Page 92 of Blade of the Nightking

Finally, he exhaled and closed the book slowly before lifting his gaze to mine. I loathed him. Loathed that I was bound to him. And in that moment, there was no mistaking the look on his face. He loathed me just as deeply.

His eyes pinned me where I sat, dark and unforgiving.

Dark.

I blinked.

His eyes…

For a moment, I simply stared at him, trying to reconcile what I knew with the scowling male across from me. The silver… it was gone.

“Your eyes are brown,” I blurted.

Rìan frowned, but didn’t answer. Immediately, heat rose to my face.

Segolayne let out a mocking breath behind me. “She’s drunk, my lord.”

His brows lifted slightly, the smallest movement, as Veylan cackled somewhere in the shadows. All I could see was his grin, suspended in the darkness like a crescent moon.

Rìan folded his arms across his chest, his sleeves shoved past his elbows, the lean muscle and tendons of his forearms standing out beneath his skin.

“To break this bond, we need to decipher Levinica's prophecy.”

My heart sank. So they hadn't found anything.

He drew a single page toward him, and I recognized it immediately—Levinica's vision, hastily transcribed in Segolayne's hand.

“So you’re going to help me find these gates.”

He gave a brief nod toward Segolayne. A moment later, a stack of books landed in front of me with a heavy thud.

Rìan pointed toward them. “Start reading.”

I stared at the pile, the damaged volumes stacked precariously, their burned covers barely holding together the parchment-thin pages.

He took my silence for defiance, his fingers pressing into the pitted wood as he leaned toward me, his voice dropping low, threaded with warning. “If you want your precious mate’s mind returned to you anytime soon—then read.”

I looked up from the books, wishing the floor would open and swallow me whole.

“I can’t.”

A deep growl rumbled from him. “Read, Eidra. That’s an order.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. “I can’t,” I shot back, the words cutting despite the twist of shame that knifed through me.

His brows drew together, something shifting in his expression as he paused. And then repeated, more slowly this time, deliberately enunciating each word, “You can’t read.”

Segolayne let out a derisive snort, but I ignored her, keeping my gaze locked on his.

“That’s what I said.”

He straightened, baring his teeth as he looked down his straight nose at me in open disgust. “So you’re telling me,” he said, his voice low with contempt, “that not only are you a useless Eidra who can’t properly wield her magic, but you’re also an illiterate…” He let the word hang. “…and a drunk.”

My cheeks burned, my throat tightening. “I’m not a drunk.” The words came out small and weak.

Segolayne’s laughter broke over the alcove, loud and ugly, grating against something already tender inside me.

He reached for the stack of books and dragged them toward himself. Opening one, he bent over the pages without another glance in my direction.