I’daskedfor this—orchestrated it, commanded it, performed it. Demanded that Rohak take a Vessel to save himself, knowing this would be the outcome.
It was one thing to help facilitate the intimacy between a newly Bonded Mage and Vessel—that happened far more often than people realized. His body’s reaction to me, rather than his Vessel, was a straight shot to my ego and a complete aphrodisiac. Despite telling myself over and over that I was just performing the duties of a Bond Specialist—despite trying to convince myself that Rohak wasjusta patient—I’d felt my panties grow wet and slick, my body responding to his arousal.
But it was another thing entirely to stay in the room and watch while he fucked another woman.
Objectively, I knew he had to; I knew that the Bond would be restless and not function correctly if they didn’t consummate directly after the ceremony.
But it didn’t stop raging jealousy and desperate feelings of inadequacy from ruling my thoughts and dropping my stomach like a stone.
I felt sick; my skin was tight and itchy, my stomach a rolling mess of anxiety and sadness.
My feet carried me of their own accord and, before I knew it, I was standing outside Ellowyn’s door.
Yes. Yes, Ellowyn is who I need to see.
I rapped my knuckles against the door, willing her to open it immediately so I could slink inside and sink into my grief unperturbed.
But she never answered.
I knocked again before jiggling the door handle, thinking maybe she was in the bathroom, but it was locked. She only ever locked it when she was gone.
Probably at the Academy, training.
She’d thrown herself into training ever since Lord d’Refan granted her request, and I missed my friend, even though I was proud of her for taking command of her own life.
I shakily sighed before resting my head against the wooden door with a dullthunk.
“Looking for Ellowyn?” a smooth voice with a soft, unplaceable accent called from just to my right.
I jumped at the sudden question and hastily dried my face on the sleeves of my dress, attempting to make myself presentable. I was in the home of the future king, after all, and was unsure who I would speak to at any given time.
Tears quelled and cheeks wiped, I spun slowly to regard the male intruder.
He was tall and lithe with messy dark-blond hair and honey eyes that held amusement and seriousness in equal measure, like he could transition from laughing to war planning in a seamless blink. The man’s jaw looked cut from stone, his high cheekbones and full lips giving his masculinity a slight feminine edge.
“Lord Torin d’Eshu,” he said, pointing at his chest, and I relaxed slightly. This was the man Ellowyn was engaged to before she was unceremoniously married to Lord d’Refan. She trusted him, which meant I did as well, to a slightly lesser degree.
“Faylinn,” I said, pointing to myself with a shrug. “No fancy titles here, but everyone calls me Fay.”
Rohak was the only one who called me Faylinn, and, selfishly, I wanted to keep that little piece for myself, especially if it was the only piece of him I’d ever get.
His blond eyebrows rose slightly, and a spark of recognition flared in his eyes before he dropped his hand from his chest.
“Are you okay, Fay?” Torin’s eyes held concern and warmth in equal measure, his hand twitching as if he desired to reach out and comfort me.
For some reason, I felt completely relaxed around him, trusted him. Like my soul intrinsically knew his.
I smiled wanly and shook my head.
“No, I’m not,” I admitted, and Torin barked a laugh.
“Can’t say I’m used to women being honest about their feelings.”
A watery laugh escaped me at his admission and I shook my head lightly, my curls bouncing around my shoulders.
“That just delays the inevitable and never solves the problem,” I said. “I was also raised by a single father who was blunt but not unkind, so I get my directness from him.”
My heart panged at the thought of Holt, but the bitter was quickly followed by the sweet; I got to speak of him as if he were my father, and I found that I loved that.
