Page 61 of Fear the Flames
“Yes or no?” I speak over him. Damn him for thinking it’s different. His nostrils flare and he looks down at my lap. Maybe he’s finally realizing that he made an alliance with a queen with an unrestrainable temper once it gets going.
His fingers drum against the desk as he lets out a hoarse, “Yes.”
“Would you look for me?” I forge forward, not letting an ounce of satisfaction that he’s complying show in my tone.
“Yes,” he rasps. I know the answers to all of these questions, but something stirs in me when he admits he would look for me.
“I’m not asking you to stop protecting me,” I soften my tone. “I’m not an idiot; I know I can’t face down an entire army on my own. I’m just telling you that you need to communicate with me. I want to know where you are and what you’re doing, and I want a letter telling me when you’re not going to show up.”
“Watch your words, angel. Someone might think you care.” His head shoots up, and his eyes are laced with accusation and anticipation. His hands have stopped drumming on the desk, and the only noises to be heard are our heavy breaths and the distant clatter of soldiers on the border. I care, of course I do, but caring about him is a language I don’t know how to speak. I’m flying blind, and I don’t know my left from my right.
“I care about the alliance.” I drop my eyes from his, but the position he’s maneuvered us into prohibits me from looking away from him.
“Look at me,” he commands. I draw my eyes away from his tense shoulder and ignore the stabbing sensation in my chest when I look into his eyes again. “If you want communication from me, then don’t lie to my face.”
My brain is imploring me to remember all the reasons why I should tell him to move and why I shouldn’t act on the way he’s making me feel. He’s the forbidden fruit I can’t have. But I can’t look away from him. His eyes have claws that sink into my flesh and hold me hostage. When he’s this close, my body will always rebel against my mind. All I can think about is the brush of his lips on mine a few hours ago, and that’s all it takes for the pulsing feeling between my legs to start up again.
“Tell me what happened to your hands,” I whisper, “please.”
The word feels foreign on my tongue. If I give an order, I expect it to be followed. But Cayden isn’t someone I can order around. He’s the person that will never stop pushing me. Communication isn’t something that comes naturally to either of us; that much is obvious, but it’s something I’m willing to work on since it benefits both of us. I just need him to meet me in the middle. His throat words through a swallow as teeth sink into his bottom lip. My hand longs to reach out to touch his face, to help him get out whatever is shackled behind his pride. His hands begin drumming on the desk again, and something hardens over his features.
“I found the assassin that got away,” he states in a deep, low voice.
“What?” I flinch in surprise. “How? Who was it?”
His tapping increases. “It was one of my soldiers.” I absorb the news and release a shaky breath, digging my fingernails into his desk and waiting for him to continue. “I remembered the scar you had mentioned. I started tracking him as soon as I dropped you off at the castle. I didn’t find him until a few hours ago.”
“Were all of them your soldiers?”
“No.” He drags a hand down his face before placing it on the desk again. “They were assassins from Imirath, but my soldier let them over the border. I have people I can trust looking into the information he gave; Saskia is one of them.” I narrow my eyes on him. “You’ll be present to receive the report with me,” he promises.
I nod slowly. It’s a small step in the right direction. “I figured some of your soldiers might not like me—Princess of Imirath.”
“I don’t give a damn what you’re the princess of!” I flinch at his sudden burst of anger. He very rarely loosens the leash he has on it. Sometimes, I think his anger will burn him from the inside out. He scans my face again, his eyes ablaze and harsh. “Do you know what happens to traitors in Vareveth?” he asks, inching closer to me. His hands slide against the surface of the desk, but I don’t move back. I don’t back down from anyone, especially not him.
“No,” I answer steadily, despite a mixture of emotions running rampant throughout my body.
“A gruesome affair.” My lips turn down when the whiskey on his breath hits me. “It begins with the opportunity to physically fight the traitor; no weapons, no armor, just fists. Some people like to feel the blood of those that have wronged them or those they care about. It’s not customary for the commander to do it—they usually name someone to fight in their stead. But I believe in carrying out my own sentences, especially the personal ones. Once the traitor is beaten enough, the commander gets to choose a form of execution.”
He looks down at me like he’s waiting for me to push him away. My palms tingle and breathing quickens knowing Cayden was the one to fight my assassin. He said it waspersonalto him. The thought of him fighting on my behalf, going feral to the point of bloodied knuckles, definitely doesn’t make me want to push him off…quite the opposite, actually.
“What was the form of execution tonight?” I feel like I can hardly get any air into my lungs as I wait for his answer.
His eyes never waver from mine. He’s monitoring my reactions like a predator watching their prey from the bushes. “He said some very unsavory things about you, things I won’t repeat, so I cut out his tongue as punishment. Nobody will speak about you like that without repercussions. After that, I chained him to a tree and waited until the gallwings were attracted to the scent of his blood and let them finish the job. Not that there was much of a job to finish.”
“Gallwings?” My eyebrows shoot up. I’ve never seen them, but I’ve heard stories of the serpent-like creatures. The venom in their fangs makes your skin feel like it’s on fire—it’s a slow-acting poison that paralyzes you, and they love to toy with their prey.
“He drugged you, hurt you, and was going to collect the reward from Garrick without a second thought. The end he received was mercy from me because he received an end.” His voice sounds like retribution in its highest form.
My words hide from me as I search for the right ones. “You…you killed your soldier for me.” The words come out breathy and unsure. It’s one thing to tell me in private that he’s on my side, but it’s different to declare it through a public execution.
“I don’t regret it,” he states in a low, menacing tone. The intensity in his gaze keeps me pinned in place. “I savored every punch and every scream I stole from him because all I could think about was him hurting you. I wanted to make sure that every damn person in this world knows their fate if they even contemplate harming you. Go ahead and tell me how horrible of a person I am for doing this to my own soldier. Tell me that you would never do it.” He licks his lips, gripping the edge of the desk with one hand and grabbing his drink with the other. “I will always protect you, and I’ll always hunt down anyone that harms you, even if you think I’m repulsive. Aren’t you glad we’re communicating?”
He tilts his head back and downs the rest of his drink before slamming the glass onto the desk and placing his hand where it was. But his arms don’t feel like a cage; they feel like liberation. I can show him the darkest parts of me, the twisted parts that I keep to myself, and he won’t judge me because the same darkness resides in him. Tonight has proven it. He’s not drinking because of what he did; he’s drinking because he’s waiting for me to tear him down and tell him he’s a monster.
Cayden may be the villain to others, but he’s not mine.
He and I have walked a fine line, turning away when we get too close to unveiling something too personal, but I’m not turning away from him now. I want to jump off the line and deal with the consequences when I hit the ground.
