The air between us sparks with tension, and its only then I realize how close she’s leaned into me. Her breath smells slightly of mint, her hair of a floral shampoo. And it may be reckless, the result of being starved for so long, but I don’t pull away. I tilt my head, so that her lips are only a hairsbreadth from mine.
“The rest of the world would mire your feet in the earth, Darling,” I breathe onto her mouth. “But I—I would set you free into the sky.”
Her eyes fall closed for a long moment, and a shiver of pleasure runs up her body like I’ve stroked her with my fingers. My gaze darkens as her eyes blink open, long lashes framing her hazel irises in a manner that makes her appear innocent. Even as her tongue swipes out across her lips, and her thighs squeeze tighter together.
My gaze snaps to the movement, and I almost laugh as my own pleasure ripples through me. Power—that’s what turns Willa on. And by the second star, I understand. The way pure, unadulterated freedom sparks through your veins like the headiest drug. It’s what I felt on the decks of the Indomnitus—possibility.
“I’ll try,” she agrees in a husky voice. Her cheeks heat, and she clears her throat pointedly. “To work on my power, that is.” She glances at me sidelong with a distrustful frown. “I’m a little relieved, to be honest.”
I cock a brow. “Relieved that a lord of death and inhuman monsters both want you for a magic you don’t even know how to use?”
Willa scowls. “No,” she snaps haughtily. “Relieved that you only need my help to open the wards. I thought it was going to be something far worse. Like…taking over the world.” She shivers in disgust. “Or pretending to be your wife.”
“For someone who’s grown up in a place without stories, it seems you’ve read far too many of them.” My eyes rove coldly over her, even as my blood heats to boil. “There is no plot twist in the world believable enough to make you my wife.”
“Because I’m an inelegant urchin?” she seethes, throwing my own pain-addled words back at me.
“Because death has no companion.”
I mean it only as a fact, but when something far too close to pity edges Willa’s gaze, it feels more like foretelling. But rather than ruminating further, I shoot her a serpentine smile and rise to my feet.
My palm is pressed to the door when I realize she hasn’t moved. “Let’s not dawdle, Darling,” I scold lightly. “It’s been a long few days, and there’s no telling how long my feet will stay beneath me.”
I let myself enjoy the confusion flitting across her features, followed quickly by pure suspicion. “Where are we going?” she asks warily.
I raise my gaze to the ceiling in a show of measured patience. “What sort of monarch would I be if I left you alone in here to dream up anything your wicked mind pleases? You’ll sleep in my chambers. Tonight, and every night after that.”
Chapter twenty-one
Maybe it’s the raw ache in my throat from screaming, or perhaps, the unrelenting heaviness in my chest that keeps me from arguing. Nightmares are nothing new—memories of my past haunt me every time I close my eyes. But they’ve never been corporeal. Never able to reach through the thick fog of dreams and grab hold of me. They’ve never been capable of dragging me back to the camps.
But this time, it wasreal. The cold point of the syringe, the icy edge of a scalpel.
The whispered threats disguised as encouragement:Don’t you care about the others, Willa? Don’t you want them to get better?
The idea of being a slave to my own wrecked mind is terrifying, and Niko—Niko saved me from it. Though he certainly has his own motivations that have nothing to do with my mental well-being, I’m so damned tired of being afraid—so damned tired ofeverything—that the relief and quiet of his death, ofhim,is too tempting to resist. Adira was right. There is no one betterto protect you from a monster than another monster. Especially one with the power to kill even dreams.
Niko hands me a thick comforter that I wrap around myself, before following him out of the room. The floor is ice cold, and a violent shiver races up from my feet as Niko takes two strides to the door directly across the corridor from mine.
I narrow my eyes. “Thisis where your bedroom is? Right across from mine?”
The king cedes an indulgent smile, before pressing a gloved palm to the ornate door. Ignoring my incensed look, he ushers me inside his rooms.
“You’ve been making me parade all over the palace when I could have just stepped across the hall?” I ask sharply.
Niko’s smile grows wider. “Forgive me for not realizing you were angling for an invitation. Let’s blame the multiple attempts on my life for the temporary ignorance.”
I glare at him. “You know what I mean. You’ve been right across the hall, just—what? Watching me like some sort of…deathly creep?”
His black gaze glints wickedly, and his death ribbons, which had been lazing around both our feet shiver to attention. “I’ve watched everything about you since the moment you arrived, Willa.”
The words send a thrill of heat through me, and they shouldn’t. I don’t like being watched, being known—it’s safer to be invisible. To fade into the shadows, unnoticed. But at Niko’s words, at the intensity in his gaze, I know intrinsically there’s nowhere I could disappear without his notice. And instead of scaring me, it makes me feel safe.
I clear my throat, gripping the blanket tighter, like the small action will keep him from seeing through it to the flimsy ivory nightgown that barely brushes the tops of my thighs. Or worse, to the skin beneath, the cage of bones that holds my deepestsecrets. His care for me when I’d woken from the nightmare left me disarmed. It hadn’t been tender, but it had beenNiko—perfectly ruthless. For when you’ve been touched so deeply by pain, the compassion needs to be even more forceful, or it won’t be felt at all.
Rather than trying to formulate a response, I cock my head and motion vaguely to his attire, which I realize, for the first time since I woke, is even more ridiculous than usual.
He’s shirtless and barefooted, wearing only a pair of gray sweats slung low on his hips, and his usual leather gloves that reach up to his elbows. His body is lithe, each ridge of muscle accentuated by his thin stature. Every inch of visible skin is tattooed in whorling designs and detailed script, even the tops of his feet and the skin behind his ears. They disappear beneath the loose waistband of his pants, and I jerk my gaze back up before I can catalogue the way they frame the tantalizing ‘V’ of his hips.
