“You’re an incredible sort of wizard, Dom.”
He lets out a shuddering breath. “Wish that wasn’t true. I could stand to be... just a normal kind of wizard.”
I gently lead him back to the bed, and he follows me without protest as I push him to sit. Then, I go to grab the healer’s kit from his closet. His spells are tucked away in the back, hanging from a hook on the wall, but as I look them over, there’s not a darkened spell among them.
The mystery of where that magic came from won’t get solved tonight, but I tuck it in the back of my mind before I open the healer’s kit. I’m no beginner at dealing with casting room mishaps, so I make quick work of putting burn salve over my blistered wrists.
Dom comes to help, grabbing a roll of clean bandages that he carefully wraps around my wrists. His fingers are gentle as he ties the bandages, his warm hand squeezing mine when he’s finished.
“What do you want to do, love?” I ask as I study his face.
He lets out a long breath before saying, “I want to try to go back to sleep, but it doesn’t feel right to ask you to stay with me.”
I hum before I push him back to the bed. “I’ve given myself worse burns on accident. I’m not afraid.”
“Olbric -”
“Hush,” I say gently as I join him, dragging the rumpled quilt up to cover us both.
Dom looks at me, his eyes wide and pleading. “What if it happens again? I-I don’t want to hurt you.”
My hand presses against his chest before I lean forward to deliver a gentle kiss. “You would be hard-pressed to hurt me in a way that wasn’t welcome. I know the risks, and I’m staying anyway. Sleep,” I order gently.
Dom searches my face, his brow pinched with worry, but I smooth it away as I catch his lips again. I make this one linger, exploring his mouth with my tongue before I nibble his lower lip gently. He lets out a long sigh, his body slowly relaxing. When I finally pull back, I don’t go far as I nestle against his chest.
I doze to the feeling of his fingers stroking through my hair, my blinks getting longer and longer. Yet when my eyes flicker open sometime later, I’m alone in his bed, and the spot he had occupied has long gone cold.
New Orders
All you have to do to keep relations peaceable with the Strae Crown is simply give them whatever they ask for. You may not like doing it, but it is an easy and reliable strategy.
From the journal of Grandmaster Fawn Maitre, previous Grandmaster of the Crux.
GETTING READY TO MEETwith royalty is always a production, but it’s one I’m used to. My mother used to take me to endless conferences with Duchess Mahia, trying to curry favor with the upper echelons of Kenitkan nobility.
Preparing for it always took hours, but I’m not a naturally patient person. I’ve since managed to cut that time down substantially. Yet even that doesn’t seem to be quick enough for Arlon.
Grudgingly, he lets me trim his beard and hair before I help him coif it to perfection. His black hair has earned some extra grays recently, but he strikes a dashing figure, especially when he dons the deep purple robes of his station over neatly pressed trousers and shirt.
I leave most of my curls to hang free, though I braid the hair at my temples back over my ears before clamping silver beads onto the ends. They match the silvery threads of the Strae-style gown,which isn’t my preference, but it’s far warmer than the outfits I have from home. And with the storm that blew in yesterday, the cold has arrived.
Once we’re both as ready as we can be, we head to the front gates. Symon has already pulled a carriage around for us, but a new guard is on duty today, a brick-faced man who gives a curt nod as we approach. Nikolai, Teagan, and a few of the others will at least exchange pleasantries, but this one apparently has few things to say outside of the script of his normal duties.
“Do you have an estimation of when you’ll be back?” the guard asks.
Arlon gives him an imperious look, and the man seems to realize that was the wrong thing to ask. It’s no secret that Arlon is barely tolerating the Royal Guard’s presence at the Crux. Wizards are more than capable of protecting themselves, but he doesn’t have the authority to send them away, even as Grandmaster.
“Whenever our meeting with the King is concluded,” Arlon says coolly. “See that the gates remain open until we return.”
The guard clears his throat and offers a slight bow. “Yes, sir.”
“Grandmaster,” Arlon corrects, and going off the way the man’s face drops, he had no idea who he was speaking to.
“Y-yes, Grandmaster,” the guard says, throwing a salute across his chest almost reflexively. I fight back a smile as we climb into the carriage.
The trip to the palace is quiet, Arlon’s distant gaze focused out of the window. Yet the further away we get from the Crux, the deeper the furrow in his brow grows. The clatter of cobblestones passing under our wheels is only broken when I ask, “Are you alright?”
Arlon blinks, reeling his thoughts back in from wherever he cast them to. “I will be.”
