His shoulder muscles flex under my cheek, and his step falters. Clearing his throat, he says, “You weren’t made for simple.”
“Everything shouldn’t constantly feel complex.”
“No, it shouldn’t, but your life is far from ordinary.”
We come to a stop, and Zek lowers me from his arms. I continue to clench the front of his tunic, searching his sky-blue eyes for any sign that he would betray me the way Kyron did. But I only find concern. He has seen me through my darkest days, been the one to make me laugh, walked quietly at my side as I moped, and given me space when I felt like my world was closing in on me. He’s the one who kept me standing tall and gave me a safe place to sort through my emotions. For the past seven months, he has been my rock.
My hands move up his chest and around his neck. The soft waves of his hair tickle my palms, and the same sensation buzzes in my lips. I rise to my toes, my eyes flutter shut, and I press my lips to his.
Zek remains stiff against my mouth, so I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, urging him to give in. But regret rushes through me when he remains rigid. My fingers loosen in his hair, and I move to pull away when his hand glides to the small of my back to stop me. Zek’s tongue sweepsagainst mine and my stomach rolls. I try brushing the feeling aside and lose myself in the kiss, but my body is persistent. The sensation heightens, and it isn’t a flutter of butterflies, but a guttural feeling that won’t subside no matter how nice the kiss is.
The uneasy feeling quickly sobers me, and I step away. With my fingers over my lips, I say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Elle,” he says, crouching a little so he can meet my gaze which is locked on my feet.
I open my mouth to disagree, but it’s like I’m walking on glass, tiptoeing to find the right words to say. I don’t want to hurt him with a rejection. Especially when I was the one to initiate the kiss. Yet I can’t lead him to believe it will happen again. Nothing about that kiss felt right.
My foggy brain shuffles through all my lessons with Borin, searching for one to help me handle this situation. We never covered how to redraw a line I should have never crossed with someone I’ve kissed. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’m about to sputter a poor excuse for an apology when Zek turns the handle to my door. “You should get to bed. I’m sure tomorrow won’t be easy, and you’re going to be fighting one hell of a hangover.”
“Yeah. I’m sure you’re right,” I say, happy for the reprieve.
“Goodnight, Your Grace.”
“Goodnight, Zek.”
I shut the door and lean against the wooden frame, my eyes fluttering shut. Every deep breath I take does little to calm the panic and sickness bobbling within me. I messed up, and it’s not only my mind that knows it, but my entire being. The kiss was rash and never should have happened. It was a pitiful and reckless attempt to feel something that wasn’t heartbreak.
“Interesting night?” says a smooth voice from the corner of the room.
I inch my eyelids open to find Kyron seated across the room.
Eleven
Kyron sits in the wing-back chair next to the hearth. One leg rests on the thigh of the other, and he has discarded his shoes before the fire. His leather jacket is draped over a chair at the small dining table, leaving him in a black tunic. The laces below his neck are pulled free and the golden skin underneath is on full display. His dark hair hangs over his forehead, the strands pulled in every direction from his fingers running through it.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“This is my room,” he answers, cocking a brow.
My fingernails dig into the wood behind me, anchoring me in place as everything spins. Something tells me that he is looking to remember how things used to be. How many conversations did he have with Greer, Terro, and Ulric in this room? How many nights did he lay in his bed and think about me? Fuck, that thought alone makes me want to straddle his body, feel his skin, kiss his lips, but I’ve already done my fair share of damage tonight. The last thing I need is to fall into Kyron’s arms.
“Shouldn’t you be in the east barracks with your warriors?”
“I’m sure they will survive the night without me. Why areyouhere?”
That damn spark in his eyes tells me that he knows that I took thisroom to feel close to him. The truth and the whiskey are a volatile mixture in my stomach. My tongue grows thick, and my stomach give an angry rumble. I push past the nausea and say, “You know why I’m here.”
Beads of sweat form on my brow, and I take a deep breath to ward off my gag reflex.
“You don’t look well,” he says, rising from the chair.
“I think I drank too much.”
“Are you going to vomit?”
I clamp my lips together and rush for the washroom. He follows after me, his heavy boots thumping against the wooden floor. I drop to my knees next to the clean basin and grip the edges. Sitting beside me, Kyron runs his hand down my back and keeps my hair from my face. My body jolts with the first heave, and I expel a stomach full of liquid. My throat burns and my eyes water as I convulse so hard my ribs hurt.
