Cethin noted the movement, a scowl forming on his perfect lips. “I hate that your past still haunts you.”
“I find the past to be as determined as the phantoms that hunt you,” she replied. “It haunts every chance it gets.”
“That it does,” he murmured, and to her chagrin, he lowered to the sand. “Sit, wife.”
She bristled. “That isn’t wise here.”
“We can hide from the rest of the world. Just for a moment,” he countered, resting his arms atop his bent knees.
“I don’t like the beach. Or the sand. Or the heat,” she blurted, feeling the grains of sand between her toes.
“Understandably so,” he replied. “I prefer to be out on the water.”
She shifted again before finally lowering to her knees and sitting back on her heels, still able to see the Cliffs.
Cethin was quiet, and for some reason, she found herself saying, “You made me a queen today.”
The words were quiet, barely audible over the sound of the rolling waves.
He turned his head to look at her. “Did I?”
“I don’t know why.”
“You’re my wife. Why wouldn’t I make you queen?”
“You said you wouldn’t,” she answered. “And why would you when you don’t even know me?”
“Perhaps I know you better than you think.”
“I don’t think?—”
But she was cut off as a blade protruded through his chest. His eyes went wide, mouth gaping and blood dripping from the corner.
“Cethin!” she cried, scrambling to her feet. Her arrow was aimed in the next breath as she met grey eyes swirling with ashes and smoke.
“Do not fail us now, sister.”
“Kailia. Kailia, wake up.”
She jolted upright, her heart racing and hands trembling as she shoved at the blankets to see her forearm. No Mark. Not a dream. Real, real, real.
Her gaze snapped to Cethin. The room was dark, but she could still make out his figure. He’d been leaning over her, but he’d shifted back when she’d woken. His chest was bare, and his hands were at his sides as he searched her face.
Swiping at stray pieces of hair with her fingers, she took him in. No blade in his chest. No blood at his mouth. Breathing. Looking at her the same way he’d done in her dream.
Real, real, real.
“Kailia,” he said, her name so godsdamn gentle and tender that it had tears burning at the backs of her eyes. He shouldn’t be looking at her like that. Shouldn’t be saying her name like that. Not outside her dreams, where her secrets were still shrouded in smoke and ashes.
“It was nothing,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady for how erratically her heart was still beating. “Just a nightmare.”
“Tell me about it,” he urged, leaning closer.
“I… It was only my past determined to haunt me.”
“I wish I could change your past,” he admitted, his fingers curling into the blankets in an obvious effort not to reach for her. “Even if it did make you who you are today, I wish things were different.”
She nodded, wishing the same. Wishing she’d found her way to Avonleya whole and at peace instead of a tortured soul with fractured power and an aversion to touch.
