“Just for a bit, tiny fiend,” Cethin coaxed, her hand still in his.
She nodded, but she didn’t want to go to their quarters. She was restless, and the moment they were in their rooms, she made her way to the balcony, hoping the fresh air would help.
It didn’t.
She was overstimulated from all the touching. The fight had adrenaline coursing through her. Beneath it all was an exhaustion from the evening. From being on display. And the people. And all the touching.
Her dress suddenly felt too constrictive, and she was clawing at the corset, the layers of lace and silk suddenly too much against her skin.
“Kailia, stop,” Cethin said, his tone soft but the command firm. When she turned to him, he added, “Come with me.”
She followed, her magic as restless as she was because she couldn’t fucking use it. She could access a fraction of her well of power because it was broken.Shewas broken, and why did she think she could do any of this?
“I need you to breathe, wife,” Cethin said softly, and she had no idea when they’d entered the bedchamber. She looked back at the doorway, seeing her own ashy footprints.
Fingers brushed along her arm, and she lurched back. Too much. Somehow—being away from everyone and everything—somehow that had made the little things overwhelming. A single touch. The sound of the crackling hearth. The brush of silk.
“I’ll untie your dress. That is all,” Cethin said, each word smooth and steady. “Okay?”
She nodded, turning so he could work the ties and clasps of the corset. When he was done, she moved to the dressing closet. Everything was too fitted or silky or scratchy.
Running her fingers along the rows of garments, she stopped when she came to something exceedingly soft. Shoving aside hangers, she studied the garment, rubbing her fingers along the fabric. She’d never felt something so soft. It was like butter in her fingers.
Pulling it from the hanger, she didn’t care that it was Cethin’s. She slipped it over her head, the hem falling to her knees. It was roomy, didn’t cling to her, and she could still get to her knife with ease.
She frowned, lifting a hand. A swirl of ashes left a dagger in her palm, and she switched out the knife for the blade. Much better.
Tossing the knife onto the dresser, she went back out to the bedchamber. Cethin had lost his jacket and boots and was working the buttons of his shirt when he went utterly still.
“This is your shirt,” she said, plucking at the tunic.
He nodded, gaze dragging down her body in a way that somehow made her feel like he was peeling the garment off her.
“I’m aware of that, wife,” he said, his voice harsh and raspy.
“Do you not want me wearing it?”
“I definitely want you wearing it.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
He abandoned the buttons, prowling towards her, but he stilled once more when she took several steps back, the backs of her knees bumping into the bed. His hands curled into fists, but he didn’t come any closer.
“How am I looking at you?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, studying him. Something feral and needy on his features. Something hungry and wanting glimmering in his eyes, but there was no dark magic in them. Only bright silver irises. “You used a lot of power tonight.”
“Not what I want to talk about right now,” he said, the words laced with a growl.
“I don’t want to talk either,” she admitted, trying to keep from bouncing on her toes. Her heart was beating at a weird rhythm. “We should go for a walk. Or a hunt.”
He blinked at her, some of that hunger flickering into confusion. “You want to go on a hunt? Right now?”
“Yes,” she affirmed.
“You’re not dressed for a hunt.”
She looked down, forgetting she’d changed clothes. It suddenly seemed like a lot of work to change yet again, but she couldn’t sit in here all night.
