“Let me do it. The human has seen my power. She fears me already.” He forced himself to meet Xyliria’s eyes, to keep his expression controlled. “I can break her for you.”
Ryleth’s fingers dug painfully into Ashterion’s throat. “Explain.”
Ashterion found his gaze. “I’ve been your subject for centuries. Learned your methods. Your techniques.” He tilted his head toward Ryleth. “You’ve been a thorough teacher.”
Ryleth chuckled, the sound scraping against Ashterion’s nerves. “You think you’ve learned enough to break someone like her?”
“I know I have,” Ashterion replied, forcing confidence into his voice while his mind raced. “She’s already responding to me. The fear is there, beneath her defiance.”
Xyliria studied him, her head tilting slightly in consideration. “You wish to prove yourself.”
It wasn’t a question, but Ashterion answered anyway. “Yes. Let me demonstrate what I’ve learned.”
“And if you fail?”
Ashterion met her challenge unflinchingly. “I won’t.”
Ryleth’s weight shifted as he leaned back, his fingers finally releasing Ashterion’s throat. “You always were ambitious, little sovereign.” His eyes glittered with malicious amusement. “Though I must admit, I’m surprised by your... eagerness.”
Xyliria’s laughter filled the room. “My husband wants to play torturer.” She moved closer, her crimson skirts brushing against the edge of the bed. “How delightful.”
Her eyes met Ashterion’s, and the calculation in them made his shadows curl tighter beneath his skin.
“Very well,” she said, trailing a finger down his chest. “You may have your chance with the human. Break her, and I’ll be impressed.” Her nail dug into his skin, drawing a thin line of blood. “But if you fail to break her, you’ll spend a month with Ryleth. And then, you will watch him break the human—observe how it’s truly done.”
Ashterion’s blood turned to ice. A month. With Ryleth. The longest he’d ever endured was two weeks, and he’d nearly lost his fucking mind. And the thought of watching him work his cruelty on the female... Ashterion clenched his jaw against the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.
“I understand,” he said, betraying nothing of the turmoil churning inside him.
Xyliria’s smile widened. “Wonderful. You may begin tomorrow.”
Ryleth’s fingers traced the line of blood Xyliria had drawn, smearing it across Ashterion’s skin. “Such ambition,” he murmured. “I do hope you fail. It’s been far too long since I’ve had you properly under my care.”
Ashterion said nothing. He’d bought himself time—time to figure out what to do with her, how to protect her without revealing his intentions.
“Now,” Xyliria said, her voice dropping to something honey-sweet and venomous, “I believe I’ve indulged this conversation long enough.” She stepped away from the bed, smoothing her crimson skirts with practiced elegance. “The border scouts reported movement near the eastern pass. I should attend to it personally.”
The eastern pass meant the Luceren reinforcements were attempting to mobilise. It also meant Xyliria would be gone for at least a day, possibly two. He might have more freedom to manoeuvre, to find a way to protect the human without revealing his hand.
She leaned down, her perfume suffocating as she pressed her lips to his. “I’ll leave you with Ryleth,” she murmured against his skin. “He’s earned his time with you, after all. Consider it... motivation for your task tomorrow.”
Ashterion’s heart slammed against his ribs as Xyliria’s footsteps faded, the door clicking shut behind her with a finalitythat echoed through the chamber. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rustle of silk as Ryleth shifted his weight.
“Alone at last,” Ryleth purred. “How nostalgic.”
Ashterion closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to remain steady as Ryleth’s weight settled more fully against him. The male’s pale fingers traced lazy patterns across his chest, following old scars with intimate familiarity.
“How long has it been, little sovereign?” Ryleth’s voice was a whisper against Ashterion’s skin.
“Too long.” The silk ropes bit deeper into Ashterion’s wrists as his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.
“Too long indeed,” Ryleth murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against Ashterion’s throat. “You’ve forgotten what we share, I think.”
Ashterion didn’t respond. He let his mind drift away from the weight pressing against him, from the fingers tracing patterns of old pain across his skin. He had perfected this technique centuries ago—the careful separation of consciousness from his body, a retreat into the furthest corners of his mind where even Ryleth couldn’t follow.
The first touch of pain registered distantly, like thunder from a storm miles away.
52
