His best friend lay in the infirmary, broken and bleeding, her life balanced on a blade’s edge. His Visionary, and the last tenuous thread holding the Court upright. I hadn’t given myself space to process it yet, but he had been carrying it all since the moment she fell.
It didn’t change my reasons. Going to the Dragon had still been the right choice.
But I knew better than to expect him to hear that now.
I took several calming breaths before I spoke.
“I’m sorry about Nevara,” I said quietly.
His hand tensed around my arm, his jaw tightening as his gaze cut to mine, cold and irritated. “That’s what you’re sorry for?”
“Well, I’m sure as hells not sorry for doing what I could to stop this,” I shot back, lifting my chin. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
“And for traipsing off without a word?” His tone sharpened, disbelief edging every syllable.
“What would you have done if I had told you?” I demanded. “Sent me on my merry way and kept fighting the frostbeast?”
His jaw flexed. He dragged his free hand through his hair, breath leaving him in a harsh exhale, the remnants of battle still clinging to him like a second skin.
His hold on me was far gentler than his tone when he finally did speak. “Is it not enough for you that Nevara still might lose her life? Do you insist on throwing yours away as well?”
I lowered Batty to the silver tray of untouched food that Mirelda had no doubt left for us on the breakfast table, letting her scuttle toward a plump red berry before responding.
“What exactly is the alternative, Draven?” I asked, my fingers aching as my talons threatened to break free. “No one but you is allowed to fight? You can risk your life taking on an ancient unknown monster for your kingdom, but the rest of us should stay safe in our towers?”
Draven clenched his fists, frost already coating his pale blue wedding band. “This is not your fight, Morta Mea, and I will not have you dying for my mistakes.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I fight for, Draven.” I whispered it, stepping even closer, refusing to back down.
His gaze dropped to my lips before lifting to my eyes again, darker now. “You still belong to me, so yes, Wife, I do get to tell you. Especially when you’re prone to running off like a wayward child at the first chance to hurl yourself into danger.”
A shiver rippled up my spine. I told myself that I was not warmed by his words. That they did not stir inside me as much comfort as rebellion.
But even I wasn’t that good of a liar.
Still, I knew better than to show him a single ounce of caving, whatever he might feel through our bond. So we stood locked in a short, silent stalemate, tension thicker than the coat of frost spreading across the marble floor. His hand lifted, thumb brushing my cheek before he drew back, staring at the smear of blackened ash on his skin.
I knew I must look half feral, the way my mother had in the vision I saw of her. For a rare change, he wasn’t much better. There were spatters of blood and something darker in his pale, disheveled locks and spattered on his flawless skin.
“We should get cleaned up.” The words left my mouth before I registered their implication.
Whatever haze we had existed in, wrapped in one another’s arms, was a far cry from the everyday intimacy of sharing a bath when we were both covered in grime.
But I wasn’t foolish enough to leave his side yet, when my mana was still wild. Even if I had been able to, I wasn’t sure I could have brought myself to let him out of my sight when I had felt the physical weight of his defeat when he first beheld the monster, had felt the echoes of his impending death resonating in my soul.
Heat flooded his gaze, even as his jaw clenched, like the same conflicting thoughts were running through his mind. Finally, he nodded, guiding me to his bathing chamber.
Instead of the bathtub I had been expecting, Draven led me into what could only be described as a cathedral of frost and steam. The bathing chamber was enormous, hewn from midnight stones and lined with veins of silver that caught the torchlight and scattered it like broken stars.
A wide platform of chilled blue tile stretched out before an arched shower carved straight into the wall, where water fell in a shimmering curtain, warm enough to fog the air and brightenough to glow like melted auroras. It was excessive. It was beautiful. And it was very, very him.
We stepped closer together, the heat of the steam wrapping around us as we undressed, neither of us speaking. Tension settled in the air, thicker than the steam around us.
When we finally stepped beneath the falling water, the first rush of heat stole the breath from my lungs. Crimson swirled at our feet, spiraling toward the drain, the water managing to wash the blood from our bodies but doing absolutely nothing for the mess between us.
His bare skin was right there, inches from mine, every breath I took filled with juniper and snow. The nearness of him scraped something primal awake inside me. My mana flared to life, shadows unfurling along the frost-lit walls, as if they recognized him before I did.
He reached for my wrist with an agonizing slowness, his gaze never leaving mine. His fingers were slick with soap, searing with a heat that belied all the icy rage that still swelled from his mana. As soon as his skin touched mine, the bond surged white-hot through my chest.
