Page 214 of Blade of the Nightking

What was the point of sex if it produced nothing and led only to a dead end?

The bedroom was empty. Rìan wasn't there. My magic snapped at the stillness it found, displeased by his absence. It prowled restlessly beneath my skin, urging me to find him.

It wanted his magic. Wanted to consume it, touch it and claim it for its own. It had chosen him for the same reason it had chosen Aedric despite my mother's rejection all those years ago: it hungered for power, and power meant survival. I knew it was nothing more than instinct.

I peeled off the loose trousers, leaving on the oversized cream-colored shirt, then stretched out across the massive bed and stared up at my reflection in the mirrored ceiling.

I thought of Elyndra. Of her impossible beauty. Her shifting features.

I wondered…

Focusing on my reflection, I watched the color drain from my eyes. The shape of them changed moments later, lengthening into elegant almond points. A smile curved my full mouth.

Interesting. What else could I do?

Anything I could imagine, if Aedric had been right.

The thought should perhaps have been intimidating, but instead it filled me with a cool curiosity. I wondered how far I could push it, how many shapes and faces and possibilities lay hidden within me, waiting to be uncovered.

Whatever I envisioned, my magic could take me there.

I felt it waiting inside me as I lay awake, circling endlessly beneath my skin, round and round and round, like a shark gliding through water.

It was still night when the bedroom door finally opened.

Rìan stepped inside and stopped. The pulsing silver glow spilling from my skin illuminated the room just enough for me to see his gaze travel over me.

"Your magic..."

"Yes." The word slipped into the darkness.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. His hair was slightly dishevelled, his shirt hanging open at the throat. He looked tired. The observation registered without stirring any particular feeling.

His jaw worked. Then he cleared his throat and crossed the room. For a brief moment, I wondered whether he intended to get into the bed with me. The thought carried no embarrassment. No anticipation. It was simply a possibility that occurred to me.

Instead, he sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled off his boots. One dropped to the floor. Then the other.

He remained there for a moment, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the carpet. Finally, he lowered himself onto the floor beside the bed. “How long has it been back?”

“Hours.”

A heavy silence settled between us. I could sense him searching for the right words, turning them over before finally speaking.

"Elyndra…"

At the sound of her name, my magic stirred violently. It lashed beneath my skin, restless and possessive, reacting to something I could no longer feel myself. Whatever jealousy or hurt her name might once have provoked belonged entirely to the creature lurking inside me now, and I found myself observing its agitation with detached curiosity.

Interesting.

"She's very beautiful." I rolled onto my side, turning away from him.

He was quiet for so long I wondered if he intended to answer at all. When he finally did, his voice was low. "Not in ways that matter."

A humorless laugh escaped me.

Hours ago, I'd cared. The hurt and anger had been fierce enough to surprise me, though in hindsight there were perfectly reasonable explanations for it. Rìan and I had spent three miserable days crossing the salt flats together, half-starved, half-delirious, and dependent upon one another for survival. Shared hardship forged strange connections. Any resentment at watching him disappear behind those curtains with Elyndra likely stemmed from that and nothing more.

"So you've not reconciled?"