It was great and all to show their unity—how human and shifter and Fae could thrive under their “loving” rule—but they also needed everyone to fucking know unity didn’t make them weak, and to show them the respect they required to lead this divided realm.
Loche hated to see blood spilled, especially now, when they’d need every man and woman to face the Oakgards’ Fae. But it had been necessary, and the results hadn’t waited.
Across the ships, people had backed away from them, showing their regard by bowing their heads and lifting hands in greeting—a stark difference from the challenging eyes they’d received during training earlier in the day.
Iviry stumbled ahead of him, and Loche lengthened his steps to get to her side, slipping an arm across her back and trying not to react to how she stiffened—how her smell became everything he could think of for a moment—as he made her lean on him.
As he had slit the throat of the last rebel, a sound of pain—one that Loche knew would haunt him—left her,and he’d spun around to a man slamming a dull knife against her beautiful face. He hadn’t even known he was reacting before his sword flew, driving right into the man’s chest and forcing him away from Iviry.
It had become quiet after that. At least outside the low moans of pain from the council members who were picking themselves off the ground, and Loche hadn’t wasted a second, anger and rage and fear coursing within him so fiercely that it felt as if his skin were on fire, as he screamed orders at the pale Zaddock who’d just shown up before taking Iviry away.
The adrenaline was still pulsating through his veins, and he kicked the door open with more force than he’d intended to, although Iviry didn’t react to its slamming into the wall as they strode through it.
The single bed in there was neatly made, Iviry’s clothing and other personal items folded by the end of it, and he fought a grimace at how his own things were strewn across the other side of the room, the mess of clothing, papers, and weapons betraying how little time he’d spent in here—the urgency with which he left this room whenever he was awake and not sleeping sitting on the floor against the wall.
Ripping his eyes from the chaos, he steered Iviry toward the bed, and worry raced across his skin at how her protests had quieted, her body softening against his.
As he set her on the thick blanket, he squatted down before her, cautiously tilting her face to his.
The worry turned to dread.
Her eyes weren’t the sharp ones he was used to. There was a tiredness in them, a blur of pale and dark blue slowly tangling, which shot right into his heart as she stared back at him.
“I look awful, don’t I?” she asked, her lips twisting into something Loche guessed should be a smile but only ended up making her look even more sad.
He just shook his head as he lifted his hand to her matted hair, using his fingers to brush away some of the thick red strands, noting how the wound still bled, even if it had slowed somewhat.
“That must hurt,” Loche mumbled as his hand dropped again.
He had started to turn around to get the bucket that stood in the adjacent bathing chamber and some cloths to help her get cleaned up, when Iviry’s hand wrapped around his wrist. A jolt shook him when his eyes found hers again, and he nearly swayed in his crouched position, forcing him to grip her knee to steady himself.
It was as if a current ran through his arm, and he realized the dress she’d worn had ridden up, and his hand now touched her bare leg.
Loche just stared as his calloused fingers started drawing circles on her skin of their own accord, and he could feel Iviry’s gaze draw down, too, before her hand moved from his wrist to land on the one on her leg.
He couldn’t breathe, the warmth of her soft skin traveling from his hand, up his arm, and right into his chest, taking hold of his heart, which he knew would never soften. Iviry’s breaths came in choppy waves as well, as she gently moved his fingers off her, and then used her palms to push herself back on the bed, crossing her legs atop it.
“It’s a trick, you know,” she said, her voice still breathy, and Loche forced his gaze to leave her knee, which somehow was one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen.
“What’s a trick?” he asked as his eyes flitted between hers.
“This.” Iviry’s hand shook as it waved between them. “It’s the bond trying to force you to feel something for me. I… I understand we might need to pretend for the others, but… Loche, I can’t. I can’t pretend this is something it’s not when we’re alone. My mind… I can’t tell dream from reality anymore. When we danced…”
Her words drifted away as she lifted a hand to press against her head, and she wasn’t able to suppress the twitch of pain pulling at her features. Loche shook his head, the daze lifting, and before she could stop him, he shot upright and stormed into the bathroom, getting the bucket and the softest-looking cloths in there. As he stalked back to her, his eyes must have betrayed his anger because she didn’t object when he started to clean her wound, his movements jerky as fury continued to flow freely through his blood.
When he was done, he threw the pink-tinted cloths into the bucket and placed it outside the door, once again slamming it shut with more force than he’d meant.
Whirling back toward Iviry, he took the four steps to the bed and dropped himself beside her, impatiently waving for her to turn her back to him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered when she finally did, and Loche wove his fingers into her damp hair, trying to ignore the surge in the pit of his stomach as her scent wafted toward him with every movement.
“Braiding your hair,” Loche muttered back, trying to soften his voice, although he could tell the iciness in it broke through. “My… the woman who ended up taking care of me—Geyia, you might have met her, she’s on one of the ships—showed me when I was young how to do it. I hadn’t cut my hair in years, and for some reason I didn’t want to—not until I joined the army and they forced me—so she showed me how not to have it hanging all over my face. I don’t want your strands to continue rubbing against the wound, so I think it’s best you keep it up until that Fae blood of yours can heal you.”
Iviry remained quiet the entire time Loche worked on her hair, and it did take quite some time, given how long and thick it was, but when he finally finished and the tips of his fingers brushed her neck as he swept the braid over her shoulder, a shiver traced her shoulders, peppering her skin with goose bumps.
“Here.” Loche pulled off one of the blankets at the top of the bed and wrapped it around her, helping her to settle against the wall.
His eyes followed her legs pulling up to her chest, how she wrapped the blanket entirely around herself—a shield against the world, or perhaps against him—before she stared out across the room.
