Page 130 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

Antony’s weight grows heavier as the first streams of cold water flow across his chest. “I didn’t want you to see that⁠—”

“Your heart, Antony, it’s⁠—”

“—and think I wanted to chain you again.”

My forehead creases, my confusion rising. “What?”

“The ruby circlet,” he mutters. “I didn’t want you to think I would shackle you again.”

I finally spy the long, delicate chain on the floor, coiled like a snake in the wash. The source of the clattering sound. It must have been nestled between his chest and the final plate of armor.

I can’t stop another sob from tearing out of me. A sudden heave of emotions that I can’t cage anymore. “I didn’t think you would.”

Antony’s forehead crinkles as he peers at me, eyes scrunched nearly closed. “Really?”

I give a little snarl. “You’ve lived with lies for too long.”

“Lies and liars, remember?” He presses my hand closer to his cheek, leaning in to my touch and closing his eyes.

We stay like that for a long moment, my palm pressing to Antony’s cheek while Stellen rubs my back, and my heart…

Finally finds a glimmer of peace.

“I think I can get up now,” Antony says, drawing back with a groan.

“Are you sure?”

He attempts to straighten, still in a sitting position, but he wobbles and slumps back against the wall. “Give me a second.”

I don’t think time will make a difference.

“You need blood.”

Antony recoils so abruptly, he smacks his head on the wall behind him. “Fuck.” He rubs the back of his head, his voice sharp. “I will never drink your blood again, Thyra.”

Stellen’s cool hand stops moving at my back, but his lips are pursed and eyes narrowed. He hasn’t immediately jumped in and told me to be careful.

Instead, he murmurs, “A safe space.”

I meet his pale gaze. He and I spoke of a safe space for Maxim. Antony needs one too. I never would have dreamed Stellen would be like an anchor for me with the other two kings.

Antony growls at us as he presses against the wall. “I’m not liking these unspoken moments between you two.”

Returning my focus to him, I ask, “What if I give you my blood, instead of you taking it?”

Antony stares at me, his expression closed off. I’m not sure if he realizes how badly his hands are shaking. He certainly won’t be able to see how deathly pale he is, even if he must be able to feel the full extent of his burns.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I can make a small incision in my arm and⁠—”

“No.” Antony’s voice is sharp. “My fears are real, Thyra. I can sense the blood pounding through your body. I want to gorge myself on you. Drink you up, no matter the consequences. That is what this poisoned body would have me do.”

I lean into him, whispering a challenge. “Prove to yourself that you won’t. Just like you proved to me once before that you wouldn’t hurt me.”

When I first bled in front of him, a cut on my cheek, he feared hurting me. At the time, I didn’t know why he was so agitated, only that his fear was deep and intense.

“But I did hurt you,” he says.