“Who was he?” Mayah plucks a rose petal from the bed, absently rubbing it between her fingers. The blanket slips off, revealing her bare shoulder. My eyes track the movement, mouth suddenly dry.
“A nonwielder from a noble family. His brother was a moderately powerful stormwielder. He was killed in battle a few months ago. I’m sorry for what he said to you.”
There’s a rose petal nestled within her hair, and I reach out and pull it free. The sight of Mayah laying atop crimson petals, her creamy skin glowing in the sunlight, sends my blood rushing south. I’ll have to ask the handmaids to refresh them every day.
Slowly, I trace the petal along her shoulder, reveling in the way her breath hitches. A shiver cascades through her, and her skin pebbles beneath my touch.
She swallows hard, and I track the bob in her throat.
Her soft hand skims across my bruised knuckles. She summons her power and heals the abrasions, then quickly crosses her arms over her chest, as if to force herself to stop touching me.
“And the servant? Is he all right?” Her voice is soft, breathy.
“Who wouldn’t be all right after you healed them?” I murmur, tugging her hand away from her chest before skating my thumb over her knuckles. “I checked on him after I finished in the dungeon. He was already awake. You’re unparalleled.”
“What happened in the dungeon?”
I was dreading this.
“I questioned the man that attacked you.”
“Is he alive?”
“Barely.”
That’s the least of my worries. My father and Faramir’s reactions were far more concerning.
“What aren’t you telling me?” She squeezes my hand, my perceptive Mayah.
“My father and brother are … displeased that you healed a nonwielder in full view of the entire court. They suspect you might be a Rebellion-sympathizer. I should’ve known they’d twist it into something ugly. You saved a life—a nonwielder’s life—and that makes them uneasy.”
“But—but I have no ties to the rebels!” she exclaims, rising up onto her elbow. No prickles. There never are when I’m with her.
“I know,” I soothe. “We’ll figure this out, all right? I’ll protect you. From anything. Fromanyone.”
The crease between her brows eases slightly, and I’m tempted to kiss it.
Slow down, idiot.Give her time to fall in love with you.
With a heavy sigh and one more lingering glance, I flop onto my back. As much as I want to spend the entire morning wrapped up in her, I know that’s not feasible.
“We should get ready.”
Mayah arches a brow.
“We’re having breakfast with my father and Faramir.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mayahisamessof nerves as we walk through the halls toward the dining room, and I hate that she must be subjected to this.
One meal. It’s one meal, and we’ll grin and bear it.
“You look beautiful.” I cast an appreciative gaze over her, my hand steady on her lower back. Her ice-blue gown sets off the natural rosy hue of her cheeks, cinching tightly at her waist. I’m helpless against my need to drink in every inch of her—the dark waves spilling over her shoulders, the indent of her waist where my hand sits, the bare skin of her clavicle, her necklace glinting in the hollow between her collarbones.
The sight of her teardrop pendant reminds me—Mayah’s new ring. I need to send a courier to retrieve it from the jeweler. I’d given specific instructions yesterday to a servant about the design—and the urgency.
“What if they ask me about the Rebellion?” Mayah asks. “Or insult Tundrayn? Or my father. Should I be nice? Or be myself?”
