Page 52 of Kissed By the Gods
I step into his path, forcing him to either stop or barrel through me. He stops. Barely.
He tilts his head, his expression carefully blank. “Lost, rebel girl?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “No. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
He snorts, pointing to my left. “I doubt that. Nyrica’s room is two doors down.”
I ignore him. “You want to avoid me so badly that you’re running away?”
His lips press together. “I’m not avoiding you.”
A blatant lie. I haven’t seen him since I asked him to be my master. Not at the provisionary during meals, not outside when I’ve gone out to explore, not at the training grounds when Nyrica showed me around.
“I’m not here to see Nyrica. I’m here to see you. And since you’re not avoiding me, that shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
He shifts his pack higher. “You’ll have to catch me when I get back. It’s my rotation to patrol the coastline.”
“This won’t take long.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“It really can’t.”
His fingers twitch. I know he wants to leave. I know I should let him. But I don’t—both because I need him, and I like seeing him unsettled.
He shifts to brush past me, but I press a hand against his chest, forcing him to stop. He pauses, though he could easily push me out of the way. His heartbeat is steady beneath my palm, but the tension in his body is anything but.
“Please, Ryot,” I whisper.
My whispered plea does something to him. His head tilts back, his throat working like he’s swallowing something bitter. He drops his pack from his shoulder, and it thuds against the stone floor. Then, finally, he steps back into the room, retreating.
I follow, closing the door behind me.
There’s nothing in his quarters. No personal effects. No warmth. Just a simple bed with a linen sheet, and a few books stacked on the nightstand. This is a room that belongs to a man who keeps his distance. From everything.
I trail my fingers along the walls, feeling the cool stone before making my way toward the books by his bed. I run my hand over the leather bindings.The Annals of the Winged. The Divine Archivum.
I raise an eyebrow. “A little light reading this week?”
“I had some downtime.”
I tap the cover of the first book. “And you decided to spend it reading about the history of the gods?”
His gaze lands on the scar on my temple. “It seemed prudent.”
I wonder how many nights he’s spent reading about me, looking for answers. I don’t press him on it. Instead, I nod and look back down at the books. “You’ll have to let me borrow them when you’re done.”
“I’m finished with them.” He stalks forward, grabbing the books and shoving them into my hands. “You have your books. You can leave now.”
I don’t leave. I keep my eyes down, my fingers running along the bindings. “Did you know it’s illegal for Selencians to learn to read?”
Ryot stiffens beside me. “You read fine.”
I swallow. He doesn’t know. No one here does—that became clear in my first meeting with the archons.
“My mother taught me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “As her mother taught her, and her mother before her. But we learned in secret. Most of our lessons were given with a stick in the sandy riverbanks behind our house.”
The wall I’ve built around my mind cracks, and I let him see. The riverbank, my mother’s hands in the sand, drawing letters for me to trace before we washed them away. The stolen candlelight, the whispered lessons, the ever-present fear that one wrong move would cost us everything.
