Tilting my chin up, I drank in the endless blue above and imagined how exquisite the sight would be when painted by the star-flecked beauty of a moonless night. The thought brought the ghost of a smile to my lips, which quickly vanished when I refocused on Endymion’s broad frame a few paces ahead.
I narrowed my eyes, realizing I’d never seen this part of theSummer Palace before—there was no way I could’ve forgotten such exquisite detailing.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To your residence,” he said over his shoulder, not breaking stride.
My furrow deepened, and I threw invisible daggers at his back with my glare as I stopped well before the next archway.
A few strides later, Endymion’s steps faltered. He turned, one brow cocked in a silent question.
“Where are we going?” I repeated, my voice stripped of all pleasantries.
He took a step toward me, offering a half-smile, and every sense I had prickled in warning. Hadn’thedone the same before? Placated me with teasing smiles and false promises. Taken me to his bed. Pined for my power. All while playing me the fool.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” I snapped, “and don’t make me ask where you’re taking me again.”
As instinctive as hackles rising, the lethal mask of the commander slid into place. I didn’t miss how he shifted his weight, settling into a fighter’s stance.Good. There’d be no risk of me forgetting where I was—or who stood before me. I preferred him this way, beneath the armor of his rank, rather than coated in the saccharine charm he’d so often slathered me with. Fool me once, as the saying goes.
I mirrored his readiness, shifting my stance as my two remaining daggers grew heavy in my bandolier. I pinched my fingers together, craving the cool bite of steel as tension coiled between us.
“As I said, I’m taking you to your residence.” His voice was calm—too calm—the kind of forced composure used by someone unaccustomed to being questioned. As the penultimate authority in the Autumn Court, he was clearly more used to issuing orders than explaining them.
I wouldn’t be cowed.
Keeping my hands at the ready, I said, “I’ve been to the suites before, and this isn’t the way.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw—the only sign my insolence grated on him.
“That’s because,” he said, impatience bleeding into his tone, “those were the guest suites. I’m taking you to the residence wing. The opposite side of the palace. Where Caius resides.”
“Why in Lumnara would you take me to Caius’ private wing?” My pulse quickened, my body bracing for action with every passing second.
He drew in a slow, stilted breath, and as if cracking under the weight of words unsaid, the hardened mask of the commander slipped, like fissures spreading across brittle ice.
“Nyleeria,” he said, voice lower, “when we were in autumn, I promised you the safety of the Summer Court. I’m not taking you to the guest wing because you are not a guest. This is your home now. You’re under Caius’ and my protection.”
This is your home now.
I swallowed. Hard.
Intended or not, there was an implied ownership in those words that threatened to suffocate me. If this was my home, then the decision had already been made on my behalf. What other choices would they make for me? And what definition ofhomewere they using—my family’s, the king’s, or some other perverse variation?
I doubted it was my version. The one only the solace of the woods could offer.
In a blink, the flower-speckled walls seemed to close in, each petal blurring at the edges as my pulse climbed. Fear and anger tangled in my chest, swelling like a storm with every shallow breath.
My fury radiated like the unrelenting summer heat, while my fear billowed into an icy wall of hail-laden clouds.
And then, they collided.
In an instant, panic consumed me, hot and sharp, like lightning desperate to strike its unsuspecting target.
A faint glimmer of dark power bled from Endymion, stopping just short of me like a silent taunt.
Something deep within me answered, and the air crackled as a tiny white Spark leapt from my skin. I didn’t dare look toward the lone bird startled by the sharp sound, too transfixed by the sight of my magic being swallowed whole by his.
Not snuffed.
