Page 32 of The Tyranny of our Longing

He trailed off, his earnest expression almost too sweet, too devastating to behold.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” Phaedra said, her voice tight against the strain in her throat. “It seems I have been too caught up in my work.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he said, his eyes moving toward the painting on the easel.

He pushed to his feet, and Phaedra moved to follow, her stiffened muscles protesting her attempt to rise. Without looking away, Nathaniel offered his hand, and she took it gratefully.

His lips tilted in a smile as he said, “It’s perfect. More than I ever could have imagined.”

She turned to follow his gaze, then staggered as sudden vertigo shifted the earth from under her feet. Her hand gripped his, but it was his arm around her waist that saved her from the fall.

“Miss Mercer!”

His alarmed voice came as if smothered, but Phaedra could only squeeze her eyes shut, her head wanting to split from the pain, the dizziness pulling and pushing on her body like a massive wave. So she held on to him, her fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, her forehead falling to rest against the taut muscle of his shoulder. She pulled a breath into a chest that would not expand, and waited for the world to settle around her. If it ever would.

Because what he had said was right. It was perfect. Even if she did not remember finishing it.

Despite her body’s reaction, the thing on her easel was the most beautiful thing she had ever made. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The fabric, radiant in the blinding light, fit snugly onto the form in the painting, the composition giving the impression of an actual person sitting in the confines of the panel, real and alive.

The pounding in her head returned, this time radiating through her entire body. But only when she felt the previously withheld breath cascade down her cheek and over her neck, did she realize it was not her own heart thundering through her, but his, its beat heavy against the palm of her hand resting on his chest.

She swallowed against the knot lodged in her throat. She could feel his touch burn into the lines of her waist, the press of his body sending a shudder down her own, and she knew that she would only need turn her head so their lips would meet.

“I’m fine,” she heard herself say. She pulled away, the cool air of the room rushing in to displace the heat of his chest against hers, and she took a step back, testing her balance. “I am… merely tired. I think I need to go back to my room and lie down.”

“Of course,” he said, and Phaedra could not help but notice the strain in his breath, or how his hands were slow to leave her, perhaps still unsure that she could bear her own weight. Perhaps. “Would you need me to⁠—”

“No,” she interjected, before she could change her mind. “Thank you.”

She turned away without looking at him, or anything else, until she was safely out the door.

CHAPTER 24

Phaedra lay on her bed, the world swaying around her. The pounding in her head seemed to ebb and flow with an unknown rhythm, and she tried in vain to gain control of her breathing, to relax her clenched muscles.

That she was exhausted was certain. It was the only sane explanation to what was happening to her. To the way her mind seemed to slip with increasing frequency, twisting with things she should not be thinking of while forgetting others as if it had been someone else who had done them.

She needed to rest. To take care of herself. Or at least allow someone else to do it for her. Someone who seemed more than willing to take on the responsibility.

She opened her eyes slowly, squinting against the warm afternoon light spilling into her room, and she wondered, not for the first time, how Nathaniel was feeling about all of this.

It had never truly been a question that he was affected by her presence. Indeed, she could trace the marks of his interest to their very first encounter. Yet not until her own unruly thoughts had turned onto avenues they should never have ventured into, did she see the change in him. And the way he looked at her now, with such longing and care, spoke of something deeper than mere attraction. She worried to think what their remaining time would be like. What it might bring.

She turned her head, her gaze following the path of the golden rays as they met the deep emerald of her walls, and her breath finally eased into a gentler cadence.

Maybe it would not be such a horrible thing. Maybe, instead, it would be freeing to finally acknowledge this thing that lived there, just beneath the surface of their skin. To finally ask for what she truly wanted and be given just that.

Her lips tilted into a tentative smile as she watched the light braid itself into the darkness of the shadows, the graceful web of their joining so delicate and so beautiful that any prey it would bind would never even know it was in danger. And only when the light would slowly fade, the gold turning to silver then dulling to gray before finally seeping into the black of beyond, would it realize the end had come.

Phaedra blinked, then sat up in her bed. The room lay dark around her, the last light of day quickly slipping over the horizon. She ran her hands over her face, trying to wipe away the disorientation and the sleep that had claimed her without her notice, then glanced at the clock on the wall. She had missed dinner, but it was not very late yet.

Lighting a candle, she slipped out of bed, stepping before the mirror to smooth her hair and dress. But her hands stopped as her eyes fell onto a plate of food placed upon her vanity. She picked up the note, recognizing the handwriting.

Should you be hungry

— N

She stared at the words, at the way he had chosen to sign his name, the warmth of the gesture overpowering in its concern.