Page 43 of An Empress of Earth & Darkness

Wind blew into a ball, ready to blast from her hands. “Tell me I am wrong, Stryker! Today is not the day to lie to me.”

“Oh fuck.” Artem’s eyes lit up a flare of worry as she released the air ball and it flew towards his face. He dodged it. “I am sorry. I truly am. If you could keep your balls of air to yourself and let me explain—”

“If I could keep my balls of air to myself?” she screamed. “How about you keep your balls to yourself, you absolute animal!”

“Can you calm down?” he yelled back, still trying to cover his manhood. “Let’s talk it through like the good friends we are—”

“You really think that we are good friends?” Emara hissed. “You have just defiled my space. My room. I could kill you right now.”

“Please don’t do that.” Breighly Baxgroll, sporting the same bedhead as Artem, trailed out from behind the wall with an embarrassed look on her face. “Please don’t blame him. It was my…fault.” She squared her shoulders and held a tunic against her body. She threw Artem his leathers, and he caught them with one hand. Artem looked at her like she had said something in the tongue of the underworld as he speedily jumped into them.

Oh, for the love of Rhiannon, she didn’t need this right now.

“I can see you have finally made it into your uniform.” Emara glanced at Breighly, and uncharacteristically, the wolf’s lips slammed shut. Her eyes darted to Artem. “When I asked you to wait outside for Breighly to show her the ropes of the Tower, I didn’t mean in my bed.”

Emara probably shouldn’t have said that. But maybe her crippling anxiety was coming out in ways that she didn’t understand.

“Please…” Artem turned to Emara. “Please accept my sincerest apologies; it wasn’t Breighly’s fault. It was mine. I cannot help myself when I am around her.” A small moment of silence calmed the tension in the room. “Breighly arrived just after you left for the rooftop. I came to look for you to let you know that she was here, but you weren’t there.” He shrugged. “I saw a beaten-up punching bag and a trail of rain that led down the steps, so I put two and two together. I went to Torin’s room. And that’s when I heard—”

“Stop. Stop!” Emara lowered her hand. “There is no need for you to report what you heard.”

A mutual understanding of what Artem had heard coming from Torin’s room, set Emara’s cheeks on fire. He nodded, his head bowing low, his golden glare looking anywhere but her face.

Breighly’s shimmering brown eyes met her own. “Emara, I give you my word that this will never happen again.”

She saw a bob in Artem’s throat, and some of that golden flare diminished in his eyes.

Breighly walked towards her. “I am a fool for getting distracted whilst you were gone, and I have discredited my position and everything you fought for yesterday. Please, I will never make that mistake again. We got carried away.”

Artem straightened behind the wolf, shoulders back and raising his chin like he had taken a hit to the gut with her words.

Emara looked at their shameful faces. Had she not had the heaviness of what today would bring resting on her shoulders, she would have probably laughed it off.

It’s not every day you find a wolf and a warrior of Thorin in your bed.

She sighed, releasing some of the pent-up energy she had been holding in. “I am not as high as the Gods to judge when desire for one person takes over.” She nodded towards Breighly. “Perhaps I understand it a little too well.” She met Artem’s gaze for a solitary second before finding Breighly’s again. “I will not mention this again, as I am sure you will both forget it happened.”

“Absolutely.” Breighly nodded. And it was peculiar to see something like her position as a guard mean more to her than her pride. “You have my word, my oath. Anything.”

“You can count on it,” Artem said dryly. “It won’t happen again.”

She walked over and placed her hand against the mantle of the fireplace. Letting out a curse, she ran a hand through her hair and dipped her chin low. “I need you both ready as soon as you can be.”

“Are you okay? Emara, what is going on?”

As she listened to the magic of the embers burning gold and vibrant below her, she tried not to think about how her whole world could fall apart again. She swallowed her fear that the Gods might not have put Torin in her path for happiness, but heartbreak.

Breighly shuffled forward. “Emara, you don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

A tear tracked down Emara’s cheeks, and a broken sob left her throat.

“Shit.” Artem moved towards her. “Do you need me to call on your empress maids? Do you need anything?” He placed a hand on her shoulder and lowered himself so that he could look at her fully.

She raised her chin and said, “You better get ready for today.” They both paled. “Because there is going to be an uprooting of everything you know about the current Blacksteel Clan.”

Artem’s concerned features pulled in tight, making him look murderous. “What do you mean? What happened this morning?”

She placed a hand to her mouth and another to her stomach as she said, “If Viktir doesn’t agree to change the treaty by revoking my marriage to Gideon”—her voice wavered, but she fought through her emotion—“Torin is going to challenge the commander today. He is finally bringing the war he promised his father.”

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