Page 69 of Feral Guardian
I exhale a shaky breath. “I thought you said you don’t like poetry.”
He opens his eyes, but they’re hooded and molten. “I’ll learn to like anything for you.”
My heart pounds in my chest as the same nervous flutter rears in my half-full stomach. What can I even say to that, to him? Gods, my love has only grown, and this past week has been a testament to the durability of it. I know I’m going to marry a lord and become an ambassador, but can’t I just pretend for a moment that I’m not?
Alastair blinks and the spell is broken. He pulls my hand away and leans back. “Finish your food. We need to get on the road if we’re to make it to the next town by sunfall.”
Damn him for making my body come alive and crave more than I’m owed, more than I’m allowed. Damn him for barging into my life and showing me this devotion that has broken me.
Damn him.
Chapter twenty-one
Alastair
When everything is packed and we’re ready to leave, I draw Nol’Ther’s darkness into the dirt, then stomp my magic into it. Red ripples across our campsite, obscuring it from the eyes of any who would follow us. Much faster than trying to cover our tracks by traditional means.
I help Lily up into the saddle, staring at her backside the entire way. Gods, give me the strength to not do something else incredibly stupid today. Letting her touch me like that, showing her my affection…telling her about the prophecy. I said my mother was a seer, not that she wastheseer for the Illyan royalty.Theseer with the highest percentage of correctly told prophecies in a century.
And I didn’t tell Lily the rest. I didn’t tell her the role she has to play, or the dangers we’ll face. But she trusts me, and I won’t fail her. Not again.
Never again.
I climb up behind her into the saddle and give one last look to ensure we’re not leaving anything behind. Kor’Tar takes off at a leisurely pace into the trees as we follow the river downstream.
“By my estimation, we’ll reach the next village by evening today if we don’t have many stops,” I say, hoping this will keep the spark of conversation alive after days of silence.
“Oh, good. I can’t wait to be almost murdered again,” she says with a cheery tone that belies her words.
“No one will try to hurt you,” I say. “And if they do, they will regret their decision only long enough to realize they’re dead.”
She chuckles. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, like you say. I’m having the time of my life, honestly. It’s a little rough washing up in freezing mountain water—I could do without that—but otherwise, not a bad trip. I will be happy to have a bed to sleep on tonight and maybe if we’re lucky, a warm bath.”
Her optimism and fortitude make her all the more beautiful. I love that she’s back to normal.
“Should I change my appearance again before we get into town?” she asks.
“Yes, and perhaps mine, too. We’ll wait until we’re closer so the strain on your magic is lessened.” I know that her modifications usually fade over time, and she has to put more effort in to maintain them longer.
“If you want topermanentlylook different, I’ve actually figured out how to do that with relative ease,” she says with a proud shimmy of her shoulders.
“Care to explain?” I ask.
“It’s quite simple really. Whenever I perform a transfiguration, I’m battling against the object or person’s innate magic. Even beings and objects that are not high magus or urictsa contain magical essence inside them, however trace. So, the reason my transfigurations fade over time is because the entity or object’s base magic wants to return to normalcy.”
She looks over her shoulder at me with a smile. “Following so far?”
I nod. “The Illyan people have always known everything and everyone is touched by the gods’ divine power, however shallow or deep. This is why rune-writing for Yegress on animal bone is more potent than on stones, or iron, which are Morgha’s domain.”
She smiles brighter. “Yes, and it was that very teaching you gave me long ago that sparked my theory that I could make permanent changes not only to myself, but to others and objects, too, if only I could convince their base magic essence to accept my modified identity as the true identity.”
She wiggles in the saddle, her warm hips brushing against my groin. The sudden movement distracts me momentarily as unbidden blood flows straight to the point of friction.
“How do you manage that?” I ask, trying to keep my attention on her words.
“I have taught my own magical essence to mimic that of which I am trying to modify so it’s accepted as ‘self’ rather than ‘other.’ This is also how I’ve laid years-long traps within the palace.” She grins impishly.
“Tell me more about how you do that,” I say, keeping my focus on what she’s saying and not the rub of her ass on my dick.
