by Everly Frost
Chapter 10
My power sizzles through my hand, glowing brightly as I reach for the stone. It’s so thin that I could press my finger against it and it would fit against the curve of my fingertip.
I stop an inch away from connecting with it.
“I’ve carried that stone with me every day of my life since my father died,” Nathaniel says. “I left it behind for the first time yesterday morning so I would be sure it was safe.”
He clasps my arm, still searching my face—for what, I’m not sure, but he’s looking at me the same way he did before I stopped breathing at the burn site.
“What did your father say?” I ask, my forefinger hovering over the stone. The energy within the box is too much. I don’t know what this stone has to do with me, or why it’s the same shape and size as the scar on my chest, but my heart is thumping hard and I can’t control my breathing. Panic threatens to overwhelm me, panic like I’ve never experienced before.
“He said you don’t belong to them.”
I focus on Nathaniel, on the flecks in his eyes and the scent of caramel. I suck his scent into my lungs like a lifeline, filling my senses with it in an attempt to drown out the magnetic pull of the stone. I’m suddenly aware of the smudges of dirt across his shirt and the way his sleeves pull across his biceps as he slides his arms around my waist and pulls me up and away from the box.
My head clears the farther he draws me from the stone.
“Belong… to whom?” I ask.
“The fae,” he says. “He made me promise to tell you: You don’t belong to them.”
“Wh-Why would he say something like that?”
Nathaniel strokes my hair, pulling me closer while I glow with every stroke, my heartbeat slowing and my breathing less irregular as his touch calms me.
“I don’t know, Aura. I’ve searched for answers but never found them.” His voice is a deep rumble resonating through me. He’s finally giving me answers, but they only bring more questions. “My father told me I had to find the girl with hair whiter than bone.”
“But… why?”
“Because you have the power to turn the war.”
I shake hard in Nathaniel’s arms, my heart resuming its unnaturally fast rhythm. I don’t understand what Nathaniel said about not belonging to the fae, but I do understand my power and its capacity to kill. It explains why Mathilda thought Nathaniel was supposed to end me.
“Your father survived the blast,” I say. “He saw what I did to your people. Despite that, he told you to come for me—to find me—but not to kill me? How could he want me to live after all that?”
I search Nathaniel’s eyes for answers—as keenly as he was searching mine before—following the fall of his hair across his cheeks.
“I don’t have the answers you need, Aura,” he says. “I’ve grappled with my father’s final words my whole life, thought about them nearly every waking moment, trying to understand what he meant. All I knew for sure was that I had to come for you. That you have the power to help us. My father didn’t see you as an enemy, and I have to trust that he was right about that.”
“But I was your enemy!” I push against Nathaniel’s chest, pressing my palms hard up against his muscles, trying to make him acknowledge that we’re on different sides, that we will hurt each other. “For years! I blamed your people for killing my parents. I hated the Fell!”
He refuses to let me go, his gaze burning me with an intensity I can’t push away. “Not anymore. You don’t hate me anymore.”
Anger and confusion swirl inside me as his hand rises to curl around the base of my head, tangling in my hair. His thumb strokes my neck, making my heart beat faster, but not from fear.
“I have to tell you something,” he says, the quietness of his voice making me stop still.
I drag in air as he continues to hold me tightly, waiting for him to speak.
“I hated you once too,” he says. “The day you became the Queen’s Champion was the day I lost everything. You were the catalyst—this constant catalyst in my life—that brought pain and loss. My father’s death. Losing my name. Forced to become Cyrian’s Shield. Losing my…”
He takes a deep breath. Despite what he said, the glow around his hand brightens and fades as he continues to drag his fingers through my hair and across my neck and shoulders, exploring my shape.
“I thought about killing you instead of honoring my father’s dying wish,” he says. “Yesterday morning, I didn’t know what I was going to do. I hadn’t decided. I told myself that I just wanted to see your face. That I would know when I looked into your eyes.” His expression softens, the tension around his eyes fading. “And I did.”
“What did you know?” I whisper.
“That you are the center point of my life. Every ripple, every consequence, belongs to you. Without you, my world would be torn apart. And now…” He pulls his fingers across my cheek, the sandpapery mud catching and dragging, but it doesn’t hurt, tingling instead. “Now our lives are bound together.”
The stone is suddenly forgotten. Mathilda said that Nathaniel’s family name is now written on my body in the most fundamental bond of loyalty. Esther also said we were bonded. And Nathaniel said everyone would think we were married. But surely he doesn’t mean we actually are.
“Did you bind me to you when you drew on my face?” I ask.
Nathaniel’s lips curve up into a slow smile. “I danced with you, I wrote my family name on your face, and then you said yes.”
“Wait…” The world suddenly spins around me. My heart lurches and my stomach drops. “We’re really married.”
“By human law—old law. Yes.”
My power zaps through my hands as I shove him away from me. He lets me go just in time before I turn his bones into dust. Stepping back with an unapologetic smile, he folds his big arms across his chest and watches me pace the room.
Back and forth, my power crackles around my torso, arms, and legs as I move, swirling around me. I stop and point my fist at him. “We’re… really… married?”
