Page 127 of Anathema

The visual Zevander had been given many years ago slipped through his thoughts, of his brother ripping apart the Solassion marauders who’d come for his mother and sister, the blood and gore of their bodies torn into like a wild animal had ravaged them. “No.”

“Then, that would make him far less dangerous than you, by my calculations.”

“I suppose.”

She wasn’t wrong in her assumptions. Zevander had killed many times without question, or remorse. Didn’t matter who, or why. If the king had ordered it, he’d carried out those orders efficiently and swiftly. He’d even tried to kill her once and perhaps that made Branimir less of a threat.

“So, how am I safer being closer to you than here?”

“Because I’m no longer asking. Now, if you’d prefer to sleep outside with–”

She set her hands to her hips, her frown deepening to something she probably hoped was vicious and terrifying. He found her oddly arousing and adorable at the same time. “Are you ever going to stop using the vicious fyredrakes against me?” she asked.

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep in the upper level. On the condition that you let me bring him food and sing to him.”

Who was this strange creature?

As much as it had always hurt Rykaia to stay away, she’d avoided Branimir out of fear. Though, in fairness, she’d also seen him at his most violent. “You’re not the least bit frightened of him?”

“Well, yes. Of course. But that’s not his fault.”

He didn’t like her being alone with him, and while part of him wanted to chide the ridiculous thoughts in his head, the other insisted on refusing her request. Regardless of his mostly gentle nature, the fact was, Branimir possessed a violent strength that made him a threat. “You’d need to be accompanied.”

“Is it possible Rykaia–”

“Not Rykaia. Nor Dolion.” He jerked his head for her to follow after him, and as they passed her cell, she scampered inside for a book lying out on the bed. The one Dolion had showed him days ago, with the bony spine and silvery dragon’s eye.

“What about you?”

Zevander groaned. “You must think I have all the time in the world for you,” he grumbled. “Training and babysitting you.”

“This isn’t for me, this is for your brother. Surely, you’d make time for him.”

He ground his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

“You’re thinking about feeding me to the fyredrakes again, aren’t you? Perhaps I should meet these terrible beasts, so I can truly appreciate your threat without rolling my eyes.”

“One song,” he said in a flat tone, ignoring the way his cock lurched at her brassy comment. “That’s it.” He jerked his head and led her up the staircase to the upper level, away from his brother.

“And food … what does he like?” she asked after him.

“Meat. Raw.” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see her lips twisted in disgust, and smirked when he turned back around.

“Any chance you might have a steak on hand?”

Instead of answering, Zevander opened the door to her room.

She hesitated a moment before turning, and her eyes lit up as she took in the room that once belonged to his mother. Across the ample space stood a four-post bed, the points of which had been carved to look like spires. The inner dome of the wooden canopy held a delicate candelabra that gave off a soft glow when the curtains were drawn. Burgundy velvet covered the bed, with black silk sheets beneath. Dozens of candles stood about the room that his mother had always called dark and brimming with gloom.

Tall lancet windows overlooked the expanse of woods–the same view as that from his own chambers, seeing as he’d put her in the room just down the hall.

“This is where I will sleep?” Her voice held an air of disbelief.

“Do you find it too morose?”

“No. Not at all.” Just inside the room stood a beautifully carved wooden table with a vase full of asphodels that Magdah saw fit to change out every so often in remembrance of his mother. Maevyth caressed her thumb over one of the delicate petals. “I thought asphodels were springtime flowers.”

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