenal as his sword.
I couldn’t let him get to me—especially not over something as inconsequential as this. I always knew he had a past, just as he knew I did. And it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything between us. I’d just been caught off guard. But knowing Rhyan had kept something this big from me, was worrying. He also hadn’t told me about Garrett. Why? What else was he hiding from me?
I pushed away from the pillows and threw off the covers, swinging my legs to the side, my feet touching the soft carpet as I tried to think of anything but this bed, anything but who had slept in it.
In a corner, I found a set of old weights, and some blunt practice swords. Rhyan’s old weapons. Above them was a painting of a gryphon soaring over Glemarian pine trees. I blinked back tears and caught my reflection in his mirror. Dark circles were under my eyes, and my hair was a mess, frizzy and wild, half of the waves sticking out from my loose braid. There was no shine like Kenna’s. I looked paler than I’d ever seen myself.
“You know where you are, my lady?” Kenna asked.
“Seathorne? Or did you mean Rhyan’s bedroom? Because yes, I can tell.”
Kenna nodded. “You must be thirsty.” There was a creaking sound, and I turned to see her struggling to lift herself from the chair and heading to Rhyan’s desk. An old jar of ink, and several scratch pens were laid neatly in the corner. There was also a jug of water and several glasses.
“Don’t,” I sneered, and strolled from the bed. “I can get my own water.”
“Because you’re mad at who I am?” she challenged, her accent deepening. “Or because you don’t trust me?”
I glared. “You’re farther than fucking Lethea if you think I can trust you.” My guts roiled. “How could I when you’re—”
“Please.” She shook her head emphatically. “Don’t be upset about that. That’s been over for a very long time.”
Over between her and Rhyan. My cheeks burned. “I was going to say you’re married to the Imperator.”
Kenna’s face paled. “Right. Well, that … is an ongoing matter.”
“Let’s also not forget I just broke your father’s nose.”
I snatched the jug from the table, refusing to look at her as I poured, filling two glasses with water. She reached out a hand to help, but I kept pouring, eyes on the fall of liquid into each glass, watching the way they reflected light from the fire. From the corner of my eye, I saw her lower her hand and step back.
She was so Godsdamned pretty. I had thought so when I first saw her. But here, away from the Imperator, it was even more obvious. It didn’t help that something about the intelligence and kindness in her face made me want to like her. Made me see why Rhyan had. There was a spark in her brown eyes, and something in her aura that would have drawn me to her if we’d met at court. But whether or not I could trust her—that was an entirely different matter.
“My point is,” I said, “There’s no need for you to wait on me when you’re this pregnant. Sit.”
