Page 116 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

My head is still dazed, swimming with too many wild thoughts.

Eventually, he steps back, and I watch as he takes a knife out of a drawer and cuts his own flesh, dripping his blood into a glass. After that, he licks the cut, and it closes up within seconds. He walks back to me and starts to apply his blood to my wounds. They’re gone instantly as if sealed by magic, yet I gasp when I feel his fingertips on the tender stretch of skin right below my ribs.

“What—what was that in the desert?” I dare to ask as he rinses the glass. I watch his wide shoulders, the play of hard, powerful muscles beneath the black fabric, tense a little.

“A sand worm. But it shouldn’t be here.” His voice is grave as he answers.

“But why is it then? Nidaw said the land obeys you,” I go on quietly, taking in my surroundings while he still has his back to me.

The first room is a place where he clearly holds officialmeetings, but this feels more like his private rooms. The open terrace, the warm wind blowing in. There’s a gray, modern sofa, and a chair opposite. A coffee table made of matte, ashy wood. And the kitchen—so, he eatsnormal foodtoo? I haven’t seen him eat anything so far, so he probably does.

Does he cook too? Does he maybe evenliketo cook? The thought sounds absurd, but why not?

I turn and look over my shoulder only to see another room containing a huge bed draped with dark silks. I don’t know why I’m surprised that he, too, needs to sleep. Somehow, it feels absurd to imagine him lying down and closing his eyes like everybody else.

Caryan’s whore,that’s what the blonde elf called me. My mouth goes dry as I remember what Caryan said to me the other night. The way he said it.You’re mine.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it.

Heat flushes my entire body while I fight all those thoughts I haven’t allowed myself to have. I haven’t yet dared ask what he wants with me. And I don’t have the courage right now—and probably never will, knowing me.

When I turn back, I know Caryan caught me looking. My heart skips a beat, and I know he can read everything in my face. I’m too unguarded around him.

I lower my eyes too quickly to read his expression, though, letting my hair fall over my face. My treacherous heart still flutters like a trapped bird in a cage, and it won’t slow, despite my best efforts.

He says finally, “The land does obey me. But the sand worm comes from another world.”

Another world.So the human world isn’t the only other world. I’ll think about that later. “And why is it here?”

He leans with his back against the counter, his muscled arms crossed in front of his chest. “There are a lot of reasons. But all of them have to do with magic and its delicate equilibrium.”

Briefly, I think he will stop at that, but then he pushes himself off the counter and sinks down on one of the stools opposite me—the sight so strange, so absurd, seeing the most beautiful man sitting in what looks like a human kitchen that I might almost—almost—laugh.

He doesn’t seem to notice because he keeps his focus trained on the room behind me. “Magic is everywhere, like air. There are some of us who can access it, conjure it, channel it. Even carry it, naturally. Others steal it.”

“Steal it how?”

“You saw the medallion Lyrian wore around his neck to hide his true appearance from the humans? It was stored magic, wrung from harvested blood. An artifact or relic. You can bind magic to it, even magic you stole from others. Elves tried it, others tried it, and it led to an imbalance that caused too much magic in some realms, too little in others. As a result, the land began to react, the veil between the worlds ripping open, and this is how those creatures come in.”

“So Lyrian was…”

He frowns again, and I remember his expression when I said he was just like him. I wonder whether he’s thinking about it now too.

“Lyrian was a lot of things throughout his life, but yes, he became a magic harvester in the human realms. The most successful one ever.”

“Because of me,” I whisper. I don’t know what to do with the darkness that fills my heart. I dare glance up at Caryan.

He watches me back before he inclines his chin. “Yes, because of you.”

His voice is void of emotion. There is no judgment there. It’s just a fact, sober and rational, and I realize when I look at his aura, that he’s indeed not judging me.

I don’t know why it matters. But somehow it does—that he doesn’t see me as a monster. Even if he thinks he is one himself.

He leans forward, bracing himself with his arms on the countertop, long, strong fingers splayed. The sleeve of his black tunic is still rolled up, revealing pristine white skin with bluish veins, beautiful yet brutal hands, and elegant wrists. Something shifts over his skin then. Something gold and dark snaking down his forearm.

The tattoo I once spotted.

He notices it too and rolls his sleeves down.

---