Page 12 of Wrath of the Dragons
“More than anyone.”
Chapter
Six
Cayden
I know I’ve done terrible thingsin my life, taken jobs for the sake of deepening my pockets, fought without honor, and told more lies than I remember, but this woman—this woman—is my personal brand of torture.
“How long are you going to keep at this?”
Normally I relish silence and crave it when someone’s voice fills a room, but Elowen’s silence is grating on my every nerve like walking on nails without shoes. I lean against the doorframe that leads to our bedchamber, watching as she kicks off her boots and glides toward the vanity against the wall.
She sighs, a contented smile painting her lips as she pretends to be engrossed in the task of slowly removing every ring on her fingers before moving on to her earrings.
“Elowen.” I genuinely don’t think anyone in Ravaryn has her audacity, and it both intrigues and irritates me. She hasn’t spoken since we began the journey to the castle, blatantly ignoring all my attempts at conversation. She uses a few cotton pads to wipe off her makeup and piles her curls on top of her head before striding toward the couch laid with several decorative pillows the maid must’ve removed when turning down the bed. “I’m thinking of cutting my hair, perhaps shaving it all off.”
She throws me an icy glare over her shoulder and shakes her head.
“Ah, so youcanhear me.”
She presses her lips together, no doubt swallowing some sarcastic comment about how unfortunate a fate that is and hoists the mountain of pillows into her arms, throwing them down on the bed and arranging them into a line down the middle. I leave her to her…task…and pour myself another whiskey. Maybe I should just drink from the bottle. Gods know I need it.
She’s packing them in with the amount of vigor one would exercise while building defenses against an enemy, and just to annoy her, I pinch one of the mounds between my fingers and lift it high. “Foolproof plan, love.” She glares at me, a stubborn curl falling in her eye, and yanks the pillow from my grip to slam it back to where it was. “Isn’t the whole point of sleeping in the same bed to appear normal? Do you often try to suffocate yourself with feathers while you sleep?”
“Death seems a merciful fate compared to—” She slaps a hand over her mouth and grabs a book off the nightstand, all but sprinting into the bathing chamber.
“All hells,” I mutter while pinching the bridge of my nose and following her like a gods-damned dogagain.I bite my tongue so hard that I taste the coppery tang of blood as she ignores me and prances around the room to light candles and pour some oils into the oversized tub. Her lips quirk up when she takes in the state of me and sets her book on the table beside the bath.
I drag a hand down my face as she slides her gown off her shoulders and shimmies it over her hips until she’s wearing nothing but the moonstone necklace she never removes. Though it doesn’t accomplish what I’m sure she sought out to do. My irritation from her attitude is nothing compared to the molten hot fury beating in my chest like a second heart. If she thought I’d turn into a mindless man fueled by lust at the sight of her, then she should’ve factored in the state of her injuries I’m now able to see. Dark bruises mar both sides of her torso and legs. They’re all I can focus on. Knowing Ailliard beat her and shoved his nails into the cut on her thigh while I was only in the other room turns my stomach. When she came limping into the banquethall with blood spilling down her leg, I was prepared to torture every single prick that had a hand in her pain and set the entire castle ablaze.
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips part and eyes widen as she takes a step back before shaking her head and lowering herself into the bubbly water.
“How are you feeling, love?”
I try to wipe the anger from my features, but she’s already seen it. She’s known me long enough to know that the constant anger burning within me will never burn her. I’d sooner fall on my own sword before I ever raised a hand to her or made her feel unsafe with me. Her father tortured and imprisoned her, her uncle beat and betrayed her, her mother sat silently as she was abused, and I deceived her.
I know I deserve this silence from her, probably even worse. She can give me all the grief she wants, but I will not be another person to discard her. Nothing she does to me will ever compare to the hell my life would’ve become if Imirath had taken her.
She grabs her book on dragon lore and cracks it open. It rests against the side of the tub, but her eyes don’t move over the words as she stares down at it. Tossing back the remaining whiskey in my glass, I turn away.
My eyes land on the desk nestled across from Elowen’s in an alcove hewn into the stone. I moved it from my old bedchamber, now a library off the main sitting room in our suite. We could’ve moved into the king and queen’s chambers, but they’re separate from each other, and neither Elowen nor I were keen on the idea of living in the same chambers as Eagor and Valia once did. I walk through the parted midnight curtains held back by draconic hooks and unlock the top drawer. There’s not much in here aside from a few reports, my reading glasses, and the small velvet pouch I grasp.
I step closer to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the rounded alcove while holding the ring up to the moonlight spilling through the frosty panes. Something pinches in my chest when I look at it, but it’s sat in the dark long enough. I shove down my unease and return to Elowen. She peeks over the top of her book when I reenter and raisesher brows when I sink to my knees beside her. I gently take hold of her wrist and slide the ring onto her index finger—a glittering star sapphire framed by diamonds set into a gold band.
She blinks slowly while looking down at it before shaking herself from the trance and tracing the oval stone with her eyes. I hadn’t planned on giving this to her yet, but it was always going to be hers. A mixture of pride and possession twine together within me, and I don’t miss the irony of it being our house colors.
“Keep it safe for me.”
I don’t offer her any information as she continues to stare, and I leave her to ponder her theories. Women don’t wear rings to signify a betrothal, and if it were for that purpose I would’ve placed it on the opposite hand and ring finger, but it feels right to see it on her.
Returning to my desk, I grab the stack of sealed reports from the drawer and rest my glasses on the bridge of my nose. The dragons swirl around the spires, and I watch them from the corner of my eye as their wings cut through the clouds. Calithea looks like she was born from the night itself with her silver scales that resemble a shining star.
Imirath’s front has been quiet, but I don’t mistake the lull for peace. Garrick will never surrender, nor will I. He’s too proud, and if he’s figured out who I am by now then he knows I’ll never let him live.
There is no ending to this war where we both survive.
