Apparently, I failed to make the question sound casual when he chuckles before replying, “You don’t like her.”
It’s not even a question and I wonder what kinds of emotions the male felt from me over the course of our meal.
“I don’t trust her,” I tell him—even if it doesn’t matter, even if by tomorrow any trust he’s ever laid at my feet is broken beyond what I can repair.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m not sure you trust anyone,mi’ajna.”
There is one. But for the most part, he’s right. I was raised not to trust, but to question everything outside the La’tari regime and to seek the inevitable outcome of every situation. I was taught to plan for each possibility as I tried to force the course of my choosing.
But this is not the same. There is something about the female, something about her story. And as much as I try to tell myself that maybe it is only my own ignorance causing this feeling in my gut, I can’t make myself believe it.
Eyeing his reflection in the mirror, I watch him step up behind me and wrap his arms around me. He buries his nose in the crook of my neck, taking in my scent, and mumbles into my hair, “Should I have her thrown out now, or should we let her sleep until morning?”
I puff out a laugh, though I’m not entirely sure he’s joking. Tempting as it may be, I won’t bristle any more feyn until I know my fate, not if I can help it.
“Maybe after she’s told me all her tales about Brax,” I say.
“She does have plenty of those.” He smiles.
I shouldn’t ask, but it’s too tempting when the male holding me begs for my questions. With a single finger, I stroke the long muscle of his arm, braced around my waist.
“But not as many as you.” Curiosity rings in my voice when I say it.
He shakes his head. “No. Not as many as I do.”
Ask. His unspoken request begs of me, and maybe there are some things I can know, even though they will change nothing.
“Were you alive for the sundering?” I finally ask.
He nods, slowly, as if he’s afraid the answer might frighten me.
“Like Nurai, I was still young when the veils were formed,” he explains.
“I think humans might have a somewhat different idea of whatyoungmeans,” I tease.
He shrugs, his mouth turning down thoughtfully. “I’ve known feynof two hundred years that I would consider children, and some as young as thirty that I would let advise me. When I say that I was young, I mean I lacked the sound mind of a male who understands the weight of his choices.”
I can’t help but hope that the grace he extends to his younger self is the same he will extend to me once he learns what I am. Perhaps his king will be lenient, given my honesty and my upbringing, just as Awri was when I first arrived. A hollowness wells in my stomach when I’m reminded that the female seems to have met her limit in what she is willing to accept about me. I decidedly give up pondering my future and the general’s past, until I know what path the fates will set my feet upon tomorrow. There are no promises of what the days might hold after tonight. It doesn’t matter if these moments are my last with him or just the beginning of many more; they will always be precious.
“What is troubling you?” he asks.
I hadn’t noticed his brow drawing down with concern as he examined my reflection. Shoving everything I feel into a well-guarded corner of my mind, I lock it away. He sighs.
“You are a fortress,mi’ajna.” He brushes a stray curl from my eyes. “I only wish I lived inside your walls.”
How can I tell him that the walls that keep us divided are for his protection and not my own? Maybe one day he will let me explain, but that conversation isn’t for tonight. Tonight is for us, and all that we could have been.
I offer an apologetic smile through the mirror and spin to face him. I trace the hard lines of his face with my fingers. Rising to my toes, I brush his lips with my own. It’s a small gesture, a beckoning, one he answers sweetly.
Cupping my jaw reverently, he leans into a deep kiss. Ballads are born of such kisses, full and deep with longing. The passion the male pours into my being has a life of its own and could bear entire worlds if I dared to let it free. These are moments I will treasure. When I recall them, they will remind me of how, even as the sun sets beyond the farthest horizon, she ignites the darkening skies with colorful wonders before ushering in the blanket of night.
I grip his shirt tightly, pulling his chest firmly against my own,unwilling to let even the air divide us. His hands are in my hair the next moment, fisting my curls, as if he too might capture something that can never be taken from him. Something that, unlike myself, will always be his.
Lifting his tunic overhead, I drop it to the floor. His hands move slowly across the exposed flesh of my neck, down my side, and onto my thighs until in one fluid motion he is hoisting me up, hooking my legs around his waist, and carrying me to the bed.
Light from the fire dances in the deep sea of his eyes when he lays me on the thick duvet. He takes a step back, taking his time as his eyes wander across the landscape of my body. The thin gossamer gown is bunched at my thighs, a single strap falling from my shoulder, but Xeyvian looks at me as if I am completely bare before him. As if he has already memorized every curve and dip of my body and can recall it at will.
I tense when his eyes land on the blooming bruise Toren left upon my leg. It’s not the eyesore it will be two days from now. Still, I worry that he will abandon me to find Caden, or worse, in pursuit of the knowledge of who dared leave a mark upon my flesh. Perhaps it is the heat of his passion, or maybe it is the pleading look in my eyes, but he drags his eyes away from it and meets mine.
