Maybe this was a mistake. Lykor obviously wanted solitude. Yet an irrational need to bridge the distance tugged him across this forbidden ground.
Lykor’s head snapped toward him, black hair whipping across his face. The sudden flare in his eyes made Jassyn halt, breath catching in his throat.
“What the fuck doyouwant?” Lykor demanded.
“I made tea,” Jassyn mumbled, cheeks burning as he offered a cup.
Lykor’s eyes clashed with his, unblinking, glare unwavering. For a moment, all Jassyn could focus on was the dangerous, magnetic stillness, drawing him closer without a clear meaning why.
A brisk wind sliced through Jassyn’s cloak, sending a shiver down his spine. “Serenna found some of those frost berries,” he continued before glancing over his shoulder. But she and the prince had abandoned the fire.
Lykor muttered something under his breath and turned away, his attention lifting back to the flickering stars.
Nearly compelled to fill the suffocating silence, Jassyn blurted, “I thought… Well, I figured… Fenn’s usually better at brewing tea, but since he’s still away…”
Feeling ridiculous, he trailed off as heat crawled up his neck. He knew he was rambling, but he didn’t know what else to do as he awkwardly held out the unwanted mug.
Jassyn shifted his weight, boots scraping against frosty stones. “I…added cinnamon,” he ventured, still talking while Lykor ignored him. “Vesryn had some in his pack. No idea how it got there, but…” He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “I noticed Aesar doesn’t like it, but you always add it and—”
Lykor’s gauntlet snapped shut with a grating screech, silencing him. Crimson eyes latched onto his, scalding with barely restrained ire as Lykor bit out, “Is there a reason you’ve seen fit to plague me with your presence?”
Battling the instinct to retreat, Jassyn’s pulse stumbled. “I wanted to thank you,” he said, fingers tightening around the ceramic, the offering feeling increasingly absurd under the heat of Lykor’s scorn. “For saving me today.”
Lykor’s lips twisted into a sneer. His gaze seared into the mug before returning to the stars, dismissing it—and Jassyn—entirely again. “A mistake, I’m sure,” he muttered.
Jassyn flinched as if the words had been shouted in his face, his grip slipping. Tea sloshed over the rim, steaming where it struck the frozen ground. The chill of Lykor’s contempt sank into his bones—he’d been foolish to believe that anything beneath that icy demeanor had begun to thaw.
Silence stretched between them, every second straining like a drawn bowstring. A muscle ticked in the profile of Lykor’s jaw. Tendons coiled in his neck, tension rolling off him—an impending storm.
In a sudden burst, he launched to his feet, the motion so violent it blurred.
Jassyn retreated a step and then another, pulling both mugs closer to his chest. A flimsy shield. Regret flooded his veins. He should have known better than to trespass on Lykor’s brooding solitude.
The night folded around Lykor as he stalked across the distance, halting in front of Jassyn.
Heart pounding a frantic rhythm, Jassyn became acutely aware of the heat radiating from Lykor as they stood nearly chest-to-chest.
“Would you have done it?” Lykor hissed in his face.
“Done…what?” Jassyn asked, the words barely more than breath.
“The harbor,” Lykor snarled, fangs flashing under the rising moons. “Would you have stripped me of my will? Bent me with coercion?”
Suspended in the raw ferocity of the unexpected question, Jassyn blinked. Lykor’s glare didn’t waver, burning through him and scorching him from the inside out.
So that’s what had been festering between them this past week. Why Lykor had kept his distance. He recognized it now in Lykor’s eyes—a darker resentment flaring, more than mere mistrust and wounded pride.
“I…” Jassyn’s mouth went dry, words vanishing like dust on the wind.
The vivid memory of the harbor returned—Lykor’s wrath unleashed, the sheer force of his ruinous power teetering on the thin path between chaos and control.
Something different drifted across his face, as though Jassyn’s silence had answered the question—and kindled disappointment.
“I would have,” Jassyn whispered, the truth a knife twisting in his gut. “If you’d lost yourself, I would’ve done it to bring you back.”
Lykor’s chest rose and fell as the admission lingered between them. “Why?” he demanded. “Why do you think I’m worthy of saving?”
Jassyn met his stare, refusing to look away. “Why do you think you’re not?” The words came quiet but sharp, a challenge, a dagger turned in Lykor’s direction, forcing him to face the truth he buried.
