Stop staring.
But he’s not standing by the enclosure anymore. Brows drawing down, I look—
“Don’t you have work to do, soldier?”
The icy words come from directly behind me. Duskbane stares Beckett down with an expression that suggests the next movement might be his last. “There’s plenty to do, if you’re finding yourself with additional time on your hands.”
Beckett swallows. The sound is audible. “Sir. I was just helping Lyra.”
“She needs no help from you.” Aedryn help me, but he seems to swell impossibly bigger. Or perhaps it’s the darkness, leaking from his palms. “And her work is done. Off you go.”
Beckett scrambles up, his face flaming red. “Of course. Bye, Lyra.”
“Bye.” He almost runs in his haste to get away. I frown at Duskbane. “That was rude.”
“You’re not here to draw my soldiers from their work,” he snaps. “He was watching you in the hall as well.”
My brows fly up. “I’m still waiting to hear where any of this ismyproblem. Take your growling somewhere else, and stop directing it at me. I did what you asked me to do.”
He sucks in a breath. Some unnamed thought flickers in his eyes, his lips twisting as he leans forward. “None of it is your problem, witch. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
If anything, he seems angrier with me now. My own temper rises to match his, and I jab my finger at his chest. “And for Aedryn’s sake, put a fucking shirt on.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I attempt to snap my jaw closed.
The anger wipes away, replaced with a smirk that both deepens and douses my anger. “Does the sight of my chest bother you, witch? Given your previous displays, I didn’t think you’d mind.”
My mind flashes back to my first night in the cells.
“Or perhaps it doesn’t bother you at all.” His head tilts, voice lowering to a soft thrum as I stare at him in growinghorror. “Perhaps you think you’ll buy yourself better treatment if you coax your way into my bed. Have you ever played in the shadows, witch? I doubt you could take what I enjoy giving.”
My mind veers between options, both leaning heavily toward utter disgust. And perhaps a tinge of fear. I swallow it down. His eyes widen as I step forward, lowering my gaze before I peer up at him between my lashes. My words are breathy, soft enough that he leans his head forward to listen.
My cheeks brushes against his, my whisper brushing his ear. “I would sooner return tohisbed before I ever crawled intoyours, wielder. And shadows make it easy to hide a lack of talent.”
I pull my face away, hiding the sourness I taste on my tongue at making any mention of Cindral at all. There is nothing I wouldn’t do—including bedding the Darkwielder prince currently glaring at me—to avoid any interaction with him for the rest of my life.
But I must showsomething, because any sense of control I have over this discussion dissolves with his next words. Short, sharp. Anddark. “Did he hurt you?”
I falter, almost stumbling as I step back, but Duskbane follows as if he senses victory and intends to claim it. “Tell me.”
His hand reaches for me, and I—
Iflinch.
My hand slams down on Duskbane’s wrist, angled to hit his bone, and he yanks it away with a curse as I keep my hands raised. “Don’t touch me.”
I’m… too warm. I can’tbreathe.
And all I can see is that hand, coming toward me. His hand. Not the pale, dark-streaked skin before me but Cindral’s golden tone, so similar to my own. My breathing deepens, rasping, reaching for air that doesn’t come.
“Lyra.”
White spots dance in my vision, the tall form wavering. “I’m fine.”
He says something else, but the buzzing in my ears intensifies. The sourness in my mouth expands.
“Breathe.” The low command breaks through the panic that has stolen my control. Ripped it away as easily as parchment, so thin that I wonder if I ever truly had it at all. “Hands on your knees, and breathe through your mouth.”
