Page 45 of To Bleed A Kingdom

I square my shoulders. “I'm not apologizing.”

Dropping her head back, Aurora meets my gaze with her narrowed one. “Yes. You. Are.”

Gods, she's terrifying. Hold strong!

Ducking my head until we're nose to nose, I say with steel in my voice, “No.”

Unused to my defiance, Aurora blinks several times in surprise before blowing out a defeated sigh, cupping my cheek.

Annnd that's how you put a female in her place!

Feeling pride as well as an embarrassing amount of relief, I don't hesitate in returning her now-saccharine grin as she brushes her fingers through my hair. Until her smile shrivels to puckered lips and she yanks on my ear.

“Fuck, Aurora!”

“That is not how you speak to ladies.” She clucks her tongue. “I raised you better than that!”

I try to pry her fingers away, but her hand is like a fucking vice. Crouched above the floor, I whip my arms up in defeat. “I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!”

“Darius Lesdanas, you’re going to march your ass out there right now and apologize to her, or so help me gods, little brother, I'll tell the entire court your dick iscovered in sores!”

“Fine! Just let go!”

She twists my ear one last time and I yelp before she shoves me away. “Go. Now,” Aurora orders, pointing toward the front of the shop.

“I’m not leaving you alone with them,” I reply, my narrowed eyes darting between the two foreigners while rubbing my ear.

“Darius!”

Enraged but not stupid, I force myself to turn away. “Fuck it, I'm gone!”

Whipping back the curtains, my boot steps echo throughout the shop as I hurriedly tromp past the door to the loft upstairs, the display case to my left, the white stone walls decorated with swords and daggers, only to slow my steps once nearing the archway when I hear something odd, something out of place and unexpected in a blacksmith's shop.

Cocking my head to the side, I try to identify the source, but it's too quiet for me to be sure. It's almost as if someone’s playing an instrument or singing, but the melody is muffled somehow, almost imperceptible. Careful to quiet my steps, I peer around the archway and freeze midstep, struck dumb at the sight and sound of Lena humming to herself.

Her tone is rich but sweet, with a melodic rasp that's elegant yet slightly rough. Her song has no words, but it doesn't need any. I can feel the pain and sorrow, made more so in Lena’s husky, lyrical voice. I've never heard the song before, but it resonates with me on so many levels. So much so, it feels like I've heard it a thousand times before. Heartbreaking, yet hopeful, I soak up every note. Hardly a moment ago I had no control over the swirling chaos within my mind, but listening to her voice now, my rage is dampened and my emotions level out. Calm and peaceful, it's as if her voice is a balm to my soul.

At the sound of Lena’s voice, that strange, corded sensation stretches taut, startling me just as it did when it appeared only moments ago. It snapped into place the moment I stepped into Aurora's workshop, but at a loss for what it is, why it is, or even how it came to be, I smothered the damn thing. But being so close to Lena now, it bites back with a vengeance, refusing to be ignored. My anger is subdued, barely present within her proximity, but flowing within the mysterious tether, I detect a muted echo of sadness and hurt that's unfamiliar. It feels similar to my own, yes, but more feminine and tragic. Soul wrenching. A raw, deep darkness from an old, but mending laceration that something – or someone – has reopened, and it now bleeds anew.

Unaware that she’s being watched, Lena’s hips sway to the song as she sweeps her palm across a copper sword. It seems inconceivable, but seeing Lena’s somber expression, seeing that heart wrenching pain cloud her amethyst eyes, I know these foreign emotions belong not to me, but to her.

I chuckle to myself and shake my head.

Gods, I sound insane. Feeling someone else's emotions? It's ridiculous, not to mention impossible.

Lena raises to the tips of her toes, reaching toward a stiletto displayed on the wall, but as she moves to touch it, I catch the exact moment she notices my presence. Her hums trail off, her back stiffens, and her hand freezes below the dagger. She glances at me over her shoulder and my stomach drops at her look of cold indifference before she returns her attention forward, silently dismissing me.

Guilt balloons at her chilly response. Without my anger shadowing it, I detect another emotion. Regret.

Inwardly cursing her for eliciting another unwelcome emotion, I clench my jaw and step fully into the room. “I apologize if I was rude.”

With her front facing away, she barely acknowledges my presence, brushing her fingers across the dagger’s hilt. “What do you mean if you were rude? We both know you were.”

Of course I'm aware; it was intentional. But I'm not going to admit that. Neither will I mention how rude it is for her to question me on my apology, which I think is quite generous of me, given the situation.

“I’m sorry,” I grind out, expecting my apology, my repeated apology, to be the end of that. But at her lack of response, I can only assume it's not.

Dropping her hand, she spins to face me, finally giving me her sole attention. “Did your sister force you to apologize?”

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