Page 87 of Blade of the Nightking

Except I was alone. And he was…

I felt Veylan’s attention settle on me, his colorless stare boring into the side of my face. “He’s done a remarkable job of unraveling you, hasn’t he? You were already out of sorts in Thistra, but now…”

“He’s my mate, Veylan.” I turned on him, holding his gaze despite the burn climbing my throat. “I’d die for him without hesitation. Do not mistake that for weakness.”

His lips pressed together, considering me. “I cannot imagine why you would choose such a fate.” His tone remained mild, almost curious. “If anything, you should be on your knees thanking the Dark Prince for correcting a rather disastrous situation.”

I moved to shut the door in his face, but his shadows slipped forward, catching it before it could close.

“After all,” he went on, unbothered, “mate or no mate, I would think what he has done to you would be… difficult to forgive.”

He lifted a finger and tapped his own cheek, a silent indication of where Aedric had struck me. Had his shadows been watching us?

Rage flared in an instant. “Everything that happened,” I said, my voice shaking with it, “is because your Dark Prince has been playing with us like pieces on a board.”

“Your disillusionment is not Rìan’s doing,” Veylan replied coolly. “Nor is your tendency toward poor decisions. You, especially, are prone to impressive mistakes.”

He stepped back at last, his shadows peeling away from the door and curling lazily around his shoulders.

“When the bond is broken,” he said softly, “Rìan might kill you, you know.”

I held his gaze and said nothing.

“Because the alternative,” he went on, “is allowing something far more dangerous than him to exist—you, with power like that and so little control over it. Alas…” He tutted softly. “That may prove to be a risk even he won't take.”

“So be it,” I lifted my chin.

He scoffed softly, but there was something like approval in it. “As much as I dislike you, I had forgotten how entertaining you can be. You present yourself as harmless—almost naive—but there is a surprising edge beneath it all. It is… unexpected.”

“You’ve always brought out the best in me, Veylan,” I said evenly.

That earned a quiet laugh. He clasped his hands neatly behind his back and turned away.

“Sweet dreams, Eidra.”

CHAPTER 18

Burnt amber. Rain on stone. Smoke in the distance.

The scent of him was everywhere. I breathed him in deeply, letting him fill my lungs as the distant sounds of Solmire drifted up from far below the citadel—low chatter, the roll of wheels over cobbles, the faint call of merchants.

Solmire.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, shrill and jarring, and my eyes snapped open. The illusion shattered.

It wasn’t Solmire. It had never been Solmire. It could never be Solmire again.

Aedric.

My hands gripped the sheets as I pushed myself upright. The scent of him clung stubbornly to me—but it wasn’t coming from his body beside mine. It came from the shirt hanging loose around my shoulders.

His shirt.

I remembered pulling it on, my hands shaking, before I stumbled into bed and collapsed, the grief dragging me under before I could think. I’d cried myself to sleep; my face was stiff with dried tears, my eyes swollen.

The night before came crashing back in a sudden rush, every moment as vivid as if it were happening again. My heart ached. How could it still beat after what I’d done?

I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms tightly around them, as though I could physically hold the pieces of myself together. I couldn’t break—wouldn’t break—not here, not now. I buried my face in the fabric and inhaled, dragging the scent of him into my lungs again and again, letting the lingering traces of him steady me.