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I’d only put on my full armor a few times, and Rhyan knew this. His eyes darkened as he closed the space between us, his hand brushing against each buckle, latch, and notch that sealed me into place. Slowly, he circled me, his touch firm against the golden seraphim wings at my shoulders, on the belt at my waist, and on the sword seated in its scabbard at my hip.
He sucked in a breath, still standing behind me. On instinct, I closed my eyes and leaned back, resting my head against his chest, feeling his warmth as his arms moved, his hands pressing against my hips, hot even through my layers of armor and protection.
“Lyr,” he breathed, and his hands rose to my armored vest, his arms tightening around me. “How are you doing?”
“Not good. You?”
His nose brushed against my hair. “Not good.”
I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of his musk alongside the faded scent of the coffee and cakes we had enjoyed so often these last few months.
“They haven’t told me what to expect,” he said, “or offered any advice on the test’s nature. I just heard there was a change of plans—not sure what that means.”
I tried to keep from shaking. “Do I stand a chance?” I asked.
“You do,” he said firmly. “Do not doubt the strength you’ve worked, fought, and bled for. Last night, you faced down an akadim, and you survived. Not many do.”
“Survived?” I closed my eyes. “I let it live.”
“No. That’s my sin,” he said, his breath hot against my neck.
I shook my head, and his hands rose to my shoulders, his fingers slipping into the edge of the armor and necklace at my collar. “It’s mine, too.”
“The point is you fought back. You didn’t faint. You didn’t freeze, you freed yourself before I got to you. Remember, you did that.”
Sweat beaded at the back of my neck despite the winter chill swirling with Rhyan’s aura.
“Freer than a seraphim,” I whispered.
“Stronger than a gryphon,” he said, repeating the words he’d said months ago, the words that had finally convinced me that I could train, that I stood a chance. His fingers ran down the sides of my neck, and I arched into the touch.
“What do I visualize?” I asked.
“The end. You in the arena, hearing the Emperor say only this—the test is over, and you passed.”
“Where will you be?”
“Watching,” he said. “Waiting for you.”
“To fail, or succeed?”
“You only have one option.” He dropped his hands from me, stepping back, leaving me cold.
I turned to face him. “Do you regret last night?”
His lips tightened. “What part?”
“You know what part,” I said, voice hushed.
His nostrils flared, and at last he looked at me, really looked at me, his eyes filling with far more heat and love than I’d have thought possible with all that was happening, all that had happened, and all that was about to.
“No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wish—I wish it had ended differently. I wish the choice hadn’t had to be made.” His eyes bore into mine. “But if I could relive last night, do it differently, make another decision, even if I knew the outcome, knew what would happen, knew the horror—I would still save you. Every time. I would save you a thousand times over, knowing exactly what would happen, knowing even worse was possible. I would have never, not in one scenario, not come for you, not taken you from there.” His lips trembled. “But I don’t know how to live with that.”
“That you love me?” I asked.
“No.” He tossed his head back and sighed. “Knowing what kind of monster I could become because of that love. Knowing the destruction I left behind. Knowing all the oaths I would break a thousand times over. Just for you.”
There was a knock on the door. Rhyan blinked rapidly, coughing and stepping back.
