Someone.
Anyone.
“Hey—“
And it wasn’t a voice she ever expected to hear checking in on her.
Nyssa wiped her face of the tears that had streaked her cheeks and turned, noting Draven slowly stepping onto the balcony, drink in his hand and a concerned look in his eyes.
“Okay?” he asked, stepping closer.
Her pounding heart seemed to slow down with him there, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and count it back from six.
“Yeah,” she managed. “Just… I get a little overwhelmed sometimes—“ and she stopped herself from embarrassing herself as she remembered who she was talking to. She was sure he had never been nervous of anything in his life. Had never felt what it was to panic or feel insignificant in a room.
She thought that would be it, that he would step back inside and shake his head at her having a silent tantrum, call her spoiled or worse—tell Aydra.
But Draven didn’t stop walking until he was by her side, and he offered her his own glass of nyghtfire. Nyssa took it hesitantly, feeling the burn of tears at the back of her sinuses from him being nice to her. One tear slipped down her cheek just as she took the glass, and she managed a high-pitched, “Thank you,” before snapping back the burning liquid.
Draven leaned his forearms against the banister and relaxed at her side as the sting of the whiskey seared her throat. She made a face, shiver rolling over her shoulders, and she heard Draven chuckle.
“Ugh…” she grunted before setting the glass on the ground. Even though he wasn’t saying anything, a shame filled her stomach, and she nearly vomited the whiskey right there.
“Fuck,” she cursed herself, rubbing her face full of tears. “You must think I’m a childish disaster,” Nyssa said, avoiding his gaze. “How did you even see me among the others? Everyone in there is so loud and excited. You didn’t have to come out here.”
“I’m the tallest person in that room,” he replied with a shrug. “I see a lot of things others don’t.” He looked at her. “Something tells me you do too.”
“I am by no means tall nor do I bring any sort of presence as you or Aydra do,” Nyssa said before she could stop herself, and she wasn’t sure why she was even opening up to him. She’d only just gotten to where she could banter in front of him, and now she was crying and admitting things she only ever told Dorian.
“You can read people though,” Draven said, and Nyssa’s heart skipped.
She swallowed as she glanced over to him, grateful that he had relaxed against the banister and she wasn’t having to look up to the sky and feel even more fragile. She felt her eyes narrow as she met his gaze.
“How do you know that?” she wondered.
“Your hands,” he said with an upwards nod. “Your sister taps on the fucking table all the time. Strumming her fingers as though she is bored. But you… You were tapping strategically. I’ve seen Rhaif catch your eye at previous meetings. He relies heavily on you.”
Her heart hurt at the mention of her brother, how he’d not even acknowledged her after the meeting, even when normally he would call on her to speak, most especially if she had noted something. As if their talk two days before meant nothing now.
Yet, the fact that Draven had seen and figured out her system made her wonder what else he had noted over the years.
“Do you mind my asking what you saw?” Draven asked.
“I—“ But Nyssa hesitated. She knew she could trust him, as Aydra trusted him. Dorian trusted him. Everyone else in their world seemed to trust him.
Except for her people.
Draven’s lips quirked as he seemed to see her hesitation, and he hung his head a moment. “Fair game, Princess,” he said, eyes flickering her way.
Nyssa panicked. “No—No, it’s… it’s not that. I swear. I—“
A low chuckle came from Draven, an unexpected one that made her words stop. Her heart pounded in her eardrums, chest and face heating up beneath her stammering.
“It’s okay,” Draven chuckled. “I’ve no reason to think you would trust me any more today than you did a week ago.”
“But… I do trust you,” she admitted.
His brows elevated as though she’d just given him the shock of his life. “Why?” he asked.
