Page 78 of A Queen's Game
The knocking came again.
“I said we’re—”
Sylas stood in the doorway, irritation lacing his features.
Elyse snapped her arms to her chest, thankful that Brynden blocked Sylas from seeing the rest of her.
The male looked at Brynden, then at Elyse. “Sauntyr arrived. So did Gyrsh. He’s asking where you two are at.”
Gyrsh. Her father.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, gods.” Elyse jerked away from Brynden. Memories of her father’s anger afterthe incidentplayed in her mind. Her breathing turned ragged. At least the fight wasn’t her acting against his wishes.
But to be alone with Brynden in a room, unsupervised?
Elyse swore under her breath as she stood, turning away from Sylas so she could hide her chest. The dress dipped lower on her back as she shifted to pull it up with one hand.
Brynden’s hand stopped her, his grip firm. “That’s why your hip hurts.” His voice was a deadly calm, the malice in his tone clear without Elyse needing to turn around.
“Please, let go.”
Brynden pulled the dress lower, gasping as he took in her hip, side, and below. His breathing hitched as Sylas closed the door.
“Stop, you’re embarrassing me,” she cried, tears welling in her eyes. Brynden didn’t need to see that shame. Her father’s anger bruised into her skin.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to see!” Her anger lashed out as she jerked away from his grasp, pulling the dress up.
When Elyse turned to him, fully covered, his stare was icy, his jaw set. “No. Why is there a bruise from the top of your hip to down below your ass?” He stood from the couch, Sylas calling his name in warning. “Gyrsh? From him, right?”
Elyse froze, not letting her tears fall. She felt humiliated, holding her loosened dress around herself, answering questions she never wanted Brynden to ask.
“I know it was him.” Brynden’s voice cracked with emotion. “Why? And how?”
Elyse’s lips quivered, and she closed her eyes. “It was my fault you and Keyain fought. I embarrassed him. Not being ready, running from you. He learned every detail because people from court told him. It was my fault, he was—”
“No,” Brynden snapped. “Stop. There is no reason for it. None.” He paced before the couch, his breathing heavy.
“Brynden,” Sylas warned, trying to get his attention.
“It wasn’t your fault—you even tried to stop it.”
“Brynden,” Sylas warned again, walking towards them.
He ignored his friend. Brynden ceased pacing, tapping the tip of his boot against the floor, revealing a blade that popped out of the heal. “I’m going to kill him.” Elyse’s breath caught from both the surprising weapon and the imminent threat.
“Az!” Sylas yelled that time, tearing Brynden from his thoughts. “Get your shit together. You’re terrifying her.”
Brynden turned his gaze to Elyse, fear and anger lining his face with wide eyes. “But he can’t… he’s been doing this all along, hasn’t he?”
Elyse clutched her dress tighter to herself as Sylas approached, her breathing ragged. “Az?” she asked. “That’s twice today your friends have called you that.”
Sylas stepped closer, causing her to recoil. With his hands splayed in front of him, he said, “It’s a childhood nickname abbreviated. And please, let me help. Someone needs to tie your dress.” Gone was the irritation in his face from when he entered, replaced with softness, concern.
“Is that true, or are you lying like the smell thing?” Elyse asked, letting him approach.
Sylas stiffened at the comment, looking at Brynden, who was wide-eyed.
