ERINA
The gardens were just how I’d remembered them.
Only quieter now because it was before dawn and even the horticulturists were asleep…or taking their first meal of the day in the warm kitchen.
Me? I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’d tossed and turned in my old room in Kaldur’s wing of the keep all night. I’d woken briefly and thought I’d still been back in Laras. A fear of dread had struck me that I was still back there.
I hadn’t been able to sleep since. I’d thought of Kaldur, of everything that had happened last night, of the child in my womb, of his offer to help Luc and Syndras, to my ever-tumultuous feelings about theKyzaireof Vyaan.
I’d taken my notebook and my pencil tin…but truthfully, I hadn’t drawn or written anything in weeks, besides half-desperate letters.
In Laras, I’d merely been too exhausted to even think of flipping open my notebook. My inspiration was gone, my creative soul a little battered and bruised.
I’d hoped that being back in the gardens might shake someloose. The feeling of awe and beauty I so loved. This keep, these grounds had always inspired me.
Only I felt nothing now. That scared me.
I felt thewantto create wiggling inside me as the soft sole of my boots met familiar cobblestones and winding paved pathways. The morning was chilled and brisk. Small, dripping icicles hung off the petals of one flower where the wall hadn’t blocked the wind chill.
I studied the bloom. Beautiful, though a little wrinkled from the bitter cold. I flicked off the icicles and smoothed the petal, soft and velvety beneath my fingertip.
Maybe one day, that could be me again. But right now, I felt a little shriveled up, beaten down, and heartbroken. I’d felt that way since leaving Vyaan…but Luc’s rejection had made it all the worse. Seeing his defeat had killed something in me, the perpetual glimmer of hope and optimism I’d endeavored to keep close.
I felt like I’d left a big part of me in Laras, a vital piece.
Would I find it again in Vyaan?
I didn’t know.
My hands moved to my rounding belly. The firm press of it felt strange and foreign still. I’d barely given much thought to what a child would actually mean. It had been about two weeks since I’d discovered the pregnancy. Nearly halfway through it, if the healer was to be believed.
“Erina.”
I closed my eyes.
Kaldur.
I turned to regard him, approaching me swiftly down the pathway. Seeing him made a pang shoot through my heart. His hair was disheveled, his clothes askew, as if he’d just woken up and thrown them on.
“I don’t like you leaving the keep without telling me,” he said.
My expression remained stoic. “I didn’t realize I was a prisoner here.”
Kaldur blew out a sharp breath. His hands were trembling, I saw, when he raked them through his hair. He stepped up to me, the spread of his warm hand coming to my cheek.
“I just got you back,” he said, voice hushed. He smelled like how I remembered. Clean and comforting. “I still fear you’ll disappear again. A part of me believes you’re still just a dream, that I’ll wake up any moment and you’ll be gone again.”
There was a haunted hollowness in his gaze when he said the words. I felt a flutter of sympathy, of guilt, before I forced the emotions away.
“Besides,” he said, “news of our child will spread.”
Our child.
The words struck me nearly dumb as I stared up into his eyes.
“And right now,” Kaldur said, looking as though he was trying to find the words, “well, let’s just say that enemies are everywhere. And House Kaalium has made many beyond our borders. You need to understand that now. My brothers have guards appointed to their mates as a precaution. No more wandering until I secure one for you.”
I…I was out of my element here. Guards? But why? This wasnormal?
