And why?
The pressure Antony was applying to my back eases before he pulls me, more carefully this time, to his chest. His hold on my chained hand remains strong, but he no longer pins my arms behind me.
I purse my lips, trying to form words, but I don’t know what question to ask first. A storm of uncertainty builds within me because I don’t know if this change happens every time the blade gives me a vision or only sometimes.
Judging by the way Victor responded earlier today, it would seem that, just like the blade, only Antony can see it.
He speaks before I can.
“When the blade’s magic courses along your arm, your countenance transforms.” His voice is low, and it sounds as if he’s picking his words carefully. “You take on the appearance of the perfect Iron Fae. A woman I would?—”
For some reason, he stops there, and I don’t know what hewas going to say, because in the next moment, he lowers us both to the ground, enabling me to face him.
I sink to my knees while he also kneels opposite me.
And now, finally, he releases me completely, except for the circlet that continues to attach us to each other.
With swift movements, he wrenches the steel glove and armor off his right hand and arm, baring his skin on that side, while he leaves the armor and the circlet on his left arm.
The moment he places the pieces of armor on the grass, his bare hand returns to me, sweeping across my chained palm.
His exposed hand passes across the links.
To my shock, the circlet drops away, sliding onto his lap.
His bare hand captures my now-freed wrist, cushioning it while his thumb brushes my skin.
I jolt, my back stiff and my lips pursed in uncertainty.
I tell myself not to trust this freedom. Not even when he reaches up to his head with his gloved hand to pull off his helmet and place it on the grass beside his discarded arm covering.
His black, jaggedly cut hair falls across his face.
I remind myself that without his armor…without the cage of it…he is even more terrifying. Even though his voice remains quiet.
“What were you trying to do? Back on the roof?” His thumb presses to the pulse point at my wrist, resting on the blade’s cross-guard while the chain lies between my outstretched arm and his lap.
“I wanted to cut the blade out of myself.”
“You risked losing your hand.”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“You put your body on the line.” He shakes his head, and it sounds as though he’s rebuking himself. “Always when I leastexpect it.”
I return his gaze, refusing to look away from the shadows in his eyes. The promise of violence and pain seems to grow more intense the longer his features remain uncovered.
Softly, his thumb moves back and forth across my skin, his bare skin on mine, gentle and light, a sharp contrast to the viciousness in his eyes and the hardness of the steel he wears across his legs.
His entire face is bared to me with all its nuances. His tight jaw, the press of his perfect lips, the furrow between his eyebrows.
“I didn’t lie about being a liar.” He breaks the silence between us, speaking with a regretful twist to his lips. “But I need you to know that I’m about to speak the truth.”
I wait for him to continue, giving him the barest, wary nod.
“I put this chain on you to protect you from my mother.”
My forehead puckers, and I consider him carefully. It seems a horrible way to offer protection. “Why?”
