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I exhaled sharply, closing my eyes as I tuned into the feeling inside my belly. “No. I’m not going to throw up. Just need to sit.”
Rhyan drew me closer, settling my back against him. I clutched my chest as if I could reach through to my heart and make it beat properly.
“Lean into me,” he said, positioning himself on the floor so I sat between his legs. His arms wrapped around me, one palm flattening across my belly, the other over my heart. “Just breathe. You’re okay.”
Tears burned paths down my cheeks. “Why does this keep happening?” I sobbed. “I should be stronger by now. I shouldn’t be falling apart like this. I-I thought I was doing better. Getting over all these…attacks.” I wiped my eyes in frustration.
“You’re not falling apart. You’re getting stronger,” he said, breath hot on my neck. His arms tightened. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
“No, I’m not. I’m sitting on the floor, barely fighting back a panic attack. Because of Jules. Because of the Imperator. I’m tired of feeling like this. It’s been over two years.”
“Did he say something to you?” Rhyan asked darkly.
My shoulders shook. “I can’t…I can’t…” He’d said nothing new, nothing I hadn’t suspected. But to hear it from his mouth, to hear it spoke so boldly….
“Bastard,” Rhyan swore. “Lyr, listen to me. It’s not your fault. Awful things happened to you here. To people you loved. And the people who did these awful things are here right now—rubbing it in your face—because they’re evil, because they want to upset you. And you’re feeling it because you’re finally facing what happened, instead of burying your feelings in some forgotten box. That’s why. Do you hear me? This is not your fault. It doesn’t make you weak.” He pressed his hands more firmly against me.
I sniffled, leaning back into him. “I feel so weak. Like I’m right back where I was two years ago. With all our training and meditating, I really thought I was getting better.”
“You are getting better. And you’re not weak,” he said. “You’re healing. It’s not a linear process. You don’t get to graduate or cross some threshold without looking back and never feel pain again. It’s messy and ugly. The grief can hit at any time. Some days it’s gone. Some days the pain chases you morning to night. But it doesn’t make you weak. Remember who you are—all you have survived. The pain is not your fault. It’s only here because you’ve had to be strong for far too long. Your strength is not determined by the pain, by the doubts or fears that they forced you to relive. What matters is what you choose to do with them. And all I see is a warrior, fighting back. Fighting through the pain. When I look at you, Lyr, I see strength.”
A sob wracked through me. Something inside of me registered the truth in his words, and somehow that was more painful than anything else I’d felt tonight.
“I know,” he said gently. “I know. I feel it, too. Every day. Just catch your breath. You’re safe here with me. You’re always safe with me. It’s all right.” He rocked us side to side. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to sit down sometimes.” His arms tightened around me, and he continued his slow, even breathing. The rocking slowed, and as the minutes passed, I felt the panic washing away. We stilled, but he kept his hands firm against me, one still on my belly, one over my heart, steadying me.
“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” I said, wiping my eyes. “You should be back at the ball, enjoying yourself.”
I felt him shake his head, his face brushing against my hair. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Where I want to be.” He removed his hand from my chest, letting it join the other at my waist. “Better?” he asked.
I nodded and felt his hold loosen from around me as his body strained back, creating space between us.
“Don’t go.” My hands closed over his.
“I’m at your command, your grace.” Rhyan’s voice was hoarse. His hands flattened against my torso, his palms searing through my dress. I felt my breath shorten, but for a different reason than before. His fingers splayed across my stomach, touching the bared skin.
My nipples were sensitive against the rough material of my dress. My breasts felt heavy, dying to be touched, sensing his fingers so close yet so far away.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” I writhed against him as if I could shift his hands higher to where I wanted them. Where I needed them. “I try not to, but I can’t help myself.”
“What are you doing?” he asked, even as his hands moved higher.
I arched against him, leaning my head back to watch his face. The muscles in his jaw worked, and his gaze was fixed to my necklace, my body, my exposed skin. “What are you doing?” I asked. I didn’t sound like myself; my voice was low, almost hoarse. I was so full of desire.
He blinked slowly as he bit down on his bottom lip. “Lyr, please. I’m about to break. I want you. So fucking bad.” His hands inched higher, and heat bloomed low in my belly, searing through my core.
I could feel his chest rising and falling behind me. His once steady breath, my anchor in the storm, was uneven, erratic, and heavy.
“You must tell me. Command me,” he said, voice desperate. “Order me to leave. Order me away.” His voice was husky, his breath on my neck leaving shivers up and down my spine.
“I thought we followed the chain of command. Apprentice.” I writhed back into him, feeling just how badly he wanted me, and he tightened his grip, his fingers pressing into my bared flesh, his hands rising even higher. “Novice.” I pushed my head to the side, exposing the length of my neck.
“Lyr, you must,” he said desperately, even as his hips lifted, his arousal pressing against my backside. “Tell me to leave.”
“Don’t the apprentices give the orders? Don’t the bodyguards command the ones they protect?”
“Not right now,” he growled. His lips brushed against my neck. The tips of his fingers teased my curves. Back and forth. “Not when I have you in my arms, not when you feel so fucking good I can’t remember my role, or duty, or any Godsdamned oaths I swore. I can barely remember my name. All I can think about is how I want to flip you over, splay you out beneath me, and drink my fill of you.”
His cheek pressed against mine from behind. My chest heaved, and his hands moved up and up my torso, slowly, purposefully, sensually. My head fell back on his shoulder. Higher and higher his fingers spread, tucked under my necklace, until his hands cupped my breasts.
