Khayrivven couldn’t tell if it was the flash in Ulder’s eyes that made the wild beast inside his chest come to life or the look in Lory’s as their hands touched, but the years and years of self-restraint were the only reason he didn’t fling himself between the two like an overprotective bodyguard and drag Lory from the room, consequences be damned.
Without a word, Ulder guided Lory from the room, Khayrivven following at two-paces distance, enough to put the guards at ease, but not enough for Lory’s heartbeat to fade from his hearing. So steady in the face of danger, so brave, while his own heart was racing.
He’d dance with Elina.
With a deep inhale, he squinted, focusing on the back of Lory’s head, where her hair flowed in silken, black waves to her waist—a view which, on a normal day, he’d have devoured and committed to memory to replay in his dreams, but tonight, his focus was on what lay inside Lory’s head.
“Gutter Gem,”he called, tendrils of translucent black floating toward her as he sent fingers of his dreamweaving powers at her.“Can you hear me?”
In front of him, Lory stumbled, catching herself on the king’s arm as her attention clearly awoke inside the limited dreamscape Khayrivven conjured.
“Keep Ulder busy as long as you can…. And be careful.”His words trailed away even as he thought them, Lory blinking out of the temporary trance and gathering her bearings.
“Apologies, my king. I must have tripped.”
At least she knew how to lie to save her ass. If Ulder knew the full spectrum of Khayrivven’s skills, he’d have a serious problem on top of all the serious problems piling up on his doorstep.
A dance with Elina. Khayrivven suppressed the nervousness creeping up on him, instead watching Ulder steady Lory, whose shoulders slumped the slightest bit at the king’s touch.
Oh, she knew how to play her role. Perhaps she wasn’t outstanding in Gilded, not a master of court protocol and etiquette. Those things could be learned. The talent Lory possessed was something else entirely.
Had Khayrivven not seen her haunt Dunai’s alleys as a thief, he wouldn’t have believed her capable of it. Had he not watched her climb the obstacles in the training yard, he would never have believed she could make it up a ladder, that was how good she was at slipping into the role of the compliant little butterfly the king wanted to see.
At the sight of how she used that tiny moment of weakness to step into a new role, Khayrivven’s chest swelled with pride, and he knew that he’d always been right about Elory Vednis.
HisGutter Gem.
He’d used that name as mockery long before it had become an endearment to her. But for him, it had always had the same meaning: Lory was a gem. A gem he’d found in the gutters of this sun-beaten city. A gem for whom he’d risked far more than his reputation to retrieve, and for whom he’d put his life on the line to keep. His own, personal heist.
It was a Guardians-damned miracle that she’d spoken those sweet three little words earlier, when he’d wrung her pleasure from her with his hand. Three little words he couldn’t afford to even think, or he’d lose himself to the sensation threading itself through his chest from the moment he’d laid eyes on her as he’d stalked Dunai’s street for the sister of the man with the golden spark of magic.
And now that he watched that same woman sparkle in ways the rest of the world would never understand, the fire in Khayrivven’s veins burned hotter, brighter, a volcano of power which he’d been aching to unleash on this palace and the king who ruled.
A power which he couldn’t let take over unless it was to harm Ulder’s enemies. He’d sworn it, and his word seemed to be more binding than he’d intended when he’d spoken the words.
Whether that was a fairy thing or a different sort of spell that had been put on him, Khayrivven had spent years trying to determine—without luck.
Unlike in the early days of his powers, when he’d been a walking inferno, these days his flames rarely showed when he summoned them, like a blanket was suffocating the embersin his blood—except, of course, to harm the king’s enemies. That they still knew how to do.
Their footsteps echoed along the marble hallway, the sound blending into the beat of the music floating in through the open ballroom doors.
When Khayrivven stepped over the threshold, Ulder was already reeling Lory into a small circle, leading her into a measured dance. At a nod from Ulder, one of the guards split away from the half-circle of protection they’d formed around the king, heading toward the dais at a clipped pace.
Khayrivven’s heart sank into his knees as the guard stopped before the empty throne, gesturing for Elina to follow him, then turned on his heels and led the way down the stairs, Elina trailing behind in elegant strides, while a hint of worry creased her forehead.
Ulder halted his dance at the approach of the guard, and Khayrivven froze where he still stood at the edge of the dance floor, his heart pounding too fast and his hands sweaty for the first time in years, as the king waved him over with one hand, the other remaining on Lory’s waist.
“Elina, meet Khayrivven,” he said in that dignified tone that would make people believe Ulder was a gracious king, “the youngest captain my military has seen in ages.” Ulder turned to Khayrivven, who was trying to make sense of the beautiful young woman in front of him, her face so similar to their mother’s, her hair like molten bronze. And her bright blue eyes shone with curiosity as they met Khayrivven’s.
“Captain Falcrest, meet Elina, my ward.”
“Ward,” Khayrivven mouthed, trying to piece together what that might have meant for Elina for the past almost two decades.
“You will dance with the captain, Elina,” Ulder said with gentle force, a tone that clarified he wouldn’t tolerate any objections.
Elina curtsied with more grace than Khayrivven could have imagined possible, the gold necklace at her throat shifting with the movement, and her dusty pink skirts shimmering in the candlelight. “Yes, my king.”
There was no emotion in her tone. No fear. Whether that was a good thing, Khayrivven yet needed to determine.
