Page 61 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

Captivated by the other, neither of us moves, caught by the confessions we’ve just made, whether spoken aloud or not.

“Wakey-wakey, love birds,” Ronan hollers outside our tent amidst a chorus of snickering sounds. “Get your asses out here.”

Touching the pads of his fingers to his forehead, Asheros sighs. He stands, and holding an outstretched hand for me says, “Come. Let’s not give them any more material to use against us.”

Chuckling, I take his hand and let him help me up. Mostly dry now, my shirt no longer grips my skin, nor does my hair feel damp. Though, given how wet it was last night, I know there are dreaded tangles I’ll need to work through.

Asheros’s own hair is dry, though unlike mine, his falls perfectly over his face. His pants are still a shade or two darker than they should be, thanks to persisting dampness.

“Will you be all right with those?” I ask, pointing to his pants.

“They’ll be dry soon enough,” he assures me, glancing down at them. “Why?” His eyes darken, and he arches a platinum brow. “Would you like to see me without them?”

Gods, yes.

“You wish,” I say instead, pushing my way through the tent’s flap. In the corner of my eye, I see him grinning and shaking his head slightly.

My chest has a weightless quality to it, as if I’m filled with something lighter than air. The lightness I feel is strange and unfamiliar, though not unwelcome. Although, I’ve never felt quite like this. Even with Viridian and Myrdin. It makes me wonder how much emotional weight I carry, even in times when I can lay my burdens to rest.

“Finally,” Ronan groans, drawing out the word.

He, Kheldryn, and Gryska are gathered a few paces outside of our tent. Looking over Ronan’s shoulder, I see Savell and Orim tending to the horses. The other tents have already been broken down and wait in a pile at the center of camp.

Ronan glances at Kheldryn and Gryska. “We thought you’d be in there forever.”

“Apologies,” Asheros says, brushing his hair back off his face. His cheeks are flushed, though, and given the cool breeze, I doubt it’s from the temperature. “We awoke later than expected.”

“Tired, my lord?” Kheldryn asks, waggling her brows. I can tell she’s enjoying this.

Asheros’s facial features pinch together, his eyes narrowed. “Not for the reasons you think.”

“Oh, had some trouble sleeping, did ya?” Gryska booms, elbowing Kheldryn. Crossing her arms, she adds a suggestive look. “I wonder why.”

Ronan cackles, throwing his head back in laughter. Asheros’s look shoots daggers his way, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the remarks.

I tilt my head down, mouth parted with amusement.

Asheros raises a pointed finger, mouth open as if he’s about to admonish them.

I rest my palm on his upper arm, and he immediately turns to face me. “It’s all right. Let them have this.”

His demeanor softens, and the mask of the composed fae lord falls. Asheros, the real Asheros, looks back at me, the corner of his mouth perked upward. “Whatever you say, my Bladesinger.”

My Bladesinger?

Gods-damn me, my heart flutters. He’s never phrased his nickname for me like that before. It renders me unable to do anything but stare, which earns Kheldryn’s attention. She doesn’t say anything, thank the gods, but I feel her gaze slip between me and Asheros, who doesn’t seem to pay her any mind, a captivating grin playing at his mouth.

Not his usual, wicked, and self-satisfied smirk.

No, it’s a true, genuine smile. As if seeing me flustered by his simple use of the possessive before my nickname makes his heart soar.

Focus, Lymseia, I urge myself, though I know it’s of no use. When it comes to this male, I’m already too far gone.

“When you two are done gazing into each other’s eyes,” Savell calls, the hint of humor underlying his tone, “we’ll continue on to Esvelon.”

I straighten my back, firmly pressing my arms to my sides. Embarrassment heats my cheeks, and I cock my head toward Savell.

With the corners of his mouth tugged upward, he shakes his head and tightens the pack hanging from his saddle.

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