Page 43 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

Holding a hand out in front of me, I flex my fingers, curious about the prickling that dances over them. My legs stretch towards the back of the cell, the cot disturbed from its usual place, the blanket Xander brought me hanging partially over the edge. What happened?

But it all begins to trickle in—Immie being tortured by the king’s advisor. Commander Miles taunting me. The memories. The panic. The silence and then… That place with Selene. There will come a time when Rhea will need your help.

I bite down on my lower lip to keep from laughing at the lunacy of what my brain has conjured up. I hadn’t been able to help Rhea at all. My pulse quickens as a fresh wave of panic begins to wrap around my throat. The beat of my heart sounds discordant to my ears, as if an echo of itself.

I’m a half second too late to realize why.

His throat clears, and I yelp, scrambling to reach for the blanket. Hunched over to keep myself hidden, I yank the thin fabric from the bed and pull it up in front of me, wrapping it around myself haphazardly. When I finally get my bearings, I glance back up at the guard on the other side of the cell door, relieved and then annoyed to find that it is Xander.

“I— Uh. I was coming to check on you and—” His head is turned, looking at the torch on the adjacent wall, his cheeks a shade of red so bright, I wonder if I could feel the heat rising to them if I were to touch him. For only the second or third time since I’ve known him, his heart races behind his ribs. “I’m sorry,” he says, keeping his gaze averted. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How long were you standing there?” I look back down at the ground, finding the tunic and pants I was wearing before I shifted. My eyes widen as the torn scraps of my undergarments also litter the ground. Stars above.

I quickly scoop them up—unusable as they are—and then realize I have nowhere to hide them. Palms growing clammy, I grab the torn shirt and pants and bundle it all together, a ball full of shame. Well, shame and utter embarrassment. Shifters notoriously are fine being naked, but it has been so long since anyone has seen me in such a state, since I have seen anyone in such a state, that it feels absolutely foreign.

“Not long. Well, long enough to see that you were naked—that you weren’t wearing clothes—so I started to back away, but then you woke up, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt—” He drags in a breath, his body so stiff that he could easily be mistaken for a statue were he set out in a garden.

Clutching the blanket around me with one hand and the torn clothing to my chest with the other, I watch as the guard who has always presented himself as calm and collected fumbles his way through an explanation.

“I swear I did not see anything private and— Fuck. I just need— Can you get dressed please?” Turning, he gives me his back as he runs a hand through his hair, messily pulling strands out of the bun that is tied there.

Throat impossibly dry, I try my best to work a swallow down before my mouth opens and then shuts, my mind attempting to rationalize what I can tell him versus what I can’t. He’s a Trusted—the worst of King Dolian’s guards—and he had lied about it. I run through our past interactions and find that, while I can’t bring myself to believe everything he says, I do believe that he won’t try to take advantage of me while I’m in such a vulnerable state. Not once has he even attempted to do so. “I can’t get dressed.”

His back stiffens, the muscles beneath his thin shirt coiling with tension. He isn’t wearing his normal chest and back armor. In fact, he isn’t wearing any of the gaudy gold at all. Nothing but the thin dagger strapped to his thigh gleams as metal. “What do you mean?”

“My clothes are ruined.”

His hands fall from his hips down to the sides of his body, each finger curling in one by one until he’s made two fists. “The bastard,” he rumbles under his breath, the sound drying my throat out farther. “I will ensure he hurts tenfold for what he’s done—”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Commander Miles,” Xander answers, his anger palpable. “I knew he was nothing but scum. Lower than the dirt we walk on, but I truly didn’t expect him to hurt you like this. I swear to you, if I had thought—”

“Oh, he didn’t ruin my clothing,” I cut in, shifting awkwardly on my feet. “I shifted, somehow, and the clothing tore in the process.”

Xander releases a breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. “He didn’t touch you?” There’s an edge to the question, desperation that tugs at something deep in my gut.

“No.” Why do you care? I clench my jaw to keep the question from tumbling out and remind myself what is at stake. “Can you bring me some new clothing?”

“I think I can do even better than that.”

Brows scrunching, my eyes widen as Xander begins untucking his black tunic from his pants, reaching behind his back with one hand and grasping it at the collar. The top comes off in one smooth motion, revealing a white undershirt that hugs the muscles across his back and over his shoulders.

“Here.” Blindly, he carefully extends his hand out behind him. “Take this for now.”

I hesitate, my eyes dancing from him to the shirt to the torn clothing in my hand. Goosebumps flare over my bare skin beneath the thin blanket, a flushed sensation rolling through me. But I squash it down as I grab the tunic from his hand.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Wh—”

Xander is already striding into the darkness and away from my cell, not in the direction of the stairs but towards the torture room, the door already open. He shuts it behind him, and I heave out a sigh. Dropping my torn clothes onto the cot, I glance around as I listen, ensuring that no other guard is here before I quickly shove myself into Xander’s tunic. His warmth still permeates the thicker fabric—as does his scent. Bringing the collar to my nose, I inhale deeply. There is something woodsy, like pine or a freshly cut tree. It reminds me of the first nights of autumn, when Rhea and I would sit on the balcony and watch the sun set, the sky ablaze in shades of deep orange and vibrant pink. Beneath that is something soapy, a hint of mint, and the faintest note of citrus. The blend immediately seeps into me, and my eyes temporarily shut as I breathe it in. Breathe him in.

The thought forces my eyes open again. He’s just a man, Siyala, I chide. You’ve become accustomed to the foul odors of the dungeon. This is not that alluring. But as I drag a hand down the front of his tunic, my fingers gripping the hem that reaches the middle of my thighs, a smaller voice that feels suspiciously like my animal whispers to me. Liar. I like the way he smells. Like the lingering warmth that is wrapped around me. “Idiot. He lied to you.”

Needing to distract myself, I fix the askew cot and then set the pile of ripped clothing next to it. Taking a seat on the edge, I quietly call out for Immie, but she must be asleep because she doesn’t answer.

With nothing else to do, my mind betrays me and drifts back to Xander and his threats against the commander. I picture the way his body bore evidence of his anger. “I will ensure he hurts tenfold…” My lips purse at the promise that was in his voice, a strange warmth not due to my magic stirring low in my stomach. His tunic sits heavily along my skin, the image of his hands curling into fists making my heart pound just a little harder. Would he truly hurt the commander if he thought the man had touched me? Had I only imagined his disheveled fluster as he tried to talk to me? My canine drags over my lower lip, the tense lines of his face floating into my mind.