Page 45 of Embers of Ruin

Onyx thinks for a moment, and purses his lips. “He is my king, Lyra.”

“And you are my friend.” I say, reaching across the table to place a hand on his arm.

“You’ve been the only person actually protecting me this entire time. I’m having a hard time, and I’m used to hard times but you make it better, Onyx.”

We stare at each other for a moment, and I can’t stop the tears that run down my cheeks.

Onyx gets up abruptly and kneels in front of me, placing my hands in his palms.

“Listen, you little terror. Don’t let the palace break your spirit. You have so much fight in you, and we need more sparks of whatever the hell it is you bring here.”

I lift my head, really looking into his eyes. All I see is the man in Lycar—the pain in my ass, sarcastic, protective giant. He has always protected me.

We stay like that for a minute, staring at each other. I don’t know what it is, but something makes me reach for his face. His expression turns serious, his eyes softening as he leans into my hands.

“Onyx…” I moan his name softly, running my fingers through his long hair. Gods, he is exceptionally handsome. Unfortunately, so is Thorin. But Onyx has always been gentle with me, and I know he’ll protect me without question, not play games with me or use me for his own personal gain.

My body moves before my mind can register what I’m doing. I kiss him, softly at first, exploring. Onyx grabs my hair in a ponytail-like grip, gentle enough to bring my face closer to his and he caresses my cheek with his other hand.

I feel everything all at once. Protected, safe, and wanted. Something I have never felt in my life. Our kiss deepens and I lean back, laughing as I wipe the tears from my face.

“Sorry about the tears,” I laugh, but he only looks at me as if he is seeing me for the first time.

“Fuck.” He lets out a low growl that goes straight to my core. “No, no tears, Lyra. Come here.”

He brings my face closer to his, sealing his lips over mine as he consumes me in a kiss that goes directly to my heart. We're a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses as his tongue explores my mouth. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that steals what's left of my breath.

“You are so godsdamned beautiful, Lyra. Inside and out. Sassy as hell, but goddess divine…” His words trail off as he stands and lifts me, turning to sit on the settee, settling me onto his lap.

His mouth finds mine again, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it. I let myself sink into it, into him, because for once I'm not thinking about magic, a garden or a king who watches me like I'm a puzzle he hasn't solved yet. I'm just here, in this moment. Wanted, not needed. There's a difference. And, gods, it's exactly what I need.

His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, and I feel the calluses there, proof of a life spent with a sword and hard work. At his touch, something in my chest loosens that has been tight since the day I woke up in this palace. I let my fingers trail down to his jaw, feeling him smile against my mouth, and for one uninterrupted minute, I forget that I am anyone's pawn at all.

Then the room goes cold.

Not the kind of cold that slips through cracked windows—this is a living cold. It crashes into the room so suddenly my breath catches. Shadows pour beneath the door in writhing ribbons of black, racing across the floor like spilled ink. They climb the walls, swallow the corners, and race over the ceiling until every inch of the room seems to pulse with darkness. A shiver races the length of my spine.

I know this feeling. I've felt some version of it every day in the gardens whenever he is near. Only… never like this.

The shadows lash against the wall as if searching—then they find us. They surge toward the settee, spilling between Onyx and me before coiling around my ankles. They climb my legs and sweep sharply across my arms and shoulders, no longer curious or feather-light. They’re possessive and agitated. One shadow lashes across Onyx's back with enough force to make the fabric of his tunic snap against his skin before recoiling as though it regrets touching him.

Onyx goes completely still beneath me, every muscle in his body locking. I watch the color drain from his face half a heartbeat before the shadows withdraw toward the doorway.

And then he steps through.

No knock. No warning. Just Thorin, filling the doorway, radiating anger. His shadows continue to churn around him like a living storm, spilling from his feet and rolling across the floor in restless waves. The temperature plummets another degree as his gaze lands on us.

For the first time since I was brought to Andell, I understand why an entire continent fears him.

Nobody moves. I'm still on Onyx's lap, hand fisted in his shirt, and I feel every second of the silence stretch out like something is about to snap. I release his clothing so quickly my fingers ache, jerking my hand back as though I've been burned.

“Onyx.” Thorin's voice is quiet. That's the part that scares me—I expected shouting, but I get quiet instead, which is somehow worse. “Get. Out.”

Onyx sets me down beside him on the settee, slow and careful, the way you'd set down something that might shatter. “Thorin⁠—”

“I said out.” He still hasn't looked at Onyx. His eyes are on me, and there's nothing calculating in them right now, none of the cold assessment I've grown used to. Just something raw and furious that he's fighting to keep leashed, and losing.

I've spent weeks studying that face for cracks, for anything that would tell me what's underneath the crown and the ice, and I have never once seen it move like this. I stand quickly, putting a hand on Onyx's arm before he can decide this is a fight worth having.