Stark nods, caressing my side. The comfortable, possessive gesture lights a fire in my belly that I fight to ignore.
“Stark… I need you to stay out of my bed tonight.” Alarm sparks in his eyes as I continue. “I need to go into that dreamworld and confront him. It’s the only way.”
He bows his head, takes a deep, angry breath. “Ihatethe idea of leaving you alone with him.”
“I know,” I say quietly. This can’t be easy for my fierce protector. “But we need to know what he’s planning, and if he’ll give me a hint, it’s worth the discomfort. Don’t wake me, even if I seem distressed.”
Stark’s jaw twitches. “You can’t ask that of me.”
“Fine.” I breathe out, frustrated but grateful. “I trust your judgment. Justgive me enough time to see what I can get out of him. Let me make the risk worth it.”
He eventually agrees, and night arrives too fast, my dread about this evening making the hours move quickly. After washing and saying good night to Saela, I head slowly into my room, my feet dragging, every part of me protesting what I’m about to do.
Stark has positioned himself in a chair by the window, a hair’s breadth from Anassa’s sleeping position on the floor. Not that she’s asleep; she’s as alert as Stark is.
Two dangerous predators, ready to go in for the kill.
My guardians, united in my defense.
It’s the first time I’ll be sleeping without Stark within arm’s length since he started helping me with these dreams. Even when we were barely talking on the road here, he stayed by my side.
The emptiness of the bed echoes the dread in my mind as I slip between the light sheets, all that’s required in this strange, warm country.
Through the darkness of the room, I can sense Stark’s eyes on me intently, like heat from a flame. His posture is alert, ready, despite the late hour.
Smoothing the sheets over me, I close my eyes, letting myself relax into the pillows. I wasn’t sure if I could allow myself to sleep, knowing what I’m about to face. In the end, it’s not a matter of willpower; after two full days of wakefulness and the trauma of witnessing Siegrid’s death from behind her eyes, I’m utterly exhausted.
I fall into darkness.
Then I’m wrapped in that shadow landscape once more. The darkness seems more substantial, somehow, than the last time I was here.
A dark chuckle is the only warning I receive before Killian emerges from the twisting shadows.
His face and body are as beautiful as ever, but now the sight only makes me want to retch.
“Has my kitten finally come out to play?” His voice is gentle, his gaze a lover’s tender caress. “Where have you been, beloved?”
I stand stock-still, quickly strategizing. I came in here ready for a throw-down confrontation. But Killian has launched immediately back into this sad-boy manipulator schtick.
He’s trying to play me. Or maybe he’s buying tickets to his own show. It’s hard to tell with him.
One thing’s for certain, though: If I come at him swinging, he will respond in kind. So, as much as it twists my stomach, I need to handle this differently than I planned.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” I lie, the words making my mouth taste sour. “For weeks. Stark’s been doing something. He’s been keeping us apart. But he’s so busy right now, with everything that happened at the border—he couldn’t stop me tonight. Are you okay?”
My voice is urgent and concerned, but he doesn’t quite trust it.
“Am I to believe you were sitting around, worrying about me?” he purrs.
I step toward him, forcing my facade into something pleading and weak. “Of course I was worried. You were right, Killian. About everything. I’m in over my head and don’t know how to lead, and now I’m stuck in Astreona, ahostage. You and Alistair are so much more powerful—the border skirmish proved it. I need you. Please. Please forgive me. I-I’m scared.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I know he’ll read whatever he wants out of them. It’s like popping a blister, saying these things to him.
Killian steps closer, too, cautious optimism written across his handsome, devious face.
“What happened?” I ask. “Why did you attack the Bonded troops and take the border?”
He reaches out a hand toward my face. I steel myself for his touch, hoping that by pantomiming intimacy I might get him to reveal more than he intends. I track the motion of his hand with my gaze, like watching a snake as it coils to strike.
