Her gaze flicked to the bed. “I suppose you’re about to find out, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.” He peered down at her, his lip scar curving up in a sinful grin.
And then Elyria was squealing again, because Cedric was on his feet, and she was in his arms. He strode over and tossed her onto the bed. She bounced twice before pulling herself to the edge of the mattress.
“Come to bed then, Your Highness,” she said, crooking her finger at him.
Cedric rolled his eyes, but he was laughing as he untucked his tunic and moved closer to her. That laugh morphed into a light hiss when he pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric grazing his cheek.
“Tsk, you’re bleeding again.”
“Barely,” he grumbled, dropping his tunic on the floor. He raised a hand to his face and dabbed at his cheekbone, where the small cut he’d received during the battle in the throne room had torn open again.
“I don’t know why you won’t just let me heal it for you.”
“It’s dramatic,” he offered with a tipped smile. “Gives me a certain battle-worn mystique, don’t you think? Plus, I hear the ladies like scars.”
She lifted an unimpressed brow. “Oh? Do tell. What ladies are these?”
He grinned. “Never mind.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. Then, after a beat, she added, “I like the scars you already have. I would prefer it if you didn’t collectany additional ones.”
Cedric’s smile faltered at the edges—not sad, not melancholy. Just serious. Contemplative.
Several beats passed in silence, before Elyria said down the bond,“What’s the real reason?”
Cedric hesitated.“I want the reminder. Of the victory, however temporary. Of our losses, however grave. Of the promise.”
“What promise?”
“To make him pay.”
Another beat.“You made me a promise too, you know.”
The knight’s brow furrowed, then released as he remembered.“I did.”
She sat back on her ankles, sinking into the mattress.“In Elderglade, you promised that long walk wouldn’t end the same way the last one did.”
“And it didn’t.”He shrugged, but the clench of his jaw belied his attempt at dismissal.
“Cedric.” Her voice was much calmer than she felt. The memory of the way he had suddenly appeared before her in the throne room had her heart hammering in her chest. The way he’d stepped in front of that bolt of blood magic played on a loop in her mind. She would never be able to forget the sight of it carving through the air, coming for him.
Because he had come for her.
Elyria’s wing twitched. She’d healed the spot where that son of a bitch Thibault—Audaxus, whoever—had clipped her with his magic, but it would be a while before the shock of that pain faded from her memory. Just like it would be a while before she would forgive this stupid, stubborn, beautiful man for trying to sacrifice himselfagain.
Elyria reached out a hand, snagging his token and using it to pull him down to face-height with her. “You are not allowed to die for me, do you understand? You are not allowed to die at all. I forbid it.”
He gave her a wistful smile. “Tell me how, and I’ll oblige.”
Elyria’s heart seemed stuck between wanting to soar over her knight’s quick wit, the way he always seemed to know how to call back to the smallest nuggets of their former conversations, and simultaneously wanting to sink at the sadness in his voice.
“Still with that excellent attitude,” she said. “But I am serious, Cedric.”
He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “I know you are.”
She inhaled sharply through her nose, then released the breath in a long, slow stream. “Good. I’ll consider this matter settled for now then.”
