I rocked back and forth on the blue rug, clutching the lamp as if it were a lifeline and I was about to drift far out to sea.
He would try to take it from me again. It would hurt.Don’t take it from me. It’s mine.
It’s.Mine.
The king crouched before me, and blue eyes met mine, entirely unreadable. I sucked in a breath, readying myself for a striking blow at my disobedience. It didn’t come. Instead, he cradled my hands in his, careful not to touch the lamp as he pulled them away from my chest.
“You need to open the lamp,” he whispered, coaxing as his thumb rubbed along my wrist.
Open?
Of course! It hadn’t occurred to me before, but now … now it consumed every facet of my mind. I had to open the lamp. It was imperative.
The most important thing.
I ran my fingers over the warm surface in search of a crack, a lip, something to lift it open.
I needed it to open.
Now.
I examined the metal, searching for a knob, a lever.Somethingto open it.
Now. Now.Now.
There was nothing there. The black metal was entirely smooth.
A strangled sob racked my chest, and tears filled my eyes. There was no lid. No seal. No way to open it at all.
“How?” I croaked out, in near hysteria, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. A small part of my mind was disgusted and confused at my behavior. Nothing about it made any sense at all, like I had lost my mind entirely.
Is this what Wista was talking about? Had I failed after all?
A metal blade glinted in Terym’s hand, and sparkling blue danced across the canvas walls as the candlelight caught the gemmed hilt. The same blade he used to cut my hand so I could open the cave.
My mind cleared, settling into quiet realization. I knew what I needed to do. What would open the lamp.
Blood.
Chapter 11
Of course the lamp required blood to open. That’s how the cave opened, what the strange magic demanded. I offered my already cut hand without prompt, and Terym pulled the handkerchief aside to reveal the congealed blood in the center of my palm. He pressed the blade against the cut, the sting nothing compared to the anticipation pulsing through me as fresh blood pooled.
Before the red liquid could send my mind spiraling into the past, I palmed the warm metal. At my touch, the lamp’s vibration increased, humming loud enough several of the lords jumped to their feet in alarm.
Dark smoke floated from the spout, the scent of it filling my lungs. Floral and woodsy.Familiar.
Terym jolted back a few steps as more smoke fell from the lamp, pooling on the floor before it expanded up. It was captivating, tendrils danced and whirled, reflecting oursurroundings in a rainbow of color. Flashes of blue and green, yellow and red and orange.
The smoke curled and rolled before settling into a shape, a silhouette of a man. Then it dissipated, and the silhouette became an iridescent body, shimmering for a moment, as if suspended in time, before solidifying to become a male as real as the ones watching on in awe.
I stared up at the man from my knees, transfixed. He was handsome, beautiful even. Not in a generic way, most would call his features harsh. Slashing.
Hair dark as night fell in soft waves to his shoulders, framing sharp cheekbones and a square jaw, his pale skin stark against the blackness. His tunic mirrored drawings I’d once seen in a history tome, some kind of ancient dress long since gone out of fashion. The color such a deep purple it appeared almost black. His tight-fitted shirt cut across broad shoulders and tapered toward his waist, the sleeves short enough to expose muscular forearms covered in peculiar dark markings. Though his pants weren’t particularly tight, I could tell the thighs underneath were muscled, given I was eye level with them.
His light-gray gaze darted around the room, his jaw clenched as he surveyed his surroundings, taking everything in. His blank expression had a severity to it—a harshness so intriguing I could barely focus on anything other than the way his features were reflected under the dancing candlelight.
Not the lords standing wide-eyed with mouths agape, nor the guard beside the entrance who stepped closer with his sword drawn. Not even Captain Gensen, who moved to stand in front of the king, his own sword at the ready, until I noticed the tip of his blade was mere inches from the beautiful man’s bare throat.
