I woke, temples aching slightly and knowing I was alone before I even opened my eyes. It was the absence of his body wrapped around mine. We’d fallen asleep like that, on our sides, my back to his chest, and his arms folded around me.
In the quietness of his chambers, I didn’t know what to think about that
—what to think about anything. Things were…well, they were a mess. Everything. From what my ancestors had learned and what was bound to happen to Lasania—all of the mortal realm and eventually Iliseeum—to Nyktos’ father being the real Primal of Life and placing the ember of life in me, the truth of Kolis, and this…this thing between Nyktos and me.
At least he’d fed. Was that why his body had felt warm? Or was it something else? I had no idea. But he apparently had no plans to lock me in a cell.
I’d understand if he did. Who wouldn’t? But I didn’t think I could take that. He was right, though. I was no real threat to him, and that had nothing to do with the pointlessness behind attempting to kill him.
Something cold pierced my chest as I turned my cheek, inhaling his scent. I opened my eyes to the bare walls. What was I going to do now? I couldn’t repair things between Nyktos and me because what was there to repair? I wasn’t even sure the Primal was capable of something like love. And I didn’t know if I was. But I…I wanted his friendship. I wanted his respect. I wanted him to be Ash, and I wanted to be Sera. But that would never happen. I couldn’t save my people.
Or what if I could? What if this ember of life had been placed in me for another reason? But what could it be? And what would happen to those who lived here until we figured it out? There’d be more attacks, and maybe, eventually, Kolis himself would arrive. The King of Gods would come after Nyktos. I had a sickening feeling that he already had in the past. And whether or not Nyktos believed me, I cared about what happened to him— what happened to the people here.
What were my options? Find a way to turn myself over to Kolis? He would kill me, and that would possibly hasten the death of the mortal realm if what Aios said was true. It would only buy the Shadowlands extra time. Maybe. This wasn’t being stuck between a rock and a hard place. This was being crushed by both.
But nothing would come from lying in a bed that wasn’t even mine.
Head aching, I sat up and winced at the tenderness. It had been a while since I had engaged in such activities, and it had never been like that. I looked down, biting my lip at the puckered, puncture wounds on my breast as I gingerly prodded the skin at my throat. It too was tender but not painful. A fine shiver rolled through me as I started to rise, only then noticing the robe laid out at the foot of the bed. I stared at it in disbelief. Nyktos must’ve retrieved it. And I…
I smacked my hands over my face. That hurt. But what hurt worse was his godsdamned thoughtfulness even now. And I had planned to take that kindness and twist it. I had planned to kill him. And it didn’t even seem to matter if I would’ve gone through with it or not. It was the intent that counted.
Wetness gathered behind my tightly closed eyes as tears burned the back of my throat, a sob filling my chest. I will not cry, I told myself. I will not cry. Crying solved nothing. All it would do was make my headache worse. I needed to pull myself together and get up and figure out what the hell to do now. I focused on Sir Holland’s breathing instructions until the pressure behind my eyes lessened, and the burning, choking feeling receded. Then I got up and slipped on the robe. I forced one foot in front of the other, leaving behind Nyktos’ empty, cold chamber that had briefly been full and warm.
 |
I had just stepped out of my bathing chamber after making quick use of it when Paxton knocked on the door. The young man stood beside several pails of steaming water, his head bowed so his sheet of blond hair hid most of his face. “His Highness thought you might enjoy a warm bath,” he said, hands clasped together. “So, I brought up hot water.”
Surprised by the gesture for a multitude of reasons, and unsure of how Nyktos had known that I’d returned to my chamber, I almost needed to smack my hands over my face again. I didn’t. Instead, I opened the door wider.
“That was very kind of him—and you, to bring all of these up here.”
“He carried most,” Paxton said, and my brows lifted as I popped my head out the door. The hall was empty. The young man peeked at me, and I caught a glimpse of deep brown eyes. “He had to go to court, Your Highness.”
“You don’t have to call me that,” I replied before I could remember what Bele had instructed.
“You will be his Consort. That is how I should refer to you.”
My throat dried. Paxton obviously hadn’t heard. What would he tell the people here?
Paxton’s chin went up a notch. “And you are a Princess, right? That’s what Aios told me.”
“I am.” A wry grin tugged at my lips despite everything. “But only for one percent of my life.”
That drew a quick, curious glance from Paxton as he picked up two pails. “You were born a Princess?”
