Page 115 of The Sorrow of Shadows

He stands up, pulling my dress back down, then brings me to a sitting position. “Now let’s get back to work,” he says, kissing my lips softly. This male just made me come on his tongue in a matter of minutes, but I find myself still wanting more of him.

Another hour later, we finally stumble upon something helpful. I pull out several letters all bearing my father’s signature and several with wax seals I don’t recognize. Carefully, I open the first letter and read over the flawless script that implicates my father. The further I read, the more my stomach churns. I’m both relieved to have found something to help Breyla, but nervous for what this means for Layne and me.

These letters undoubtedly prove my father is a traitor. The letters aren’t signed by the other party, instead they just bear an unknown seal in red wax. Every single letter is addressed to Lord Seamus Delencourt. Swallowing hard, I turn to Elijah.

“Elijah, I found something,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His concerned eyes find mine, and he takes the letter from my trembling hands. Reading it over, he sighs. “Well, this is what we were looking for. This doesn’t just prove your father is trying to overthrow Queen Genevieve, but that he’s working with another country to do so. I don’t recognize this seal, but maybe the pieces will all come together once we turn this over to Breyla.”

My heart thuds rapidly in my chest at the implication. Not only is my father a traitor to the crown, Layne and I will be marked as traitors by extension. I knew this was a likely possibility,but now I had to face what this meant for me. What my next steps would be. Could I stay here? Would Layne and I ever be safe again if we ran?

Elijah must sense my warring emotions, because the next thing I know, I’m being pulled into his hard chest. A soothing hand runs down my back as I tremble in his arms. Tears stream down my face while I cling to his chest, my lungs burning as I struggle to pull in air. The room around me spins, and I sob hysterically into his chest.

“Shhhh,” he says, trying to soothe me. “You’re panicking, Ophelia. I’m going to help you through it, though.”

I’m too lost to my panic to respond verbally, but I nod.

“I need you to tell me five things you can see in the room,” Elijah says in a firm but kind tone.

I glance around the space, trying to focus on anything I can. “Desk, c-candle, chair, tapestry, parchment.”

“Good. Now, four things you can touch.” He gives the second command with the same gentleness as the first.

“Um,” I start, trying to feel for four things, but all I feel is him against me. “Your shirt,” I say as I grip it tighter. “My dress,” I add, running a hand over the sleeve. “The rug, and your muscles.”

He chuckles softly. “I shouldn’t count that last one, but I’ll take it. Now give me three things you can hear.”

I take in a breath, finding it easier now. “The wind outside, my father’s snores...” I struggle to find a third when it hits me. There’s a steady beating I hear coming from his chest. “I can hear your heart beating.”

“Good girl,” he praises. “Now give me two things you can smell.”

“Cinnamon and chocolate,” I blurt without thinking.

“Cinnamon and chocolate?” he asks, clearly confused.

“It’s what you smell like,” I explain. I feel his chest move slightly as he stifles a laugh.

“One thing you can taste, now.”

“I-I don’t know.” I haven’t had anything to eat or drink in hours, and I don’t typically go around just tasting the things around me.

“Here, I’ll give you the last one,” he says as he tilts my chin up, so we’re making eye contact. Then he places the softest of kisses on my lips. It’s a kiss so tender, I never want it to end. But it does, and when he pulls back, he smiles at me.

“There she is,” he says softly.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“You never have to thank me for that, or anything. Except orgasms, you can thank me for those any way you like,” he says with a wink.

I roll my eyes and take a step back from him. “Elijah, I have to leave.” It takes everything in me to utter those words, because I know he can’t come with me.

“No. You don’t.” His words are firm and leave no room for argument.

“But, I?—”

“—No, Ophelia. Your fatheris a traitor. That word does not apply to you. You had no part in this, and I won’t let them touch you.”

His words should be comforting, but they’re not. “It’s not up to you, Elijah. And what about Layne? You can’t protect me, let alone both of us.”

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