His grin grows broader. “Like I said… you said yes.”
My eyes narrow to angry slits. “An answer doesn’t mean anything if I don’t understand the question.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Then what were you saying yes to?”
Dark stars.
He slowly prowls toward me, keeping an eye on the sharp bolts of my light. “Why don’t we start this again and see if we end up somewhere different?”
He stops in front of me, daring me to strike as he holds out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
Clamping down on my power, I step right up to him, anger boiling inside me. At least, I think it’s anger. From the moment he appeared out of the mist, Nathaniel has made me question everything—everything I knew about my world and my life. He even made me question my heart, to dive beneath the icy layers I carefully built to protect my thoughts. Last night, I lay on the surface of the Spinning Lake with him and we watched the water dance far beneath us. For the first time in years, I felt connected to something—him.
I fight my pride and my fears and slide my hand into his, my palm rasping against his, my heart thudding a hard beat inside me.
He doesn’t hesitate, catching me firmly around my waist before spinning me out and back again, pulling me so close that I press hard up against his thighs and chest. Last night, his movements were cautious. Careful at first. But now they have an intensity, a certainty to them. He moves me backward, his hands and arms guiding my movements before he spins me again, his movements short and sharp, snapping me right back to him.
I recognize the turns now—especially when he spins me out only to pull me back in—the way he creates gaps only to close them. It’s as if he’s telling me that no matter how far away I am, he will always be there when I come back. I will always want to come back.
Last night, dancing with him made me feel light, recklessly happy, but now my steps are weighted. Every press and pull
triggers my heart to thud and my breathing to increase. Every rhythmic movement reminds me of the brush of his lips on mine, the grip of his hands around my hips, and the warmth of his mouth.
He pulls me to a stop, his head tilted to mine, his gaze a constant burn. Sliding his hand down the back of my thigh, he hooks my leg around his hips and bends me backward at the waist, gently swaying with me as my back arches. Last night, he drew me up again within moments, but this time, he bends with me, planting a lingering kiss between my breasts.
I barely feel it through my armor.
An excruciating absence of sensation.
He drags me upward, my leg still hooked around his hip, hard up against his chest so that my head tilts back and my now-black hair falls across his arms.
His burning gaze never leaves my face as he drops his weight, forcing my knees to bend. I’m not sure what he’s doing—this wasn’t a move from the dance last night—until he rapidly hooks his free hand beneath my other thigh and hooks my other leg around his hip.
I gasp as he rises, discovering that his placement of my body against his was intensely deliberate, the pressure on the sensitive center between my legs increasing so much that even my armor doesn’t stop me from enjoying his body’s response to mine. My fingers splay and curl against his back as every indrawn breath makes our bodies press and ease against each other.
His lips graze across my cheek right where the mud pulls at my skin. “Let’s wash this off so we can start over,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.
Lifting me higher around his waist, he carries me into the smaller room I assumed was a bathroom. Like the rest of the hut, this room is simply furnished. A wooden chair sits in the nearest corner on the left. A clawfoot bath rests in the center with a cast-iron water pump located at the back of it, its spout situated directly above the end of the bath. A small wooden table holds towels and bars of soap.
Nathaniel lowers me onto the chair, but his hands slide down my ribs to grip my hips on either side. His lips nudge my cheek, then my jaw, trailing down my neck, planting kisses between my breasts and down my stomach. Too light for me to feel. Damn armor.
Stopping above my pelvis, his fingers drag from my hips along the tops of my thighs before he stands and prowls toward the bath.
He pauses in the middle of the room before he half-turns back to me. “The door is open, Aura. Remember that.”
I glance at the opening. He’s telling me that I can leave whenever I want. He’s not trapping me here.
I stay right where I am.
He pumps the lever, his biceps tensing, and seconds later, water pours into the bath.
He tests it with a smile. “We source our bathing water from a natural hot spring. It’s warm enough.”
Continuing to pump the lever, he fills the bath full enough that the water level will rise to the top if someone gets into it. Then he dips a small cloth into the water, squeezes out the excess liquid, and carries it to me.
He kneels in front of me, turning the cloth over in his hands. I struggle to read his expression. Or maybe I don’t want to because it suddenly hurts my heart.
“You’ll have to wipe my name off yourself,” he says, looking up at me. “I can’t do it.”
I take the cloth from him, my fingers sliding across his. The material is soft and warm. I’m grateful it’s not cold.
Rising to my feet while he continues to kneel in front of me, I place the cloth onto the chair behind me before I reach for the clasps down the left side of my armor.
He gives me a questioning look, glancing at the abandoned cloth, but I remain quiet, my decisions falling heavily on my heart.
Underneath my armor, I’m only wearing the black underwear that I wore to the ball. There’s nothing substantial about the skimpy lace. It doesn’t hide a thing, but it won’t be the first time he’s seen me naked.
I peel the armor down my torso to my waist before slipping out of my boots and kicking them to the side. Dragging my armor down past my backside, I take care not to kick Nathaniel as I drop back to the chair to pull the black suit off my legs.