“Yes.” I reached for one of the pails.
“Then you’re a Princess for a hundred percent of your life,” he said. “And I got the pails. You don’t have to carry them.”
“I can carry them.”
“I’ve got them.” He eased past me, carrying the pails to the bathing chamber. He was careful to keep the buckets level and unaffected by his limp.
It was hard to just stand there and do nothing when I had two functioning arms. “How about I just pick up one, then?”
“I’d rather you not.”
I already had the pail in hand. His sigh when he looked up and spotted me was quite impressive. “How long have you lived here, Paxton?” I asked, changing the subject.
“For the last ten years,” he answered, his grip on the pail quite steady for such small arms. “Since I was about five. Before that, I lived in Irelone.”
So, he was fifteen. I turned as he hurried back into the hall to grab two more. “Is your family here?”
“No, Your Highness.” He passed me, leaving two more buckets in the hall. I resisted the urge to grab both and only picked up one. “My ma and pa died when I was a babe.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I joined him in the bathing chamber, where he took the water from me and proceeded to pour it into the tub.
“I don’t even remember them, but thank you anyway.” He disappeared back into the hall, returning quickly with the final bucket.
“How did you end up here?” I asked.
“My uncle wasn’t so keen on having another mouth to feed, so I was on the streets, lifting coins when I could.” Paxton poured the water into the tub. “I saw a man in a finely cut cloak and thought he’d be a good mark.” He straightened. “Turned out to be His Highness.”
I blinked. “You…you pickpocketed the Primal of Death?” Paxton peeked through his hair. “I tried.”
I stared at him. “I don’t know if I should laugh or applaud you.”
A brief grin appeared as he began picking up the empty buckets. “His Highness had roughly the same reaction. In my defense, I didn’t realize who he was.”
“So, he brought you back here?”
“I think he took one look at me and felt sorry.” Paxton shrugged, empty pails swaying. “I’ve been living with the Karpovs ever since.”
I had no idea who the Karpovs were, and I had a feeling there was a whole lot more to the adventure that’d led the orphan boy to the Shadowlands. I also thought about how the entirety of the mortal realm would be shocked to learn that the Primal of Death was far more generous and forgiving than the vast majority of humanity, who would’ve likely turned the young pickpocket over to the authorities.
Which was as surprising as it was disheartening.
“I heard about you, you know?” Paxton said, drawing me from my musings.
Tension poured into my body, causing the pain in my head to flare. “About what?”
“What you did last night—out on the Rise,” he said, and a tiny bit of relief seeped into me. “Everyone’s been talking about how the mortal Consort was up there, shooting arrows and killing those beasts.” Something
akin to approval filled his wide eyes, but the relief was short-lived. “We will be proud to call you our Consort.”
Paxton hastily bowed and left, closing the doors behind him as I stood there, hating myself a little more.
“Ugh,” I muttered. “I’m the worst.”
Tired, I wandered back into the bathing chamber and rummaged through the bottles and baskets on the shelves. I picked up a white compressed ball of salts that carried a citrusy scent that reminded me of Nyktos, inhaling the tarty notes of bergamot and mandarin. Lowering the ball into the water, I watched it immediately fizz, spreading foamy bubbles across the surface of the tub.
Rising, I quickly glanced at the mirror. The bite on my neck wasn’t visible through the clumps of curls. I turned, shrugging off the robe and hanging it on the hook inside the wardrobe. I placed a fluffy towel on the stool and took a moment to twist the length of my hair up, shoving a half- dozen pins into it to keep it dry. There was no way I had the energy to deal with wet hair. Air hissed between my teeth as I stepped into the warm water and sank down. Muscles I didn’t even realize were tense and sore immediately loosened. Knees bent, breaking the surface of the water, I wiggled down and let my head rest on the rim of the tub. I was a lot more tired than I realized, and I didn’t know if it was because of Nyktos’ feeding or everything else. Probably all of it.
My eyes drifted shut, and I let my thoughts wander as the heat of the water, the comforting scent, and the silence eased the ache in my head, lulling me. I felt myself drifting to sleep.
A distant, soft thud invaded the tranquility, pulling me from the blissful nothingness. I pushed against the foot of the tub, scooting up as I pried open my eyes—
There was a flash of black. That was all. A glimpse of something thin and dark coming down in front of my face. I shoved my arm up out of reflex. The strip caught and jerked me back, my fingers snagging as he pulled the material tight around my throat.
