I just want to be free. Please. I must escape the king. My very life might depend upon it. I just want to be free…
CHAPTER 21
Three days later…
HELENA
The bakery is deserted.I peer around the first floor of the once-bustling establishment, my heart in my throat. Isabel is usually standing behind the counter, and the seating area is usually filled with customers. But not today.
King Theron stands against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches me carefully. I can’t hear his thoughts, but he looks worried, and I don’t think he wants to be here.
I haven’t heard his thoughts or sensed his emotions in several days, and I don’t think he’s been able to hear mine either. Maybe it’s over. Maybe it’ll never happen again. I can only hope.
I won’t lie. It’s a relief for the connection to be severed.
And yet… the absence of his voice in my head is a lonely, silent echo.
I miss him. I shouldn’t, but I do.
“Hello!” I call out, even though I know Isabel and her father aren’t on the premises.
As expected, there’s no answer. All that can be heard is the wind rattling the loose shutters.
Worry spreads through me, along with a sharp wave of anguish. My throat burns. The idea of losing the Sinclairs so soon after Mama and Harry is almost too much. I can’t fathom any more loss.
King Theron pushes away from the wall, approaches me slowly, and places his hands gently on my shoulders. The comforting look he gives me only makes my throat burn harder.
“Commander Ashvale is a good tracker. I am certain he’ll find your friends. He promised to send another messenger bird soon with an update, regardless of whether he’s found them.”
I nod and blink back tears. “Thank you. It’s a comfort to know you have your most trusted commander searching for my friends. I just hope nothing bad has happened to them. We’re so close to orc lands and…” My voice fades as I think about poor Isabel.Please let her be okay.
Two days ago, a messenger bird from Commander Ashvale arrived carrying startling news: several people witnessed Isabel and her father escaping the walls of Braemar early in the morning on Tribute Day. But they haven’t been seen since. It’s my understanding that the commander is scouring the surrounding forest for any signs of them. I pray he finds them soon.
I sigh. “I can’t believe they ran. I never imagined Mr. Sinclair would take such a risk with his daughter.”
The king leans down and places a kiss on my forehead, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s a tender action, one that makes me feel closer to him. I’ve been trying so hard to push him away during the last few days, ever since that ill-fated kiss andthe attack on the fae foot soldiers’ tents, yet with that one sweet gesture, my icy resolve to shut him out starts to melt.
Part of me wants to keep pushing him away. But another part of me wants to tear down the walls I’ve erected around my heart, and my mind, and stoke the passion and intimacy that had led to our first and only kiss.
“I am sorry your friends ran, darling human. I’m sorry you are so worried about them, but if anyone can find them, it’s Commander Ashvale. And if he fails to turn up any evidence of their whereabouts, I will ask Lord Blackthorne, my most valued aerial scout, to join the commander in the search.”
I nod again. “All right. Thank you. I suppose I should go upstairs and collect my things.”
He grasps my hand, brings it to his lips, and gently brushes his lips against my fingers. His eyes don’t leave mine as he places the soft, slow kisses on my flesh. Goosebumps instantly rise on my arms, and the back of my neck prickles with delicious awareness.
Yes, I think it’s safe to say that the intimacy is starting to return. Perhaps there’s no stopping it. Perhaps even if I try to keep the walls around my heart intact, he’ll just break them down. Maybe that’s exactly what I want. Maybe I want him to tear past my defenses.
Still holding my hand, he guides me toward the steps. He’s so large we can’t walk up side by side. He goes up first, just in case there’s an intruder. As I follow, I find myself staring directly at his butt, a perfectly sculpted, firm, muscular butt, the tight leather pants leaving nothing to the imagination. My breath falters, and I don’t think it’s from climbing the stairs.
Once we reach the top, he pauses and tilts his head, listening. He opens the storage room door, peeks inside, then closes it.
I nod at the other door. “That’s my room,” I say, and my throat constricts again.
I’m not sure why being back at the bakery unsettles me so deeply, but my chest feels tight as I stand here. The silence presses in from all sides, heavier than it did downstairs, made worse by the knowledge that the Sinclairs are gone, vanished into the wild forest that’s probably teeming with deadly fae creatures, their fate unknown.
Yet it isn’t only the quiet that unnerves me. It’s the fact that I’m about to open the door to the one place that was truly mine.
This small room above the bakery was my refuge. It’s where I cried for Mama and Harry when no one could see me. It’s where I learned how to keep breathing after my world ended.
