Even if that prospect was inevitable, I wanted to come to terms with it on my own first.
Instinctively, I reached for my Destruction Magic, intent to eliminate the threat I held tightly between my fingers. The familiar smell of ashes and embers swirled around my forearms as my power whispered the promise of destruction in my ear.
Gulping a breath to fortify myself, I froze when I heard a soft whimper come from the person I held.
“Rohak.” It was a whisper of a plea, filled with brokenness and acceptance. I paused, my magic swirling around me like a tempest, prepared to take, take, take. I couldfeelit, ready to annihilate the threat I held in my arms, but still, I paused.
Never lifting my head, I opened my eyes, unaware when I had closed them. I forced myself to loosen my hold on my magic as I used my senses to adequately assess the situation.
Bare feet.
The scent of pine and parchment.
Faylinn.
Instantly, with just the thought of her name, my power snapped back, retreating to the crystals I kept pressed to my skin at all times in my belt. I felt cold and bereft as it fled, a feeling I grew more accustomed to the more often I used my power. But today, I felt every inch of the disgust that was left after pulling on my magic.
I almost killed Lex. Now Faylinn.
I shuddered with barely repressed disgust.
“Rohak,” she whispered again, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from the floor.
“You should go,” I bit out raggedly, my voice sharper than I intended. While it would be disastrous for a servant to see me this way, it would be even worse if Faylinn saw. I could probably pass my bloody nose off to a servant as the result of a scuffle in a bar—far-fetched yet still believable.
Faylinn, though, would see the blood and know immediately what was happening.
Then, she would try to fix it.
Because, no matter what I thought of her previous actions, she wanted to fix, she wanted to help. It’s who she was at her core, or so I hoped and believed.
I kept my head bowed away from her, and tensed when I felt her thin, warm hand gently caress my elbow.
It was only then that I realized how hard I was squeezing her—definitely hard enough to leave bruises on her flesh. Half of my mind—the primal half insatiably and unmistakably drawn to her—like the idea of my mark on her body. But the other half—my more rational half—knew that, not only was Faylinn not meant for me in that way, but I had hurt her with my caustic words and actions after the attack in Hestin.
My rational brain won, and I tensed my fingers around her small biceps, relishing in the warmth of her skin through her shirt, before I released her and backed away toward the stairs.
“Go to your room, Faylinn,” I barked, lacing my words with the authority I usually saved for my Mages.
I felt, more than saw, her bristle at my tone and knew that I had unerringly fucked up. Again.
It seems that’s all I can do with her.
“Rohak,” she sighed in exasperation, but I swiveled on my heel, my cloak swishing behind me as I beelined for the stairs. Faylinn called to me again, her voice echoing in the empty hallway and bouncing around the staircase—my own personal ghost—but I ignored her, instead taking the stairs two at a time.
I strode through the hallway to my door, which was guarded by two hand-selected Mages. They gave me a brief nod of acknowledgment, but their eyes never strayed from the singular point of entry on this level.
“No one is to come in,” I ordered as the Mage Orb that locked my door recognized my signature and my door popped open.
“Understood, General,” one of the Mages replied. I grunted an acknowledgment before encasing myself in the safe darkness of solitude.
Chapter 32
Faylinn
“Go to your room, Faylinn,” I mimicked in a deep, gruff voice that was a poor imitation of General d’Alvey’s low growl.
“Ordering me around like a child,” I muttered as I petulantly stomped to my room at the opposite end of the hall from Ellowyn. “I’m only entering my room becauseIwant to, not becausehetold me to.”
