Page 116 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

“My father’s last command to me was to unwrap this blade. He told me: Unwrap the blade and your path will be clear. But I never did. Do you see?”

She jabs at her arm. “This ivory material in which the blade was wrapped sits between my palm and the blade’s hilt. If it weren’t for the blood bind, Stellen could have sung the ribbon out of my arm and pulled the blade out with it.”

I catch on quickly. “The blood bind stops everything.”

I’m certain Stellen would have told me that. He told me there were things I needed to know. If only I’d had time to speak with him. Well, if I’d made time to swallow my fucking pride and speak with him.

“Until this bind is broken, I can’t remove the blade,” Thyra says, her voice soft, her footfalls a continuing prowl. “Until I can remove the blade, I can’t unwrap it and neither can I break the curse. You are my hope now, Ember King.”

“Do not place your hope in me,” I growl at her. “I will only destroy it.”

She was meant to be my hope. When she breaks the curse, then I’ll control my fire. Until I can control my fire, I can’t safely touch Thyra. These are undeniable truths as far as I’m concerned.

“Where else will I place my hope?” Thyra asks, the flex of her muscles as she continues pacing opposite me making it appear alarmingly like she might leap at me. “There are only two other fae who could help me⁠—”

“Then ask them for help.”

She continues, unflustered. “One is a shapeshifter in Frost. Her mother was a Ferocie Scribe who disappeared when she was three years old. The other is the soulmate of Antony’s brother Victor. Your staunch enemy. In both cases, the chances that their Ferocie powers would be strong enough to defeat a blood bind are slim.” She stops pacing. “You are the one I need.”

Need.

She keeps using that word, but she can’t possibly know how intense my needs are.

The need to be free from the flames I carry within me.

The desperate need to connect after years of physical isolation.

The inescapable need to connect with her.

“What will it take, Ember King?” she asks softly. “What will make you feel safe?”

I can only stare at her. “A question I should be asking you.”

“Then ask me.” She spreads her arms at her sides. “If you’re willing to consider for even the smallest moment that you might want to touch me, then ask me.”

I should move away, but I can’t.

Because I’m fucking starving. Hungry for touch.

Before I lost control of my fire, Thyra wrapped her hand around my wrist, and I didn’t allow myself to fully comprehend that she was touching me. Without harm.

The danger happened when I lost control. Which I still could. And probably will. Any second now.

“Ask me,” she whispers.

“What will it take,” I rasp, “to make you feel safe?”

She moves toward me, smoothly and with a confidence I could shatter in a blast of flames.

Extending her blade arm, she says, without taking her gaze from mine, “Hold my hand.”

A humble request. Painful in its simplicity. Devastating in its impossibility.

The longer I stare at her hand without taking it, the more the tension in her posture eases. An unexpected and contrary reaction.

“I nearly froze to death in the Frost Kingdom,” she says, her voice calm. “I needed the heat of hot springs to survive. At first, my body was so cold, the warm water burned. But that was only for a short time. Then it soothed me. Warmed me. Saved me.”

She isn’t fabricating this story. I saw her while she was having a blade vision. She was freezing to death and Stellen was desperately telling her to hold on. I wanted to warm her, but I was a kingdom away and even the amber thread connecting me to her had flickered and faded.