Page 48 of Power of Draken

“It’s alright, I know you don’t want to see me naked.”

“That’s actually the opposite of what I said, but given that you are undressing, I am tempted against arguing.” I curse under my breath. “I hadn’t meant to say that aloud actually.”

She narrows her brows at me like I’m an idiot, which seems rather accurate at the moment.

I do the mature thing of pretending that peeling off my boots and clothes takes up too much of my attention to notice. When I’m down to my smallclothes, I hesitate only a heartbeat before stripping them off along with the rest. They’re wet and Rowan’s must be too. So, off they go.

Rowan’s story trips over itself, the words turning jumbled.

For the first time all day I’m grateful for the cold that keeps my cock from springing up like a catapult.

“What—”

“Which part is confusing?” I ask innocently. I’ve already decided that helping Rowan get her wet clothes off is my solemn responsibility. Or reward. Both. Still, as I kneel before her and nudge away her chilled fingers from their losing battle against bootlaces, I pause to study her face. There have been so many choices taken from her already. And there will be more. I’m going to be responsible for that too. This one is small in comparison but it still feels important. “May I help?”

She nods and I release a held breath.

Making short work of her bootlaces, I gently tug them off her feet and set them aside to dry by the growing fire.

“Can I ask you something?” Rowan says as I reach for the hem of her tunic, my fingers brushing against her icy skin. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

I pause then pull the soaked fabric up and over her head, letting it fall to the stone with a wet plop. “Not letting you freeze to death is your definition of kindness?”

“Not letting me freeze to death is my definition of good military strategy,” she says matter of factly, busying herself with the laces atop her breeches. Between the stiffness of the laces and her own cramped fingers, I know she’ll lose that battle as readily as the one with her boots, but I wait for her to figure that out before shoving in to help. “I’m an alchemist. If I died under your watch, there would be consequences to your career. We all know that. Just as we all know that bringing me back alive and safe will be a boon. So, no, that’s not really what I’m asking.”

“I promise none of this is about my career in the Eryndor army. Or politics, for that matter, given how closely the two are aligned.”

She laughs without humor. “None of it? Come on, Kyrian, no one joins the combat track at one of the Spires unless they want to advance.”

I give up watching her struggle with the laces and undo them myself. “I didn’t say I don’t want to advance, I said that I’m not after pleasing the Spire’s command cadre.”

Rowan braces her palms on my shoulders as I ease the clinging fabric down her legs, my knuckles grazing her thighs, knees, calves. I swallow, not knowing where to look. She’s beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes you wonder if it’s all real or a trick some cosmic force is playing with you for its own amusement.

“My father is a high ranking noble in my village,” I say. “I’m the consequence of his indiscretion with a visiting dancer. She died when I was five and—to the great displeasure of my father’s wife—he took me in to raise alongside his full blooded children. So, you can say that I grew up with a shadow over me, this sin of taking from the family without any prospect of giving back. When I realized that my physical gifts put me in a position to possibly change my standing in court, to make me someone of value in my own right, I took it. If I succeed, well… Maybe it’s a stretch to imagine that my family will consider it an honor to have me among them, but I think they’ll at least see me as less of a leech, aye?”

I clear my throat and turn my head away. I’d not meant to say all of that when I opened my mouth, but the disconnect between my brain and my lips seems to be a recurring issue around Rowan. I don’t know what’s making me want to trust her, to let her see as much of the real me as possible, but I know that whatever it is, it’s special. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. And it’s scarier than the hurricane raging through the woods.

To her credit, Rowan doesn’t try to tell me that I’m wrong, or that if my family ties their love to my station, then they are the problem. She doesn’t even say that she is sorry for this mess. No. Not Rowan. She just squeezes my shoulder in genuine understanding. “Tell me how I can help,” she says softly.

Stars. She deserves so much better than what we are going to do to her soon.

“Please don’t die,” I say with a lightness I don’t feel.

She makes a sound with the back of her throat and steps free of the puddle of clothes, leaving her before me in nothing but her smallclothes—scraps of soaked white linens that leave little to the imagination.

"You’ll need to take that off too," I rasp, trying to figure out what to do with my eyes. Because the effort it’s taking me to not look where I shouldn’t is probably making me resemble a bug-eyed insect. “Nothing wet. Skin to skin. It’s how we get warm and stay warm.”

Rowan hooks her thumbs into the sides of the cloth, pushing the final barrier down until she is as bare as I am.

I give up pretending I don’t notice her creamy skin and delicious curves, or the rose nipples that peak in the cold. Or the tight curls that disappear between her thighs toward a very responsive opening. Stars take me. A few strokes of my hand in the right place and I can make her forget everything I’ve spilled about my past. I can change this moment and us back to last night, when the only thing between us was lust and pleasure. It’s what I should do.

Stars know my body is rooting for that option. Hard. Painfully hard.

But for some reason I don’t want to. I want this, whatever is building between Rowan and I right now, to be real. Maybe it still won’t survive the final turn of the mission, but maybe it will at least give me a fighting chance of not being hated forever.

So, instead of grabbing Rowan’s hips and locking my mouth right over that sensitive nub I love so much, I draw her chastely against me and settle us before the fire, arranging the least damp blanket around our shoulders to trap in the warmth.

Seeing that the water has heated, I pluck the small pot off the flame and mix in the chocolate I brought for emergency use.

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