“You don’t know that.”
He dips his head. “You’re right, perhaps I don’t?—”
“What happens if you aren’t careful, or if someone’s tolerance is lower than the others, and they overdose? What then?”
He shakes his head slowly, keeping his voice incredibly gentle. “We’re taking necessary precautions to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
A slight shake takes life in my limbs, and I cross one leg over the other to smother it. My muscles tense to keep it under control. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” My statement comes out more as a whimper.
“Lyra,” he sighs, dropping out of his chair onto his knees and inching forward until he’s crouched before me. He looks up at me, backlit by the moonlight. “Lyra you can’t go home.”
I shift slightly away from him. “And why is that?”
He motions out to the door. “Because you’re needed here.”
“Needed here for what? If you know what ails me, then you know I’m also the worst candidate to be a Queen. There’s no cure for me. And time will only tell if it gets worse. I’m a liability.”
He grabs my ankle, sending shockwaves up my body as he whispers, “You are not a liability. Out of everyone here, you are the most suitable.”
“I would have died today, several times over, if it weren’t for Marcella?—”
“You would have survivedjustfine without Marcella,” he snaps back.
I quiet. Eyes round as I have nowhere else to look but him. His hand is still wrapped around my ankle. And if I weren’t so confused, mind so blazingly hazy, I would’ve been blushing profusely. Perhaps moving away from his hand.
A few puffs of our breath fill the silence before he continues, “Lyra, you have to believe me. You have to believe in yourself. Ineedyou to win his hand. It cannot be anyone else.”
“You also know then that I shouldn’t have children? To not pass it down? I imagine the king needs an heir.”
“Yes he does, but there would be no concern of you having children.”
I blurt out, “And how do you know? What is it you want from me for your silence? What was our agreement before I came here?”
His hand slides slowly off my shin. My cheeks burst into heat, skin still tingling at the slow tease of his touch before it was gone. Waiting for an answer I stare at him. At the sculpted angles of his cheekbones andjaw. Those soft eyes regarding me, and the curvature of his lips. His throat.
He’shandsome.
I rip my gaze away quickly, aware of how long I’ve lingered, my heart hammering in my chest. The wine has scrubbed away my ability to block such devious thoughts. Thoughts of what I’d do if he left that hand on my leg. Grazed it higher until it slipped beneath my skirts. If he pressed his lips against mine, what it would feel like. How he might taste?—
“Lyra,” he says my name so softly.
I force myself up out of the chair, tempted to fan my face. “Take me back to the ballroom,” I demand breathily.
Whatever was in that wine that Devin mentioned Lady Bethany was using on us—it can’t be trusted in a dark, soundproof room alone with wild-running thoughts and a handsome man.
Am I losing my mind?
Thirty-Nine
- LYRA -
Wordlessly, Devin leads me back to the dining room. All attention snaps to us. Cyrus leaves Willow, making his way over. The rest of the women return to their chattering and dancing.
I scan the room for Marcella. My heart sinks when I don’t see her.
“Lyra?” Cyrus stops in front of me, snagging my attention. His hair is neatly combed back from his hard face, pulled into a dark bow at the nape of his neck. “May I speak with you?”
A lump forms in my throat with both his and Devin’s eyes on me. The last time I spoke with Cyrus my lips were on his, with his body between my legs as he pressed me against a marble column.
