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“Sure would be nice if we had an army or two to back us up if we have to try,” she said with a scowl. “Imagine us with the might to flush him out of Castle Lumin instead of guessing at his goals. Instead of trying and hoping and praying to finally get a step ahead.”

Cedric couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, despite the fact that there was really nothing funny about any part of this. “I could not possibly agree more,” he said, attempting to reel himself back in. “But the crowns of Havensreach and Nyrundelle both have to agree that there’s a problem in order to send aid. And while Tenny and Kit have been working on that very thing . . .”

“The latest updates from both of them do not inspire much confidence,” Elyria finished for him.

“I do believe King Callum is trying. King Lachlandris, on the other hand . . . We shall simply have to see.”

“Well, I’ve never relied on the aid of kings in the past. In fact, they’ve typically only ever proven to hold me back. Solaris knows I’m perfectly happy acting on my own.”

“On our own, but yes. Even if we assume minimal support from either crown, we are not powerless. Information is power too, and we’re getting better at gathering that, at least. It’s a start.”

Elyria’s answering laugh was soft, but it was real. It fluttered against Cedric’s ribs, easing some of the tightness there. He stared down at their joined hands before lifting his eyes to take in the beautiful sight of her before him.

There was still something slightly unbelievable in the fact that she was here, that he was touching her, speaking to her, looking at her. He felt his bondmark pulse—beckoning, tugging, as if the matching scar at the base of Elyria’s neck was calling to him. He tamped down the visceral urge he felt—in his hands, his chest, his teeth—to answer that call.

“Yes,” Elyria agreed. “It’s a start.”

22

WANTS & NEEDS

ELYRIA

The darkness was suffocating—a blanket of smoke surrounding her, smothering her. There was nothing but the oppressive weight of him, of everything he had done to her, everything he wanted to do to her. It pushed down on Elyria, leveled her, made her feel small and fractured and weak.

“Bonds were made to be broken, regina. I think I will enjoy finally seeing you break.”

Malakar’s voice was sharper than any dagger as it sliced and sliced and sliced away at her, the whispers of horrible things caressing her, snaking over her skin along with his unwanted touch, his breath. Cutting pain lanced her back, scored her skin. Wet warmth trickled down her sides.

No, no, no, no, no.

This wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight, couldn’t flee. She would be trapped here forever, unable to escape his sickly sweet scent, his icy hands roaming across her body.

“Do not fear, mi umbrae regina. Soon you will forget all about him. I will snuff out whatever tiny, insignificant bit of himself he may have left with you. We will be so much more.”

And then his lips were on hers and his hands were roaming too far and⁠—

Elyria screamed, her arms and legs thrashing against the shackles binding her. The restraints only tightened, holding her down, holding her back.

Not shackles, she realized with a start.

Arms.

Warm, strong arms cocooning her, while their owner spoke soothing words into her ear.

“It’s not real, Elle. You aren’t there. You’re here.” And then, a soft echo in her mind: “With me.”

Elyria took a breath, cracking her eyelids open to take in the dimly lit room, the woven-branch bedframe she and Cedric were lying upon.

Tears slipped from her eyes as she tried to shake the nightmare-free, tried to separate dream from reality, tried to erase the memory of the dark sorcerer’s touch. The fact that his assault had not quite progressed to that point in reality did dawn on her, but the seeds that had been planted in her mind—the threats he’d made when he discovered the evidence of her bondmark, his obvious intent—were proving difficult to remove.

It was still too fresh. Too real. And the day’s discussions, the speculation of what he was after, the reminders of what he had done, did nothing to quell the nauseous churning of Elyria’s stomach.

Malakar was still all over her, lingering. A stain.

And there was only one thing that could erase it.

Elyria rolled in Cedric’s arms, twisting so his chin was no longer nestled in her hair, his chest no longer at her back. Instead, they faced each other, the softest glow emanating from him despite the concern carved into every line of his handsome face.