Page 223 of The Ascended
"How can you be so certain?" I demanded.
"Because it's not possible," he interrupted gently, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. "Not with me."
I stared at him, confusion replacing panic. "What do you mean?"
Xul sighed. "When I took my place among the Aesymar, certain... choices were made. Precautions."
"What kind of precautions?" I asked, still not fully understanding.
"A ritual," he explained. "It ensures that I cannot father children unless it is reversed."
Relief washed through me. "That's... good, then. One less thing to worry about."
He nodded and drew me back down beside him. "Then sleep, starling.”
He shifted us both until we were lying properly on the bed, my back to his chest, his arm draped protectively over my waist.
I lay there trembling. I’d always equated control with safety, surrender with weakness. But this—giving him everything, letting him orchestrate my pleasure, my pain, my very breath… It was a strength I didn’t know existed within me. Perhaps it took more courage to let go than to hold on. And I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that I would never want anything else. Never want anyone else to have this power over me. Only him.
And that was a problem for tomorrow.
As sleep began to claim me, I felt him whisper something else against my skin—words too soft to catch, perhaps not meant for me to hear. But the sentiment wrapped around me like a blanket, warm and safe and perfect.
Chapter 53
Thatcher
The parchment crumpledin my fist, Olinthar's golden seal catching the dim light from the window. Rain hammered against the glass of Chavore's study, matching the thudding of my heart.
"He wants to see me again," I said, tossing the letter onto the desk between us. "Third time this week."
Chavore stood at the window, shoulders rigid beneath his silver-threaded tunic. He didn't turn, but his reflection showed the muscle jumping in his jaw.
I leaned back in my chair. "For someone who rules the entire pantheon, he certainly has a lot of free time."
The dinners had been elaborate affairs—just the three of us, with Olinthar asking endless questions about my life in Saltcrest, my training with Chavore, my thoughts on the divine domains. The chess matches stretched for hours, each move accompanied by philosophical observations about strategy and sacrifice. Every moment a performance, every word a careful dance around the truth.
Each meeting left me drained. Sitting across from that monster, watching him eat and laugh. Smiling and nodding at his stories.Answering his questions like we were old friends catching up. It took everything in me not to reach across the table and drive a knife through his throat.
I'd return to my chambers afterward with a headache from the effort of not showing how much I hated him. Worth it, though, if it got me close enough to eventually kill him.
"You've managed to attract more genuine interest from him than I've seen my entire life." Chavore's voice stayed even, but a rawness edged his words. "He actually looks at you when you speak. You've noticed that, right? When you shared that story about the fishing competition, he laughed. Actually laughed."
I watched him, trying to reconcile the god who trained me with the son who stood abandoned in his father's shadow.
"I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat," I said. "His attention is overwhelming."
Chavore turned from the window. "Do you know how many times I've stood in his council chambers while he discusses matters with his advisors? How many hours I've spent waiting for him to acknowledge a single suggestion?" He grabbed a crystal decanter, pouring amber liquid with too much force. "Yet he writes to you personally. Invites you to private audiences."
I'd expected resentment, maybe jealousy. Instead, I glimpsed a lifetime of invisible wounds, a desperation for recognition that had never been satisfied.
Before I could answer, a portal bloomed in the center of the study, tearing reality open with golden light.
Chavore straightened his collar. "It seems we're expected."
"You don't have to come," I said.
"Don't worry about me, Thatcher." Chavore attempted an easy grin. "I've had a lot of time to master the art of disappointing my father. Nothing I can't handle." He gestured toward the waiting portal. "After you."
