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Something about the way he’s looking at me tugs at the center of my heart, and I’m unwilling to dive into thewhysandhowsof what he might call luck.
For a few heartbeats, I just breathe in his scent, my skin still tingling with the lingering sensation of release, but there is one word that comes back to me from our earlier conversation.
“Neredyn—” I ask, trying to keep my tone even as I hope to unravel something about him that I didn’t know before. “Where is that?”
Myron’s gaze is the beginning and the end of the oceans I’ve dreamed of sailing as he answers, “East.”
Thirty-Five
About noon,a knock on the door startles me from a deep slumber, and I almost slide from the mattress as I shoot into a sitting position, covers clasped to my chest.
“Come in.” Myron’s voice sounds from the general direction of the couch, strong and sure like nothing happened last night and I’m not in his bed, naked and with his scent all over me. But as our gazes collide a heartbeat before the door springs open and Royad strides in, it’s all there. The heat, the ecstasy of his touch, the tingle in my flesh, the memory of his body against mine. And the onslaught of sensations nearly steals my breath.
I dive into the pillows, tugging the covers to my chin just in time as the door swings open.
“Fuck the gods if they can’t keep those traitors in check,” Royad grumbles by way of greeting, aiming right for the chair across from Myron, who hasn’t taken his eyes off me, heat echoing in their black depths as if he is having as much trouble as I have to focus on the present when the most recent past is so much more pleasurable.
“Fuck them, indeed,” Myron agrees, a mild grin on his lips that makes him look less like a king and more like a male ready to climb back into bed with me.
I smile back at him even when trepidation of Royad’s reaction once he realizes I’m here—in Myron’s bed, naked—chases the euphoria from my chest.
Royad drops into the chair, back turned toward me out of courtesy or because he really hasn’t noticed me, I don’t care. What it does is give me the opportunity to scan the floor beside the bed for the tunic that survived last night—as opposed to my pants. Those lie in ribbons all over the floor between my slippers and the nightstand.
I stifle a shiver at the memory of what that led to before throwing a begging glance at Myron, who’s still smiling like the moron he is as he watches me squirm.
“We lost about ten Crows to the traitors,” Royad reports, tone all business. “I don’t know what they were after, but it must have been something important because they didn’t even stop at the threat of their life when we followed them into the forest.”
Myron’s eyes cut to Royad for a heartbeat before finding mine again, and I can’t help the warmth spreading through my veins like a magic of its own—especially when that grin turns into a more serious, deeper expression that has my breath catching in my throat.
“It’s like the day of the blood sacrifice all over again,” Royad rolls on. “They are pushing toward the borders, and they have been convincing more to join their faction. Shaelak knows what they are trying to achieve, but they are becoming more adept at tricking what few loyal guards we have. Are you even listening to me, or are your thoughts halfway back into Ayna’s pants?”
I cough, heat staining my cheeks crimson as he lifts a hand to wave at me without turning around. “Good morning, Queen Wolayna.”
“Morning,” I mumble, reaching for my tunic and slipping it on before I set my feet on the hardwood floor.
Myron’s eyes track the length of my bare legs, and they light up in that bluish tint I thought I imagined the night before, but it’s definitely there, even from a distance. But he clears his throat and drops his gaze, waving a hand at the foot end of the bed. “Here.” A stack of black velvet appears next to one of leather. “Take your pick. Lazy day in bed or training with the fairy princess.”
The velvet gown looks comfortable enough to climb right back into bed and snuggle into it, but the shock of last night’s assassination attempt resurfaces as the magic of the night with the Crow King slowly dissipates. It’s an easy choice when I reach for the black leather pants.
“No peeking,” I tell the Crows as I slide into the leathers and tie my hair in a loose bun at the back of my head with one of the stripes of fabric from yesterday’s pants.
When I’m done, I join the males by the table with a smile on my face that is supposed to hide every last bit of terror as the other memories from last night return—the flashes of magic in the entrance hall, Myron collapsed on the stone floor, the lake rushing down the stairs in an all-consuming wave. The bloodied water streaming out of the assassins’ bodies.
Suddenly, I can’t sit down fast enough, my legs turning weak under the weight of the events—of what I prevented.
“They weren’t after anything outside the palace,” I tell Royad as he watches me sink into the chair next to him, then glances at Myron, who’s scooted a few inches to the side to make room for me to sit at the exact same moment. The disappointment flashing in the king’s eyes is harder to ignore than the squeamishness in my stomach at the simple fact that even Royad didn’t know what truly happened. “They must have lured you out so they could attack him in peace.”
I jerk my chin at Myron, who has draped his wing over the armrest of the couch, talons digging into the carved piece where the upholstery coils around the frame.
“An assassination attempt,” Myron spells it out for his friend, whose face has turned pale enough to rival Myron’s light skin tone.
“Not the fire fairies for once, though,” I continue as if it were my place to hand out such information in this court. But this is Royad, and he needs to know. He’s the only one who’ll be around to protect Myron once my life has ended—by traitors or the Flames, it doesn’t matter. I can’t sit around and hope that the lake of tears will answer to me again—or that it will if my own life is at stake instead of that of the king.
As I explain what happened to Royad even in more detail than what I shared with Myron the night before, the Crow’s eyes become wider and wider, and with any normal set of eyes, I should have been able to see a thick white ring around the irises by now. But Crow eyes are all-black, and so all I see is a night-dark, almond-shaped window into my friend’s terror as he listens patiently, not interrupting once until I’ve unveiled all secrets of how I saved the Crow King from his own people with the help of a murderous lake.
Only when my words dry up does he brace his wings on his knees, leaning slightly over the table as he locks his gaze on Myron and asks, “She must like you a lot in order to put her life at risk to save yours.”
It’s the most unexpected thing for him to say, and the most irrelevant one, so I brush a loose strand of hair from my forehead and give him a sideways glance. “I’m sure you’d have done the same, you know, had you not allowed the traitors to draw you away from your duty.”
