I look away from him, confronted and suddenly embarrassed by the state of my clothes, my hair, my nails, my... Everything.
I do not belong.
I am nothing more than a thieving street rat.
I don’t move into the room, my arms folding over my chest as if to shield myself from the decadence that awaits me. “I don’t need this,” I mutter. The words taste bitter on my tongue, even as I say them. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Whatever you think you’ve done doesn’t change the fact that you deserve to be treated like you matter, Elyssara. Stop punishing yourself,” Kael replies, his tone even.
My chest tightens, my breaths becoming frenzied. I squeeze shut my eyes, hoping that it will somehow make the feelings, the memories and the realities go away. My hand clutches at my chest, and I slide down the door jamb, burying my face in my palms before looking up at Kael, tears prickling in my eyes.Do not fucking cry, Elyssara. Not in front of him. Hold it together.
Through gritted teeth, I seethe, “I have killed people, Kael. People who most likely didn’t deserve it. I have taken fathers from their children and wives. I’ve stolen from others to feed myself. I have chosen violence, damage and chaos over everything.” I pull at my clothes—my rags—and screech at him, “Look at me! I am disgusting! I am nothing but an orphan who ran from the fight while her parents were fucking murdered. I don’t belong here! I don’t deserve to enjoy any such luxuries!” My voice breaks on the last word, and so does the dam that was keeping my tears contained. They streak down my face now, making a trail through the dirt, blood and grime from the days past.
Kael’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something like pain crossing his face. He doesn’t speak right away, and the weight of his silence presses down on me harder than his words ever could.
He looks at me.Trulylooks at me, but his gaze is not laced with pity or disgust or fear, or anything that I assume I’ll see. He bendsdown, and grabs my chin, forcing me to look directly into his eyes, and not hang my head in self loathing like I am itching to do.
“You think we all haven’t done horrific things to survive? You think we all haven’t taken lives to save our own in this fucked up world? Elyssara, you didn’t run. I’d bet that you’ve never run from a fight in your entire fucking life. You are a fighter. You have a warrior’s spirit,” his face moves closer to mine, and I feel like he can see into me, hear every thought, sense every emotion. “People like us don’t wait for things to be handed to us—we take them. We create our own fucking destiny.” His words are like a punch to the gut. Loaded with understanding, laced with resolve.
But I can’t help myself—I laugh, the sound harsh and hollow. “What destiny? I am a monster beholden to the fucking Stars, Kael!”
He moves even closer, his presence overwhelming without even touching me, aside from his thumb and forefinger still holding my chin. “I’ve seen monsters, and you’re not that, Elyssara. I’m not scared of who you are. I can handle you—every part of you.”
The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I want to shout at him, to push him away, to tell him he doesn’t know me, doesn’t understand. But the words won’t come, because I know they’re bullshit. Instead, I stare at him, my eyes swollen and stinging. Kael’s arms slide under my legs, and the other around my shoulders, and he picks me up off the floor, kicking the door shut with his boot.
My body stiffens instinctively as his arms slide beneath me. Every muscle screams at me to pull away.
But when he holds me—solid, unwavering—something in me breaks. The fight drains from my limbs. I sag into his chest.
I hate how safe I feel in his arms. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and despite myself, I lean deeper into his chest.
Kael gently unravels me from his arms and places me in a chair near the bath. I lean back into it, exhausted from my still healing wound, the alertness that I wear like armor every single day, and the pressure that threatens to break me. Kael drops to one knee, lifting my foot onto his other knee, and begins untying the laces of my boot.
I sit bolt upright, “What in the fucking Stars are you doing?”
“I’m taking off your boots, Duskae. One usually removes their clothing before bathing,” he teases gently, a ghost of a smirk curving his mouth.
“I can do that myself. I don’t need your charity,” I snap, rushing to snatch back my foot and place it on the ground. But before I’ve managed to remove it from his knee, Kael’s hand is on my shoulder, and his other hand is clasped around my ankle.
“I know you can, but just because youcandoesn’t mean you should have to. Now, I don’t get on my knees for just anyone, Elyssara, so sit back and let me take care of you.”
The promise in his voice snakes its way down my spine and ignites heat in my core.
Kael’s fingers are careful, almost reverent, working the laces free—steady, practiced, natural.
I want to fight, but there’s something about Kael on his knees before me that threatens to crumble the walls I’ve built. “Okay,” I say tentatively.
Kael finishes removing my boots, and once again, commands me, “Now stand up and turn around.”
I have no idea why in the Stars I am complying with his commands, but my body moves of its own accord and I turn around, my back to him.
Kael’s hands smooth down the wild auburn strands of hair that have come loose from my braid, and he gently removes the leather band holding the remainder in, before unraveling the braid and combing his fingers through my hair.
I’ve fought men twice my size without hesitation, but this—this gentle, unguarded moment—feels like the most dangerous thing I’ve ever faced. My instinct is to pull away, to retreat behind the walls I’ve spent years fortifying. But Kael’s touch... it makes me want to stay.
Despite desperately needing to keep him at arm’s length, I find myself closing my eyes. Leaning into his touch and taking comfort from this small act of tenderness and care. “You’re quite good at that, you know,” I breathe, filling the silence.
“I have a sister, remember. And two very overbearing female cousins who made me join in their games when we were children. Of course, that involved braiding, applying kohl to our eyes and stains to our lips,” fond nostalgia woven through his tone. “Don’t you fucking dare tell Therion.”
