“Turn. Around.”
His voice was like the sharp edge of the cliffs outside his bedchamber window.
I’d allowed him to tie my hands. If I did as he said, Terran would win much more than this one simple game.
“I will ask just one more time, Lyra. Turn. Around. Now.”
His green eyes blazed.
I turned.
Anticipated.
Cursed myself for a fool.
Then, just as quickly as he’d first reached for me, Terran slipped the sash from my wrists, freeing them. I waited, but he didn’t make any further move. Realizing that was all he meant to do, I turned back.
Words were unnecessary. What would I have said anyway? I hadn’t known, until this very moment, that I wanted to give up control. That such a thing would inflame my senses and make me forget decades of training.
What had I been thinking?
Reaching for my sash, I grabbed it, resisted one last look at the specimen of perfection that was Prince Terran of Gyoria, and stepped toward the archway. It wasn’t until I got back into his bedchamber that I breathed again.
Defeat was a bitter bedfellow, and unless I wanted to get comfortable sleeping with it, I would do well not to play that game with Terran ever again.
13
TERRAN
After dressing, I emptied the tub but didn’t leave my bathing chamber just yet. She would be out there, and while I could face the fiercest immortals in Elydor, I’d prefer not to face this particular Aetherian just yet.
I leaned against the gossimite counter, its gold flecks glistening in the near-darkness. What had possessed me, I was uncertain. Taunting her, as I had, knowing Lyra was as stubborn and competitive as they came—that bit of knowledge coming from my brother—perhaps it was the outcome I’d hoped for.
Yet she’d quickly turned the tides against me. Hair spilling around her shoulders, Lyra’s eyes mesmerizing as they dared me to continue, she had become the very opposite of how I knew her. No longer cool and aloof, though still very much measured, with the first tug of her silken sash, it took every bit of discipline I’d learned to remain still.
The thought had simply come to me, and before I could weigh its consequences, I’d decided there was, indeed, much more beneath the surface. If Lyra epitomized control in every mannerism and action, outwardly, would she secretly desire the very opposite? If I thought more on it before reaching for her wrists, I’d have remembered she trusted me least of nearly anyone in Elydor. Lyra shouldn’t have allowed me to bind her wrists, though I was certain she could wrest free using magic. Still, it was her willingness to succumb that surprised me most.
After that, I’d nearly released the thin thread of control I’d been maintaining.
Stepping back from her had been difficult.
Inhaling, reminding myself that Lyra was no ally… that the consequences of losing this game would alter the path of my life as surely as Kael’s when he chose Princess Mevlida, I pushed up and strode into my chamber.
No sign of Lyra.
But the table had been set with domes forged from thermoneutral, the Gyorian heat-holding alloy, covering trenchers of food. Thankfully, my servants were as loyal as my men. That I’d asked for a meal for two would not be questioned. Even so, Lyra could not remain here much longer.
I needed to retrieve the Stone before my father decided to wield it, contributing to the undeniable Unbalance, the cause of which he’d known and chosen to hide from me.
She sat in my leather chair, shoeless, feet curled under her, reading. It was a text I knew well:Chronicles of the Rift Wars.
“Hungry?”
She looked up. Hair back in place, features schooled. Aside from her bare feet, there was no other hint of the Lyra that had occupied the bathing chamber.
“Aye,” she said, replacing the book.
Caught staring at her fine-looking backside, I turned and Lyra followed.
