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“He grabbed—”
“He hit me with the butt of his sword a few times. He was aiming for my head, and I dodged until I could disarm him with my magic.”
And then I’d been so enraged, so drenched in awful memories, that I had somehow managed to cut through his chest with my magic and then rip his whole fucking heart out.
I’d never forget the sound it made when it hit the ground. The shattering ice, the wet thud…
I shuddered violently.
My legs unwrapped from Espen’s waist, and when I pushed at his chest, struggling for air, he set me down on my feet.
I pushed him away again and staggered over to the wall, catching myself on the smooth stone. It wasn’t warm for once, but I pressed my cheek and the side of my head tightly to the wall anyway.
My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in my ears, sweat beginning to collect on my scalp and on my palms.
Espen dropped to his knees in front of me, his opposite cheek pressed to the wall as he stared at me, his forehead knit in concern. He didn’t touch me, but his knees were only a breath away from mine, and I could’ve touched his nose with my tongue if I’d tried.
“You did nothing wrong, Akari. He should never have come near you. I should’ve been there to stop him—I should’ve been with you. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You don’t always need to be with me. I—” I cut myself off as my throat closed up again, panic rising thicker and more fiercely in my chest.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I couldn’t breathe—could hardly fucking see.
My eyes closed tightly.
A soft, large hand wrapped around the back of my neck.
A warm, firm forehead pressed against mine. “Match my breathing, beautiful.” Espen’s words weren’t an order, but they weren’t a request either.
He breathed exaggeratedly, in… and out.
In… and out….
In… and out…
In… and out…
One minute passed, and then another, and another.
Five passed, and then ten, and twenty.
Eventually, my shoulders finally started to relax.
When my body began to sag against the wall, Espen eased me away from the stone and set me in his lap. His arms engulfed my body, and he held me securely against his chest.
My eyes stung, but I closed them and pressed my face to the king’s neck. The way he held me made me feel safe, and secure, and loved.
His hand drew slow circles against my bare back, my robe gathered in a puddle around my wrists and thighs.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his hand still stroking my skin in a way that only made me feel stronger.
“I don’t want to go back there,” I whispered to the king. “To my room. I can’t. I—“
“My bedroom is yours. I won’t be able to sleep if there’s a hallway separating us now anyway.”
