Page 93 of Heirs of the Cursed

“I’ll take it from here.”

“No,” she replied firmly. “If I stop, he might not wake up.”

Osmond looked up at her. “I have him, Miss Utari,” he said, placing his hands on hers to show her that he would do his best to help him. “I swear it on my life.”

Naithea nodded, more to herself than to the soldier in front of her, her breath hitching with each small, slow movement she made until she was finally away from Fawke. Her heart pounded in her ears, rumbling in her chest like the melody of an uncontrolled drum.

She had to leave. She couldn’t continue to stand near the soldier, seeing what she’d done. Witnessing what she was capable of.

Naithea had grown up hating her magic. As a child, she’d wished her mother had been there to hold her and reassure her that everything would be fine. At that moment, she was grateful she hadn’t, because she wouldn’t be able to bear the disappointment and fear on her face.

“Thea . . .” she heard Leonel call her.

With the words trapped in her throat, she ran away before anyone could stop her. Before they saw the tears threatening to spill from her eyes and realized how weak she truly was.

Upon reaching the camp, Naithea pushed open the flaps that made up the door to Commander Ward’s tent, where her only faithful company were the embers of the fire roaring in the braziers. She fell to her knees as her hands clenched into fists. Her nails dug into her palms, scratching the soft skin.

A new injury, a punishment she deserved.

The sound of the fabric parting made Naithea close her eyes. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was because; in her soul, she already knew. If the commander wished to end her life for what she’d done, she wouldn’t blame him.

“Who did this to you?”

Naithea shook her head with tears already soaking her cheeks. “I can’t . . .” she stammered.

“Tell me, love,” he nearly begged.

She gasped, a choked sound of surprise, as the affectionate nickname slipped from his lips—one that dissolved every insecurity she had, that crumbled the walls she’d spent years building. His gaze, so soft and patient, bore into hers. The same commander who had torn through battlefields, his hands stained with blood, now held her gently, as if he would tear the world apart just to protect her.

“I was alone in the woods and I . . . I think he was following me,” she recounted. “Fawke said I’m a distraction to the mission. A distraction to you.”

The commander’s jaw tensed at that. “Was he the one who attacked you?”

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Naithea sank back into a feeling of regret. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

“It was you,” he whispered, the truth settling within him.

“I’m a monster . . .” she kept saying, trembling. “I deserve to be sent to the gallows for what I did!”

Ward held her tighter as he implored, “Stop.”

“I don’t deserve to live.”

Naithea leaned forward, the commander’s hands still on her cheeks, until their foreheads brushed. They stayed in that position for long minutes, holding each other, feeling the undeniable connection between them fluttering in their chests.

“You deserve everything you want.” Ward’s gaze was unflinching, his voice a quiet storm. “I will reshape the very fabric of existence for you and bend the world to your will, until it bows at your feet. And if anyone dares to stand in your way . . .” His hands cupped her face gently, his thumb tracing her jawline. “I’ll watch you burn them all to ashes. Just tell me what I must do to make it right.”

His words carved in her heart, a promise he would fulfill no matter the danger.

As a tear slid down her cheek, Naithea felt the rough calluses and scars on his fingers brush against her skin, wiping it away. She reached for him, her hands tangling in his white hair, tugging him closer as if the world might crumble if she didn’t. Her breath caught in her throat as she closed the distance, their lips meeting in a gentle caress.

Ward tilted his face to one side to break the contact. “Naithea . . .”

“Please,” she begged.

A sigh left his mouth as he inhaled her fragrance, reveling in the warmth of her skin against his. They were closer than they’d ever been, so close she could feel every part of him against hers.

“Fuck it,” he cursed and kissed her.

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