Page 20 of Embers of Ruin

“Are you afraid of him?” I ask quietly.

Onyx considers my question as his gaze drifts toward the fire. “Who?”

I know he knows who I’m referring to. I have the distinct feeling he wants to hear me say it aloud. So I do.

“The Shadow King.”

For a moment, I think he won't answer at all. I wonder if he’ll just ignore me as he usually does when he doesn’t want to answer me. Then he exhales.

“I respect him. He is a good king who does what he must for his people.”

My face scrunches in distaste; that isn’t what I asked. I study him for a long moment. “You didn't say no.”

His silence lasts a heartbeat too long. “No,” he says at last. “I didn't.”

The answer sends a chill through me that has nothing to do with the weather outside. Because if a man like Onyx respects the Shadow King but won't claim he isn't afraid of him, then what exactly awaits me at the end of this journey?

The question follows me as I crawl beneath the blankets, though my attention keeps drifting back toward him. Firelight dances across the room, casting warm gold over his features and softening some of those sharp edges he wears like armor. Gods, Onyx has never looked more—I stop that thought immediately.

As if sensing my stare, he reaches for the hem of his tunic and pulls it over his head. My breath catches. Not because I'm impressed—absolutely not because I'm impressed. I look away so quickly that my neck nearly protests.

“What’s wrong, Tarethyn?” His voice is thick with amusement. “Have you never seen a male undress before?”

Heat rushes straight to my face. “Do me a favor, Onyx?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

His low chuckle follows me as I yank the blankets higher. And for his information, yes, I have seen a man undressed before. That isn't the problem. The problem is that my curiosity has apparently abandoned all common sense. Against my better judgment, I peek anyway. What a terrible mistake.

The sight of his broad shoulders and muscled chest sends an entirely unwelcome pulse through me, and I’m painfully aware of his presence. Gods help me. The man looks as though the goddess herself sculpted him from stone and decided everyone else should suffer for it. For reasons I don't care to examine too closely, I don't like the idea.

“You’re fine. Just stay on your side.” The words leave my mouth before I can reconsider them.

His dark brow lifts, and I clear my throat.

“Not because I care if you sleep on the ground or not. But…it would be a waste of a perfectly good bed.”

His mouth twitches. “Of course. Get some sleep, Lyra. We leave at first light.”

The smirk he gives me before disappearing into the bathing chamber is deeply irritating. Mostly because it tells me he doesn't believe a word of it.

When he returns some time later, our earlier conversation lingers between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore. I watch him bank the fire while sleep slowly begins tugging at my thoughts. For days, I thought the greatest danger in Solaris was the cursed continent itself. Now I am no longer certain.

The mattress shifts as he settles beside me, keeping a respectable distance between us. Warmth radiates from his body beneath the blankets, and I hate that I notice it immediately. I stare stubbornly at the ceiling.

Tomorrow we leave Lycar.

Tomorrow we continue toward the king.

And now… now I find myself wishing the journey with Onyx were longer.

CHAPTER 6

For a few glorious seconds after waking, I forget where I am. The bed is warm, the blankets heavier than anything I’ve ever owned back in Elvora, and somewhere below me I hear the muffled clatter of pans and the low hum of voices rising from the common room. The sounds are ordinary enough to be disarming. For one drifting moment, half-buried in sleep and warmth, I can almost pretend I have woken in some other life entirely—one where I am not in the cursed north, not under the same roof as the king’s captain, and not moving one day closer to a man I have spent my whole life fearing.

Then memory returns all at once: Onyx. The road. The king. Any comfort I might have stolen from the night vanishes with it and I dress quickly in the clothes Otto’s wife apparently found for me sometime before dawn—cleaner than the ones I arrived in. The dress is still plain, but clean and dry and therefore worthy of gratitude. I will miss the hospitality and calmness from this city. Lycar is not the most beautiful, but it certainly feels like a place I could call home one day.