Page 44 of The Curse of Golden Blood
So I was shamefully pleased at the dazed look in her eyes. She choked out, finding words at last, "By the Mother's grace, Zydar, you could at least warn me before you strip."
I crossed my arms, smirking. "It's just a body. Don't tell me you've never seen one before."
She flushed. "That's not the point."
I laughed, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Ah. And so the little dove trembles. You humans are so prudish about nudity."
She looked away, her cheeks still pink. "Unlike the fae, apparently."
"And why should we be ashamed? We were created by the Mother, blessed by her gifts.” I pivoted slowly, enjoying how her eyes widened just a little more. "Should we not celebrate her love?"
She rolled her eyes, turning away with some effort, to my delight. "Celebrate it from a distance, why don't you."
I grinned and mockingly bowed. "As my lady commands."
She made a face, but there was no real irritation in her gaze. Just humor. I liked it. I liked how easy it was to joke with her. How she didn't seem to care about my title or simper at me with fake flattery. She treated me like any other person, and it was refreshing. It had been a long time since someone had treated me like a person instead of a warlord.
"Sleep well, Miralyte Tavora," I said, lying down on the couch. "Tomorrow, we begin the trials."
She lay down on the bed, pulling the covers over herself. I watched her for a few moments, then closed my eyes, letting out a soft sigh. The fire crackled softly beside me, filling the room with warmth. The air was thick with the scent of wood smoke, leather, and Miralyte's sweet scent.
Sleep came swiftly, accompanied by the gentle rhythm of her breathing.
eleven
Language of Storms
Miralyte
Thundercrackedsocloseit rattled the glass, snapping me awake. My breath caught, the sound still rolling through the stone like a low, living growl. For a moment I didn’t know where I was.
Then it hit me.
The bedroom. The castle. The fae realm. The Thunder Court.
Another flash split the sky, illuminating the room in stark white light. For a moment, I could see everything. The bookshelves, the heavy velvet curtains, the dark corners where shadows lurked. There was no sign of Zydar.
I pushed back the blankets and stood up, my bare feet sinking into the plush rug beneath the bed. I could feel the storm in my bones, a deep rumble that seemed toshake the very air. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. I didn't like thunderstorms, not at all.
I walked over to the window, peering outside. The clouds were heavy and dark, lit from within by bursts of lightning. I could see the training grounds below, the empty courtyard, the distant forest. It was strange how familiar it all looked, even though I'd never been here before.
I sighed, leaning against the windowsill. I had to admit, it was beautiful. Even though it was cold and damp, there was something about it that spoke to me, pulled me in. I didn't know why. Maybe it was because it reminded me of home. Maybe it was because I felt safe here, surrounded by magic and power and strength.
Or maybe it was just because I was lonely.
I closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath. I needed to find a way out of here, but first I had to learn more about this place, about its secrets, its weaknesses. And there was one way to do that.
I had to read.
I pushed away from the window, my mind drifting to Pelbie. If I left her to the mercy of this court, she wouldn’t last. She was too kind, too unguarded. And when they saw kindness here, they sharpened it into a blade to use against you.
If I wanted her out, I’d need more than defiance. I’d need a plan. Maps. Routines. Guards’ shifts. Hidden doors, if there were any. And every scrap of information on Zydar, because the man might pretend to be an immovable stone, but even the stone had cracks. I’d seen it for myself. Unbidden, the memory of his hand gently cradling my face came to mind. I shook it off, refusing to entertain such thoughts.
I turned, eyes sweeping over the room. The fire’s glow painted the shelves and desk in molten amber. Everythingwas… precise. Nothing was out of order. Even the quills and inkwells were lined up in straight little rows.
No personal items. No knickknacks. Nothing that gave away who this man really was. Just the books. All neatly arranged, orderly. Every one of them was bound in leather, wooden covers, or cloth. Some were older than the oldest ruins, their spines so cracked they were falling apart.
I wondered if Riden would like books. If he'd ever gone to a library, ever read a book. If he'd ever had someone read to him. I stared at the books, my hand reaching for the nearest one before I realized what I was doing.
