I grew up with three brothers and three sisters. There was a lot of roughhousing in my past; it involved a lot of yelling, shoving, and wrestling.
I drove my knee up, hard and fast.
His breath left him in a stunned hiss, and he stumbled back, clutching himself. I didn’t wait to see what he would do next. I shoved past him, and a wave of raw revulsion exploded from my chest. Every bit of magic was aimed at showing him exactly what I thought of his offer.
He didn’t move to stop me. Just remained there, doubled over.
I picked up my little piece of home, of Tegil, from the table and forced my eyes forward. This time it was I who stormed from the library. As I passed beneath the archway, he called after me, the sound barely more than a breath. “Sorry, Is-ca.”
His two-word apology was a blunt knife twisting in my gut. I knew he meant it. Because in the space between his pain and pride, Emrys had let his walls drop briefly.
What I felt in that window of clarity wasn’t lust or cruelty. The intensity of his regret and self-loathing was so consuming that I feared the torment he was going to put himself through for what the curse had suggested.
And gods help me, his shame was so palpable that part of me wanted to turn back and demand an explanation so I could forgive him.
But he’d damaged something between us tonight. Or the curse had. And if I stayed, it would only feast on us both.
Chapter 32
Emrys
Owain’s offer, Nisien’s kiss, the spy, the offers of marriage negotiations from my most loyal noble families had all culminated in me acting like a beast. I was losing the battle. I was losing control.
I’d known it would happen.
Avoiding Isca after my disgusting behavior in the library only deepened the rot growing inside me. The torturous scent of lavender tickled my nose with every turn. Every time I encountered it, I held my breath or took different paths, but I couldn’t goanywherewithout reminders of her following me.
The look on her face, the feel of her pulse jumping beneath my lips, the sound of her voice when she told me to move—all of it haunted every waking second. I replayed it over and over, trying to rewrite it in my mind. Trying to imagine a version where I hadn’t cornered her like some feral thing.
Where I hadn’tpressedmyself against her like she was mine to take. I’d failed utterly and completely to stop the curse from poisoning my thoughts and usurping my control.
I still couldn't believe what I'd accused her of so flagrantly.Despicable. Though it wasn't like the truth mattered. Even if she’d admitted that as her aim, I would still want her.
I should’ve turned and run when the monster propelled me toward, not away from, her. Until that point, the dark magic twisting within me hadrecoiled from her relaxing presence or driven me to lash out as it always did.
But something about seeing her in the space that had become my sanctuary in the middle of the night had loosened the lock on the beast’s cage. When she’d massaged my shoulders with an invitation in her eyes… Gods, the cage had ripped completely open.
This, too, was probably my fault. It took little imagination to picture my monster, starved of its usual diet of destruction, beginning to feast on my desire instead. For hours after she’d touched me, I lay awake, restless and burning. I’d had to satisfy the lust its appetite had made worse three times before I was able to sleep.
Each time, all I could think about was how soft she was and the little pleased sound she’d made when my teeth met her skin. Her sweet, utterly damning taste lingered on my lips.
But then my stomach would churn with the reminder that I could never have her, and the curse would dine on my torment instead. Her sweet taste would turn to the ashes of all the men I’d killed, that pleased sound to their pleas.
Yet even as disgust curdled in me, I couldn’t stop the need. Even while consumed by my own self-loathing, I yearned to touch, to smell her again. Containing the outburst of magic that threatened to shake the walls of the castle with each climax nearly leveled me instead.
The next morning bled into the next, and the next after that. Four days passed in a blur. Sleep brought no peace; waking brought only rage. In the daylight, fury at my loss of control made the taste of bile in my mouth a constant companion. I became unbearable company, even to myself. Each passing day blurred until I could barely tell one from another—only that I was unraveling.
The sanctuary of the library late at night had become a mockery of my failings, so I decided to exile myself from it completely. Yet I couldn’t avoid the daily gathering in the feasting hall. So I showedup, an empty husk of a man.
Isca sat between us at meals, always closer to Nisien, which was safer for everyone. I spoke little. But when I did, my words were clipped and controlled. The men were forgiving of my tempers, but I had to appear organized more often than not if I wanted to retain their loyalty.
That meant spending the hours not locked away in my rooms or putting on a show of still being human in training. I poured my shame into training, striking until my hands were raw and blistered, until every drop of sweat felt like penance.
Each blow I landed on the dummy sent a jolt of pain up my arms. My knuckles split, my blood soaked the wooden post that held it upright. Each hit was a plea for silence, a feeble effort to drown out the monster I’d let loose in that firelit room. I deserved worse.
I deserved agony.
Nisien was still the only man I felt comfortable sparring with, and even that comfort soured. Again and again, the image of her face leaning into his hand resurfaced, burning behind my eyelids like a curse of its own. The searing memory pushed me to be reckless, to use excessive force during our daily sparring sessions.
