Page 63 of Fear the Flames

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“Will we?” he asks, stroking the back of my head. “I think we’re going to take it now.”

“That’s okay. You’ll get used to being wrong.” He halfheartedly glares at me. “You look exhausted,” I add.

“Don’t insult my beauty, Elowen.” He takes his hand off my waist to touch his chest in mock offense. “I’ll send him away on one condition.”

“I’ll allow it.”

“You have to tell me how you got out of the castle.” I’m glad the ice has melted from his tone, but I’m not thrilled with the curiosity that’s now directed toward me.

“I won’t allow it,” I say, giving him my most convincing smile.

“That’s my condition. Make your choice.” He strokes my hair while waiting for my answer. I let out a sigh and look down. I know I can’t talk my way out of this one.

“Only if I can bandage your knuckles while I tell you.” I cross my arms over my chest and stick my chin up, countering his offer with my own.

“So demanding,” he mutters while walking toward the entrance to send the servant away. I hop off his desk and walk on shaky legs toward my healing satchel.

“Do you need help with your corset?” he asks, walking over to his wardrobe. I nearly choke on my spit.

“Excuse me?” An image of him ripping off my corset flashes in my brain before I shove it away—stupid brain.

“You’re sleeping here; I doubt you want to sleep in a corset.” He grabs a green knit sweater and holds it out to me. I take the sweater and hand him my healing satchel, trying not to make eye contact while praying the dim light hides the redness of my cheeks.

“I can unhook this one from the front,” I gesture to the small silver hooks that line the center of my leather corset.

“My offer still stands.” A smirk lifts the corner of his lips, and me my sexually frustrated hormones shoot him a death glare. We went too far tonight, but I’m relieved our usual banter is resuming. “You can change in there,” he says, pointing toward two pulled-back flaps that lead to a dimly lit room. I walk over but pause in the doorway when I’m met with a second bedroom. My hands tighten on the sweater as jealousy rises in me.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I mutter in a flat tone without turning back toward him. I’ve heard of people keeping second rooms for their partners. I have no reason to feel jealous; he can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants, but a selfish part of me doesn’t want to look at it. He walks toward me, and I can feel his heat on my back. It makes me want to curl into him like a cat lying in a ray of sunlight, but I stay rooted in place.

“I’ve received a lot of compliments on this room,” his voice rumbles from behind.

“I bet you have.” Gods, I hate jealousy. I’ve never been jealous over a boy because I’ve never gotten close enough to one. I want to swim in a freezing river until my senses come back to me.

“Saskia really thought the bedding was your taste, but I’ll be happy to tell her she was wrong. Ryder might curse me for not going with the fabric he preferred.”

I whirl around to face him and nearly crash into his chest. “What are you saying?”

His eyes dance over my face in the way they usually do whenever I face him. “It was always my intention to bring you here, Elowen. Granted, you showed up earlier than I had planned, but I moved my bedroom into my meeting room while I was gone for those two weeks,” he says, pointing toward his bed behind him.

My eyes scan the dark room in front of me. There’s no exit. If someone gets into the tent, they’ll literally have to get through Cayden first. I look down at my boots, feeling embarrassed by my flare of jealousy and also overwhelmed by the kind gesture. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t do it for entirely selfless reasons.” He reaches out to tilt my chin up. “Hurry up. I want to hear the tale of your grand escape.”

He spins on his heels, leaving me dumbstruck and uneasy while I rush intomyroom. I can’t see much in the dim light other than tiny flowers embroidered on the bedding. The irritating fluttery feeling comes back into my belly as I run my fingers over the flowers. The darkness is the only thing that can see my smile while I strip out of my leathers and toss his sweater over my head. Cayden, feared Commander of Bloodshed, pondered fabric choices with his two best friends on my behalf. I’ve never seen that man wear anything brighter than navy blue.

He’s sitting on his bed with my satchel resting next to him. Only now, he’s shirtless, which does little to calm my previous urges. I expected him to be muscular and fit, but seeing him in person rather than as a shadowed image in my brain is a completely different entity. My eyes soak in his broad shoulders dusted with freckles before trailing down his toned torso. He’s littered with all different kinds of scars; varying in shades from white to red, some raised and others smooth. I want to brush my lips against every one of them while he tells me how he got them. My feet pad over to his bed as I try to quell my thoughts, but that’s a nearly impossible task when I notice the way he takes his lip between his teeth as his eyes rake over me.

I grab my bag and dig for the gauze and antibacterial ointment Nyrinn and I made every Tuesday. You can never have too much of this stuff, and it always goes quick. I open the tin, and the scent of rosemary hits me. I love that smell. I dip my fingers into the tin and hold out my other hand, waiting for Cayden to place his in mine.

He clears his throat, “Tell me about how you snuck out first.”

I roll my eyes. Not wanting the ointment to drip on his bedspread, I give in. “I jumped to your balcony,” I casually say.

“You jumped to my balcony!” Both of his hands fly through the air before they stop and point accusingly in my direction.

“Would you like a treat for good listening skills?” I tease while grabbing one of his hands. I lightly apply the balm, not wanting to hurt him. He destroyed his knuckles; I wonder what he looked like when he was that mad. I feel him tense up, as if he knows what I’m thinking and is preparing for my disgust. My thumb rubs against his wrist in silent reassurance. One of my favorite parts about whatever is happening between us is that we can understand each other without words. “I even moved the breakfast table to get a higher jump. If I was going down, I was going with a big splat.”

His shoulders relax at my joke, but his head falls into his hand, and he lets out a defeated groan. “Remind me to take away your breakfast table.”