Every hour on the road from town to town was torment. Especially as my mate continued to join me on the driver’s bench.
Not to mention the self-restraint it took each night when I worked with Sylaira on exercises to strengthen her knee.
I told myself it was clinical; it had become far more than that.
My control over myself frayed, thread by thread. I was the one breaking. The male who stared back at me in the mirror was foreign.
All because of this fucking female, stretched out across the bed in front of me.
Sweat beaded her brow as I took her through the range of motion, and yet she didn’t complain. She never did, like a warrior trained for battle, born to breathe the fight. That inner strength, that defiant determination surpassed many of the males in my crew.
“Tell me something about dance,” I murmured as I put the deepest bend in her leg yet.
Her ice-blue eyes flicked up to meet mine, a heady mix of mistrust and curiosity storming in them. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “Figured it would distract you from the pain.”
“It’s not that bad,” she panted through a grimace.
I lifted an accusatory brow.
She blew out a breath. “Your pain tolerance is less than mine. The bond is merely relaying the actual intensity. But I’m not weak.”
“I never said you were.” Carefully, I extended her leg again.
Sylaira reached for a glass of water and downed the entire thing. With the back of her hand, she wiped her forehead. “I’m first class in Vaelaï.”
I blinked at my mate. Vaelaï was the most prestigious of the dancing arts. Should she have been raised noble or around Sivy, she would have been principal at any cultural center or theaterwith that certification. Very few achieved such a rank, even after hundreds of years of practice.
I realized then I didn’t actually know her age.
Bitterness coated my tongue. I knew so very little about her at all…except for all the ways I’d hurt her.
“That’s quite the accomplishment,” I noted. It was true, and I respected her dedication to the craft. But it didn’t absolve me of the sins I’d committed, burning every path that might have led to her success.
“The youngest in my tutor’s history,” she commented, pride leaking into her tone. This glimmer of confidence she offered me only served to twist obsession tighter in my chest.
“And who was your instructor?” I asked, unable to help myself. There were few teachers capable of assessing classes at that level. And since she had been raised among the Elessarum, I had a good guess as to who it was.
“Madame Daela,” she admitted freely. “I haven’t seen her in years, though.” Sylaira’s shoulders slumped, and the crown of her head fell, along with silky silver strands. “Before the raid that killed my parents, actually.”
Guilt speared into my gut. I didn’t temper it. Let it flow untempered between us so maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t return to viewing me as a monster based on the reminder. I wasn’t entirely certain if she’d believed my apology at the tavern.
“They must have been proud of you,” I commented, securing her foot and preparing to take her through the range of motion again.
Her gaze lingered on her thighs, fingers twisting together while I took her through two rotations. “They were.” The words were so quiet I thought I’d imagined her melodic voice among the silence. Grief, more acute than the agony in her knee, flooded ourconnection.
I welcomed it. Let it mingle with my own feelings.
If there was one thing we shared, it was this tempest. The confusion. The conflict.
It was so much better when I felt nothing at all.
“What is your favorite dance?” I asked her, hoping to lighten the mood. I didn’t want to lose her, not after I’d gotten her to open up about something so personal. After she’d been letting me in, slowly, with each passing day.
“Sleeping Maiden,” she sighed, fists tightening subtly in the blankets. “I’d always imagined playing the maiden one day before the royal court.” Finally, she met my gaze again. “But that was a foolish child’s dream. When I was older and understood the principles of Elessarum, I never wanted to meet the Koron and Korona, let alone share my passion with them. They don’t deserve it.”
Her dream was a delicate thing; I was a male made for breaking.
