I stalled with one hand against the door to our bedroom, facing away from him, fingers curled against the wood.
Three seconds. That was all I allowed myself. With my eyes closed, I dragged a breath slowly through my lungs, channeling every bit of strength left in my drained body. Then, hating it, I slipped into the mask I’d grown accustomed to wearing.
Only you can know—fate will fight back?—
I looked over my shoulder. Malakai sat on the bench at the foot of our bed, elbows braced on his knees. Defeated. That was the word that came to mind from his drooped head, hair wild as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Cowardice twisted my gut, cool and slicing as a blade. I was unable to give this broken man one sliver of the truth. One tiny step that might help him toward healing. Help us. But I wasn’t willing to reveal Damien’s words. Not when I didn’t understand that warningmyself, and not when there was already overwhelming pain between us. Sharing would only add one more thing we needed to reconcile while trying to heal.
And if I was honest, I was still hurt by the way Malakai had allowed me to bind myself to him without knowing. By the secrets he had kept.
Maybe I wanted some of my own.
Moving forward was a challenge, trying to navigate our hurt yet shrinking in loneliness. If I could, I’d remove the weight of the world from his shoulders. He’d carried it for too long. But then, I’d crumble beneath it—neither outcome was fair.
“You didn’t want me to hear what he said.” When his gaze lifted, lashed anger burned me. Malakai was pulling back the curtain I’d drawn over our problems.
“It was about the Rapture.” I tugged that curtain tighter, striding across the room on legs much sturdier than I felt.
Mystlight flared along the dressing chamber as I entered and headed straight for the vanity. The scent of honeysuckle and leather wrapped itself around me.
Dammit.
“Talk to me,” he commanded.
I didn’t answer, but a warm hand rested on my shoulder. My Bind heated and a twinge of sorrow clanged through my still-broken heart.
“That one worked,” I told him, brushing my lips over his knuckles.
“I think it’s easier when we’re closer.” Physically and emotionally. The latter was the one we’d been struggling with.
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” My voice was hollow. I looked in the mirror and found my eyes matching it.
“It would help if you told me what’s going on.” Gently, Malakai turned me to face him. “Talk to me,” he repeated.
Talk to him. The words echoed through my ears, bouncing around my head and filled the cavernous space between us. The suite, the palace, the entire Spirit-forsaken city itself.Talk to him. As if he showed me the same consideration.
It was petty. It was cowardly. It was weak and childish and certainlynotthe behavior of the Revered I claimed to be, but fuckthem all, this was not a matter of weapons and strategies. This was a battle of the heart, and it proved to be as brutal as warfare.
It was with cruel satisfaction that I looked into Malakai’s eyes, his accusations from earlier still swirling between us, and said, “I’m taking a bath.”
He was silent, but his pupils enlarged, giving away his anger.
We refused to break eye contact as I slid the straps of my gown off my shoulders and let it pool at my ankles, my undergarments following.
Malakai didn’t give in to the bait, and I didn’t invite him to join me as I strode to the bathing chamber, shut the door behind me, and turned on the tap. Over the water rushing into the sunken tub, I heard a door slam.
Once the room was full with enough steam that I could no longer see my wan reflection in the mirror, I sank into the tub. Thank the Spirits that the magic of our mountains provided an endless supply of deliciously hot water.
I scrubbed at my skin, needing to wipe away more than the sweat sticking to me. The taint of my atrocious behavior, the gross satisfaction coating me, and the fear gripping me with Damien’s prophecy—I needed to do away with it all.
With floral-scented soap and a rough brush, I scrubbed. I scrubbed and scrubbed, as if that would cleanse me of thoughts of curses and sacrifices.
But a part of me knew—those things were unavoidable.
The water had grown cold,my skin raw, but my temper had barely simmered. And my thoughts—those had not calmed at all. But I had yet to hear Malakai return, so I rose from the tub, used one of the fluffy towels to dry off, and spent an exorbitant amount of time applying lotions to my skin and oils to my hair.
