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“I can’t believe Theron is jealous,” I said.
Rook scoffed. “Me neither.” He looked down at me, cocking an eyebrow. “Although if we’re both locked up in our rooms having sweaty dreams about the other then perhaps he has reason to be.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I was intensely relieved he couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks. “Notallthe dreams I have about you are… like that.”
“Oh no?” He huffed out a little breath. “That’s disappointing. What do I do in the other dreams?”
I rolled my eyes. “Crawl into my bed and ask if I’m happy to see you before you tear my throat out.”
“Well if that’s how you Peyrusians do it then no wonder you’re dying out.” He chuckled softly when he saw me glare at him. “I promise if I ever crawl into your bed, I won’t tear your throat out.”
“Well that’s a relief, I can sleep easier now.”
“I mean, not unless you want me to.”
My eyes flashed up to his, and I shivered a little. “Penchant for biting, Rook?”
“Depends on where. And why.” He glanced over his shoulder at the enormous bed. “Plenty of room for me in there I suppose.”
I swatted him in the chest. “I won’t be responsible for you violating the Accord.”
He grinned, his teeth a bright white flash in the moonlight. He lowered his mouth to my ear. “You think I pay attention to that?”
“I thought you don’t fuck Fae?”
“That was then. This is now.”
I drew back from him a little, and as I looked at his face in the moonlight I told myself it was merely loneliness, nothing else that made my eyes linger on his lips, wondering what they would feel like. It was grief and loneliness and a desire to feel anything but what had consumed me for weeks, for all the days since I’d been hauled away from Keir, that made me even consider for a moment inviting Rook into my bed and forgetting everything.
But even as I tried to convince myself of the lie, the whisper of heat in my chest grew, like a flame exposed to fresh air. It was accompanied by a sliver of fear. It couldn’t mean that. It couldn’t be…
Rook’s eyes searched my face, and he raised a hand to my cheek. “I’m glad I came up here tonight.”
“Me too.” I leaned my head against his chest, and his arms moved around me, easily and naturally, just like they had in the training arena earlier that day. His fingers traced over the back of my neck, and I knew if we didn’t stop now, if one of us didn’t pull back -
Heavy footsteps sounded in the passageway outside, tearing us both out of the moment. Rook pulled away from me, leaping onto the window frame much more nimbly than a man of his size should have been able to. His eyes fixed on me for a second, and then he dropped down the tower wall, out of sight.
I waited for the footsteps outside to fade, the guard moving away. When I went to the open window, Rook was gone, like a shadow into the night. I clutched a hand to my chest for a moment, my heart thundering.
A few weeks ago Rook and I had sworn we were enemies, we had tried to kill each other. Tonight I’d wanted to take him to bed. Tonight my body had called for him in a strange and comforting way that I could not make sense of. My mind was racing. Everything was too confusing.
I closed the window, leaving the latch open. I didn’t know why. Maybe I secretly hoped he’d come back, climbing the tower again, risking his life to come and lie down beside me and take me in his arms. I crawled into bed, knowing sleep wouldn’t come for a long time. And even when it did, I’d dream of him.
Chapter11
Elara
Training became agony. For too many reasons to count.
Every day that passed was fraught with terror, wondering if today was the day that Theron would announce the first trial, the first chance for me to earn back my home. I was sure he had more people I loved hidden away in the dungeons, and the thought of my parents hidden away down there while I slept far above them in a four poster bed and fine linens kept me awake most nights.
When I did finally sleep, the nightmares returned, Theron pursuing me with his bloody hands. I lay awake begging Lada for dreams of Rook, when days before I had been begging her to take them away. But now dreaming of Rook whispering filthy words in my ear while I moaned underneath him was far more favorable than dreaming of Theron coming after me and threatening me with a grim demise.
My fighting became sloppy because I was so tired. I made mistakes, got hurt, over and over. Rook began to hold back, too much, and it made it so much worse, for us both. His frustration was palpable, and although I knew it was simply because he wanted me to be ready for whatever Theron was going to throw at me, my anxiety peaked all the same.
The sun beat down on us one hot summer’s morning, and I could feel my arms becoming weak as I tried to fight him off, to fight back, to fucking hold my own. But it was no use, and my blade slipped, hitting the ground and sending me into Rook’s sword. He gasped as it grazed my stomach, drawing a dotted line of blood through my camisole.
“I told you to leave that fucking vest on,” he scolded me, throwing his sword aside and dropping to his knees in front of me.
