“Promise me,” he repeated.
Aya held his gaze for a long moment, her throat bobbing before she nodded.
“I promise.”
48
Aidon used to yearn for stolen, quiet moments. But as he sat on a large tree stump at the back of the small house, the plains stretching on endlessly into the horizon, the quiet brought little peace. It gave his mind too much space to wander, his thoughts too much volume to fill.
He watched as Akeeta and Azul circled the house, their ears pricked forward as they kept guard. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there. Long enough for the blood to have stopped flowing from his nose, and for the sun to have set, the early stages of twilight crawling across the sky.
The deep purple reminded him of a landscape Josie painted of the sunset beach fires in Rinnia. She’d chosen that exact shade of purple for the sky. The painting hung in the small dining room of the family’s private wing in the palace.
Or, it had. The Bellare had likely laid waste to anything sentimental.
His chest ached as he thought of his family. Josie might have been safe when Cole had left, but how long before the Bellare sought her out in the Maraciana? How long could Natali keep her protected? And what of his parents? He had to believe they were alive—any alternative fate wouldextinguish his resolve immediately—but only the seven hells would keep them from their children.
Aidon’s hands curled into fists on his thighs. He had known the rumors of his power would cause trouble, but he hadn’t expectedthis. Perhaps that made him naive. Perhaps it was more evidence he was unfit to rule.
Then again, he’d had plenty to occupy his mind these last two months. Finding Aya, keeping Will from careening off the cliff of desperation, trying to keep his own power from devouring him like a particularly hungry beast.
He’d succeeded in two of those, at least.
Aidon’s uncurled his fists and flipped his hands, peering down at the lines in his blistered skin. He was no more than a fumbling Visya child, overcome by his emotions and losing control of his power.
Except theirs doesn’t try to kill them.
A rustle sounded behind him, the wolves stilling with it. But they relaxed in the next moment, and Aidon heard the off cadence of uneven footsteps.
Dauphine.
He fixed his attention on the stars that began to blink across the sky. She took a seat beside him, her wrapped thigh pressing against his as they sat in silence.
“How’s your pain?” Aidon finally asked, glancing down at the bandage.
“How’s yours?” Dauphine retorted as she rested back on her palms, her chin lifted toward the sky. She’d cleaned off the blood and braided back her long hair.
Aidon traced her side profile, taking in the roundness of her cheek, the fullness of her lips, the long expanse of her neck.
He forced his eyes away, back up to the stars. A pity—they lacked in comparison.
“I’ve had worse healings,” she answered when it became clear he would not.
Hollow amusement pulsed through him. “High praise.”
“Might still ask the saint if she will bless me with her touch when she’s able.”
“Don’t jest,” Aidon muttered wearily. “She damn well saved all of our lives. We do not need to be asking her for further favors.”
Dauphine nudged him. “Don’t tell me you harbor feelings for her as well.”
That, at least, got a true chuckle out of Aidon. What he wouldn’t give to be back agonizing over alliances and forced marriages and love. It all seemed so trivial compared to what they faced now.
“She’s my friend,” he assured her. “Nothing more.”
There was a time those words would have been a lie, but now…
He loved Aya in that same devoted way he loved Clyde, and Lucas, and once—before he had betrayed Aidon by siding with his treasonous uncle—Peter.
