Page 53 of A Kingdom of Destruction

Roran flashed his teeth at her in a grimace, and she knew she’d landed a hit. “We each have our weapons, don’t we?” He didn’t deny her observation, though. “He and I have practiced much longer than you’ve been alive. You wield what you have atyour disposal. I do the same. I’m merely saying you looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

He snarled at her, and Aven wondered if he was going to actually do something. The way he looked at her, she wasn’t sure if he wanted to snap her head off or bury himself between her breasts.

Which one did she want?

Why hadn’t she told him to get the hell out of her room yet?

She couldn’t deny it. He got under her skin fiercely. And she wanted to slap him. To draw him closer. To do something crazy with the energy snapping and popping in the small space between them. It made breathing difficult.

Rather than saying anything, Roran braced himself and then pushed off of the mattress. “Enjoy your outings with him, Aven. Save your smiles and your kisses for him. I’m interested to see where things go.”

Maybe it was the small hint of vulnerability in his gaze that left her silent, biting down on her tongue. Her eyes burned as she watched him walk to the door and disappear. She waited in the silence for the count of ten, and then twenty, torn between wanting the distance and wanting Roran to come back.

There were a lot of things about him she overlooked.

Why did it bother Roran what she did with Cillian?

He was obstinate and incorrigible and prone to taunting. But he’d also never looked at her the way he had tonight.

Sleep came fitfully for her. Moonlight shrunk as night wore on, and Aven was curled on her side, one hand beneath her pillow, when a crash sounded from outside her window.

It jolted her out of the strange half-sleep, half-wake state where dreams felt real. Her heart beat rapidly, and her eyes popped open with a gasp of shock. She waited a beat and jerked fully awake when someone moaned, the sound full of anguish. She’d heard similar moans in the healing ward at the palace where the wounded were brought.

Aven dragged her fingers through the hair clinging to her forehead, sweat keeping it plastered.

With her window open, the sounds drifted straight to her. A shout and another long string of moaning aired before it choked off.

Without bothering to stop and think rationally, she pushed herself out of bed and grabbed her robe on the way to the door. Her senses screamed at her to be wary, but someone had gotten hurt. She knew it in her bones. They were hurt and needed help. Those sounds were too familiar for her to do nothing.

She tied the silk sash across her waist and knotted it. Throwing open the door, she found the hallway empty. Her steps were silent as she reached the top of the staircase and followed the sounds all the way down to the front doors of the palace. Beyond.

Injured humans made the same noises as wounded animals.

Aven learned the similarity the hard way. Although she had no healing abilities of her own, she’d spent plenty of time with those who did as they worked to stitch up her fallen comrades. Aven herself had spent many nights on a cot in the infirmary while they went to work on her with herbs and magic.

The air in the garden weighed down on her, thick and hotter than it should have been for this hour. She followed the groans along the path leading to the herb garden near the kitchen and pulled up short.

A guard lay on his back with his hands clenched over his stomach. His pointed ears poked out through long strands ofrich red hair, his helmet lost to the night. Even from here, she saw the wound to his gut leaking bright blood through his clenched fingertips.

“Help me.” The words wrenched out of him when he saw her, his bright green eyes round. “Please. Help me.”

His injuries were grave, and despite the darkness, she knew a mortal wound when she saw one.

Aven balanced on the balls of her feet. Torn. She should get out of here and find someone else to help.

This was her enemy and clearly a fae scout, more than likely sent to spy on her people, judging by his outfit. The normal guards around the palace and in the prince’s personal retinues wore armor and carried swords. This young man wore a tunic and pants that clung to his skin, made of some dark material designed to blend into his surroundings. Only his hair gave him away.

She should leave. Do something, anything.

This wasn’t her business. A healer else would be better equipped to handle him. Or maybe she should let him die. Her enemy deserved no mercy.

A sixth sense prompted Aven to move, and she would not look too closely at it, as she walked forward and rested her hands above the fae male’s. He served the crown. He might have no idea what he was doing, or why.

Did it matter?

She kept her touch as gentle as she could. “Let me see,” she murmured softly. “Let me see the wound.”

His skin was cold and clammy when she pushed against him. Clenching her jaw, she pried his hands apart, and blood drained from her face at the injury. This wouldn’t be easy. Losing so much blood must have sapped him of his usual fae strength because the man didn’t fight her. He only stared at her withhis breath coming in heaving gasps. His body trembled with the effort to remain awake.

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