He watches every movement, his hands planted flat on the top of his kneeling thighs. There’s no window here, just a small skylight in the ceiling, and the shadows play across his face. Whatever he’s thinking, he’s hiding it.
I desperately want to know his thoughts, but he’s frustratingly silent. I guess I am too. Both of us pulling and pushing at the things we want but can’t have.
Unclasping my bra at the back, I drop it to the floor, the scanty material barely making a sound as it floats downward.
I have no illusions of beauty. My body is a weapon. My hands are for holding daggers and swords. My legs are for running, leaping, and kicking. My torso is a shield and my mind is for strategizing, assessing my opponent’s weaknesses, and planning my next move. The only moment I felt truly beautiful was when Nathaniel turned me to face the mirror while he stroked my cheek. His touch lit me up, alive for the first time. Briefly. Until he stopped.
I stand up again and remove my underpants, now completely naked. Then I retrieve the cloth and walk to the bath, my bare feet slapping the wooden floor.
He doesn’t reach for me or stop me, twisting only to watch me.
With my back to him, I pause at the side of the bath to ask a question. “Will the sap wash off my hair?”
His voice is a husky murmur. “Only if you wash it with soap many times. Water alone doesn’t strip the color.”
Now that I’m facing away from him, it’s hard to turn around, but I make myself face him again before I step into the bath and lower myself into the water.
All the way in.
The warm liquid closes over my face.
Nathaniel and the world disappear.
It’s been a long time since I indulged in a bath. Immersing myself and closing my eyes is the closest I can get to the nothing that I need around me so that I can fall asleep. That is, unless Nathaniel is there to stroke my hair or simply stand under running water—both times at which I fell asleep unguarded and unexpectedly in his presence.
The cloth feels like a dagger in my hand, but the mud is already dissolving from my face.
A few rapid scrubs remove it completely.
His family name is gone.
I exhale under the water and open my eyes, still gripping the material. The bubbles of my expelled breath meander to the surface before they burst. Little dreams of unreachable wants self-destruct above me.
My eyes burn as I arch back up, breaking the surface to inhale a deep breath. He won’t see my tears in the wash of water streaming down my cheeks, so I’m not afraid to let them fall.
He stands at the edge of the bath, a massive form blocking out the light, his expression unreadable as his gaze rakes across my bare face, ending at the corner of my right eye. His flinty expression softens as he follows the trickle of water down my cheek and neck to the surface of the water.
The light shines around me again as he kneels at the side of the bath and reaches across to press his forefinger to curve of my cheekbone.
“Your tears follow the shape of the moon,” he says, stroking a soft arc, as if he could draw his name with water.
I can’t seem to hide anything from him. Somehow, my usual defenses don’t work. He sees right through my barriers and boundaries. My facades.
His finger follows a careful trail down my neck, across my shoulder, tracing a dangerous course lower still. His wrist and arm immerse as he follows the soft outer curve of my breast, brushing against my ribs to my waist, where his fingers splay out across my lower stomach and come to a rest at the top of my thigh. A glowing spark of my power chases his touch, flickers of starlight burning across my skin under the water, my own body betraying me as I fight the desire to pull him into the bath with me.
With a slow smile, he reaches across with his other hand, tracing the curve of my other cheek, my neck, playing across the hair slicked across my shoulder. He tugs my tresses gently acro
ss my breast as he dares to skim across them, stroking his entire palm down across my stomach until both of his arms are immersed and his palms rest across the tops of my legs. Drawing them apart just the slightest, he strokes the inside of my thighs.
The whole time, he didn’t take his eyes off my face, tracing my body by feel alone. Or maybe by memory.
“Let me give you my family name,” he says, refusing to release me from his gaze.
My breathing is erratic. Uneven. Out of control. Like the needy burn aching in my center.
I squeeze my eyes shut as he continues to explore every part of my inner thighs all the way from the underside, along the join at the top of my legs, to the curve at the bottom of my hips.
“Let me give you my name…” he repeats, leaning forward without putting pressure on my legs. His thumb brushes across my center, sending a shock like electricity through me. “Let me give you what you want.”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper, trying to breathe. “Being married is about more than sex.”
His thumb returns to my center, but this time, he doesn’t move it back or forth.
It’s up to me whether I take advantage of the position of his hand.
A challenge.
“You’re right,” he says, his voice rough. Suddenly emotional. His jaw clenches. “It’s about trusting someone enough to fall off a thunderbird with them. Trusting them enough to run into an unknown wilderness with them. We’ve both shown trust, Aura. The kind of trust many people never find in an entire lifetime, but we built it in a day.”
I fight my body, fight the temptation to rock against his hand, because if I do, it will give him permission to make me his. “But the Law of Ch—”
“Forget the Law! Forget everything else. If nothing else existed outside this hut—no fae, no Fell, no Queens or Kings, no duty. If it were just you and me, what would you choose?”
“Just you and me?” I ask. “No fae. No Fell.”
He nods, his eyes searching mine, his full lips drawn into a vulnerable line. “I need to know.”
Oh, dear stars, help me.
I rock against his hand, sensation exploding through me, so strong that I fight to breathe. Fight to speak. “I would ask you to write your name on every inch of my body.”