“Alora,” he extends his hand to clasp around mine and whispers, “you never have to hide your tears from me.”
His skin is like a balm against my achy limbs as he rubs his calloused hand along my forearm.
He continues to sit up, his movements slow and purposeful. The fabric of his dark trousers, worn by weather and our journey, slides quietly against itself.
Leeson and Caym still sleep, exhaustion keeping them under the sweet spell.
“I was so worried for you. I still am.” My whispered confession has him leaning closer to me, his forehead planting on mine.
“What happened back there?” I say as I pull my head back, searching his green gaze for truths that haven’t been spoken.
I want to reach inside of me, pull my heart out, and throw the damned thing for how loudly it beats with his proximity.
His reverent touch slows and he pulls his hands back from me.
I can’t help it when my fingers graze his and find their way to his inky hair, just like I can’t help the way I feel when I push his tousled locks out of his eyes.
His hands find mine again and he gives a gentle squeeze before releasing and then moving to grasp his shirt collar.
“This mark, I didn’t take it willingly. That much is true, but it was justified.” He gestures to the shadowy band circling his throat. “It was branded with purpose, with intent to make me suffer.”
His reminiscent words from before the attack float to the forefront of my memory. “It burned as if venom from a fire serpent was ripping into my flesh. I became numb to it.”
“I’m not sure in which kingdom being a host to something so vicious is justified, but I assure you, I don’t believe you were deserving of that.”
His sad eyes soften, as if he’s not akin to such kindness. “I’m deserving of much worse.” His lips pull tight in a smile that feels misplaced.
“Is that what caused you such anguish earlier?” I continue to hold his gaze, daring him to answer or look away.
He does neither, at least not right away.
“I am a slave to my king, doomed to serve in whatever capacity he would have me.” He glances away, focusing on the faded wallpaper behind me.
Surely I’ve heard him wrong because if he speaks the truth, everything I’ve known will collapse.
“What do you mean a slave? You’re known throughout the kingdom as his friend, as the right hand to the king.”
“For years I was, make no mistake. I willingly sat by his side after I was broken enough.”
Shame dampens his green eyes, leaving them a much softer tone, muted.
“Years?” More uncertainty settles in the pit of my stomach. “At what age were you forced to align with him? And for what reason?”
Questions spin in my mind, leaving more unsaid words between us. The coiled tension between us suddenly cools and I’m not certain I want to dance with danger anymore.
I pull back, forcing space between us.
“I can’t explain everything to you just yet. I’m just asking you to trust me that not everything is as it seems.”
His throat bobs as he chokes back more unsaid words.
“I don’t know you.” The finality of my words hit their mark, and he sinks back to his side.
Hurt is quickly masked by a stony façade. He turns away from me and returns to the makeshift bed.
“If that is what you think, then so be it.” His clipped tone ends the conversation.
I huff a sigh, knowing that we won’t get farther on this while we’re so close to others. The truth is I don’t know him. This man is capable of ruination, damning souls and devouring them with his magic. But there is something that gnaws deep within, grating at my skull and begging to be revealed, to show me unknown secrets.
