Page 34 of A Broken Ember

"Eleos—"

"You're a fool if you truly believe that's who I am!" I spat.

"I'm trying to protect you!"

I shook my head. Such a pretty mouth for such filthy lies. Shame pulsed through me. I had kissed that mouth, tasted it. "Like you were protecting those Circulus?"

"Yes!" the prince replied. "Yes, exactly!"

I scoffed. "Then tell me why I found them beaten and cowering in their own messes!" Tears wanted to form in my eyes, but I held them back. They wouldn’t want me to shed them over their Circles. They were free now. At least, I hoped they still were.

Chapter 32: Anastasius

“Damnit, Eleos! Listen to me! I was planning to do exactly what you did.” Claeg snorted. Seeing suffering was never easy, and I had seen plenty of it as one of De Vita’s healers. Healing always went hand in hand with suffering. The memory of my own pain was faint, but I could still see it. I had stood by helplessly as draconis begged for death rather than my healing.

“When? When did it most benefit you? After they were Saved? What kind of freedom is that?” He lashed out verbally, pressing the tip of my blade into my neck. A bead of blood fell down to my collarbone. I wasn’t afraid of him. If it came down to it I could disarm him in an instant with the way he was trembling like a newborn babe. But if he wanted to open my neck from ear to ear, I’d let him. He was right. I had been keeping them until their release suited me.

I bit my lip, falling into silence. Waiting.

“Well?” Claeg pushed, nostrils flaring.

I shook my head. “They would have been released in time,” I answered, though I knew my words wouldn’t satisfy him. “We are on the same side, Eleos.” His violet eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything, instead waiting for me to speak. I caught my lip between my teeth. “My father’s days as De Vita are numbered. As soon as I have the spell to heal, I will enact the Sacred Challenge, and I will win.”

I searched Claeg for a hint of his thoughts, but his expression was guarded. I sighed. “Come. Let us return to my room so you can rest.” I stood to leave the torture chamber, leaving my back exposed to him. The sounds of him struggling to stand met my ears, but I suppressed the urge to offer him help he didn’t want. Perhaps he would thrust his blade into my back. I swallowed, the hair on my neck standing on end as I awaited my fate. Were we destined to be enemies? I didn’t want to be, but the decision was in his hands.

The sound of the blade clattering to the ground was quickly followed by Claeg grabbing my wrist and pulling me to him. My back was flush with his front, his mouth next to my ear. The position was intimate, making my heart race. He slipped his free hand into the pocket of my pants, his fingers a hair’s breadth from my cock. I sucked in a breath at the proximity.

“Eleos—” I began, my cock confused and craving his touch, but just as quickly as his touch came it left, clutching the container of salve I had summoned.

"You're wounded." My Selected pointed to the burn on my hand from the iron poker. Right. I had forgotten.

"I'll be fine." I shrugged. The wounds were minor compared to his.

"Stas," he whispered, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. I stiffened. "I see my stubborn Circulus attitude has worn off on you," he grated, earning him a snort from me. “Now let me help,” he insisted, making me sigh and glare at the offending hand. Reluctantly, I offered myself to him.

At first, he just stared at the wound as if he wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was red and puffy, angry from the heat, even if I couldn’t feel it. Gently, he grasped my hand. The look in his eyes softened. Tension left his shoulders and his jaw slackened a little where he had been grinding his teeth. Claeg slowly coated my burn. The circular movements of his thumb were soft despite his anger.

Blood filled my mouth. I released my lip, unaware that I had been biting it. I wasn’t sure how to react. Claeg was so hot and cold—obviously warring with himself. I didn’t blame him. I had failed him over and over.

“You have so many scars…”

“They do not bring me pain, Eleos. I am immune to such a fleeting sensation,” I reminded him softly.

“I don’t understand.”

I frowned as Claeg’s thumb circled my bubbled skin. “My clan worships my brokenness. They don’t understand the toll a life without pain takes. When they see me, they see a survivor, not a victim of this dreadful curse. They see strength, but Eleos, I am weak.”

Chapter 33: Claeg

They see strength, but Eleos, I am weak. The prince literally couldn’t feel pain. That explained his strength, his resilience. And perhaps he was telling the truth, intending to free the draconis and take over as De Vita. I scoffed at the thought of us being on the same side. This man was weak: he had admitted as much himself. But I couldn’t deny that he was also a survivor.

I absently traced the scars up his arms, memorizing their pathways. They were unique, forming an identity and telling a story. “Don’t stop,” he murmured, his dark eyelashes fluttering but remaining closed. It was tempting to continue and let myself forgive him, but I already walked a dangerous line. I froze, my fingers still on his flesh. My heart pounded at being caught. The prince was still a player in their captivity. Intending to release them or not, he had still failed to provide them with decent care while here.

“I don’t know . . . I don’t know what…” My fingers curled into a fist with a huff. “You make me want to release myself from the chains that bind me. And that scares me, Stas,” I whispered. “The chains are all I know. What if without them I lose who I am?” My lip trembled. I didn’t dare look into his eyes. I didn’t want to see whatever I would find there—pity, resentment, confusion.

His hand grazed mine, slowly wrapping itself around me as if asking for permission. I relaxed my knotted fingers. “Look at me, Eleos,” Stas whispered. For a moment I refused, but only a moment. When I looked up, I saw none of the emotions I had expected, only understanding, and that hurt more than any other. “I see the chains you wear. Let me help you carry them, prince of mercy.” The term made me suck in a sharp breath. He squeezed my hand, bringing my fingers to his lips. “If we must break to free ourselves, let us break together.” His eyes were soft, a pale moon, unshaded by clouds but raw and vulnerable. My heart thrashed against my ribcage, begging me to free it.

“Stas…You do not know what you ask. My Janardan…” I was so close to revealing the truth. My purpose. No, he knew of that. But my intentions . . . I inhaled sharply, my heart tearing in two. Traitor. I squeezed my eyes shut. I needed to fly. To think. My heart twisted, and I forced my weakened body to don my crumpled trousers. Anastasius didn’t press further, just studied me, waiting for me to speak. “I need to fly,” I said, limping over toward the door. The walk through the castle was excruciating despite the numbing salves plastered all over my body, but eventually we arrived at the prince’s balcony. When I shifted and flew away, he didn’t follow. It was a risk, leaving his side. Odon could order Calian to recapture me. It was surprising he hadn’t been my shadow lately, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t afraid. My enemy hadn’t earned the privilege of owning my fear or my respect.

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