Page 26 of The Last of the Dark Lords

He took my touch as a signal, deepening the kiss. What had been chaste turned ravenous. I felt the blood rush to my face. Was this what I’d been missing out on? It was all-consuming, my brain lost in a sea of floating pleasure.

When he pulled away, his absence forced a moan from my lips. He smiled at the sound.

“You almost died, sweet Skye. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.” He brought his hand to my cheek. “If we are to be married, you should be my partner and my equal. You won’t be alone. Whatever comes, whether it’s your brother or something else, you face it with me by your side.”

I swallowed. No one had ever spoken to me with such care, such certainty. Maybe my mother, but my memories of her were cloudy.

Because she’d been murdered by Cyrus’ father.

A pang of grief shot through my chest. Nothing I’d felt since this whole thing began had been simple, and the specter of my parents’ deaths had loomed over it all.

Concern crowded Cyrus’ features. “Are you in pain?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie. That’s what I told myself, anyway. “It’s fading now.”

“Good. Get some rest.”

He bent down to kiss me on the forehead, and before I could stop myself, I flinched. Thinking of my parents’ deaths had stirred up my ever-present suspicion. Hurt flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, defensive mask.

“We won’t continue on until I’m satisfied you can travel without pain,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless.

Sadness surged inside me. I had wounded him. I hadn’t intended to, I just couldn’t escape the scars of my own history. They always lived there, right under the new skin.

“Cyrus, wait—”

The door slammed shut as he exited the cottage. I cursed my own inner struggle. I’d never convince him that I wanted to be by his side if I pulled away from his touch. I was frustrated, and more. Guilty, that I had ruined an unexpected tender moment between us, and deeply conflicted about how he’d made me feel.

When he kissed me, something inside me gave way. A wall that had been up since the moment of my parents’ deaths finally started to crumble.

And I didn’t know if it was real.

***

Somehow I convinced everyone that I was well enough to ride the next day, although Cyrus kept a constant eye on me as we went. Jelenna was no better. Every time Blaze whinnied or snorted, she’d whip her head to check on me. Her eyes squinted in the morning sun, and her reflexes were on a hair trigger, as if I would fall off my horse the second she stopped paying attention. The only one who was nonplussed was Manod. Evidently the old priest was confident in his handiwork.

After about an hour, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled Blaze up short and jumped off in one fluid motion, landing in a crouch. I won’t lie, the move wasn’t painless, but it was worth it.

Both Cyrus and Jelenna yelped. They were off their horses and on top of me in seconds.

“Enough!”

They took a step back, both of them stunned.

“I am fine,” I said, adding some steel to my voice. “I am healed. Stop acting like I’m going to bleed my guts out at any moment.”

Jelenna and Cyrus looked away, guilt flashing across their faces.

Jelenna spoke up first. “You took an arrow to your ribcage, Skye. You were bleeding out. It could have pierced your lung.”

“Yes, and now I’m better. Right, Manod?”

Cyrus and Jelenna glared at the gray-bearded priest, who shrugged.

“I told you he was healed.”

“You almost died.” Cyrus' voice was soft. He was trying to hide his fear.

I walked over to him, taking his hands in mine, and kissed him on the cheek. His eyes widened at the gesture.

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