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“Which is exactly how I want you. For now.” Cian grabbed my arm and pulled me back, much to Hellion’s disappointment.
Hellion let out a frustrated groan and collapsed on the bed.
I nuzzled in against Cian, just enjoying the feel of him. “Is that how this works? You boss them around and decide when they get to use me to come?”
“Something like that.” He traced his finger along my arm, making me shudder. “Or maybe I just know that if you two get started, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” He chuckled at my muffled groan. “And I really do need that bath.”
I snorted. “You might change your mind. They wouldn’t let me bathe myself. Sent a handful of others to do it for me. It was the most awkward thing I’ve ever been through.”
He laughed, then hissed and winced, rubbing the wound in his chest. “They’re treating you like a lord in your own right. Amusing. Let me guess. They won’t let you lift a finger to do anything.”
“Except the forge. The warlord told me I had to earn my keep somehow.” I frowned at him. “No one treats you like that at the castle.”
“Because I don’t allow it anymore. But you forget I was a lord’s son before I was a lord. Unless my father thought it was good for me, I did nothing myself. And by good for me, he usually meant martial training. As a second son, my job should’ve been leading my eldest brother’s armies while his polished ass warmed the throne. Out here it’s different, though. It’s a sign of great respect. The ones Chinua sent to bathe you probably fought for the right.”
“They’ll get to tell their children they once washed Maelstrom’s ass,” Hellion said and pinched my ass.
“Quit teasing me.” I threw a pillow at them.
Hellion threw it back, but missed.
Cian snatched the pillow out of mid-air. “You should hear about their other rituals. Actually, I think a traditional gargoyle wedding is quite beautiful. They bring in a Tailor with a special magic paint that’s touch reactive. He paints each one of them separately in an intricate head to toe pattern, each one as unique as the person wearing it. It glows under the stars, Nevahn. And it only fades when and where your lover has touched you. Can you imagine how beautiful that is?”
“I’m trying.” I was imagining that paint on his and Hellion’s bodies in all my favorite places. “Whose wedding did you attend? I can’t imagine you getting to many gargoyle weddings.”
Cian’s smile faded, and he took a deep breath. “Odan’s, if you can believe it. Three hundred years ago. I was still very young and not yet battle tested. I didn’t know him, but Isna was a distant relative of my mother’s. He was barely of age himself, but no one could deny that he and Isna were the perfect pairing. Their love was like in the poems. Sappy, obvious, and too good for this world. Sadly, that proved true. When my father cleaved the mountain and the Terrors rampaged, Isna died in Odan’s arms.” Cian sat up. “He doesn’t speak of it, Nevahn. We gargoyles, we don’t grieve well.”
“That’s because you’re all hopeless romantics, sounds like.” I pitched another pillow at him. This one he batted away. “You all act like tough warriors, but look at you… You read love poems and take perfumed baths. Nisang named his blades—” I cut myself off.
Cian had flinched at the sound of his name, still unready to hear it.
Hellion moved closer, laying their head against my thigh.
I let out a breath and hung my head. “I’m sorry. I keep expecting him to come through the door any minute.”
“I know,” said Cian, his voice strained. “Me too.”
I scooted back on the mattress and the three of us adjusted into our usual positions with me in the middle, Hellion half draped over me and Cian’s arms wrapped around both of us.
“We’re going to make her pay for it, Cian. Together.”
“It’ll have to be us,” he murmured and kissed us both. “There might be no one else left.”
NevahnandCiansleptwhile I kept watch, wrapped up in both of them. I didn’t know how useful I would be in an attack, considering my shoulder still ached and my arm was quite sore, but I was unwilling to leave them unguarded.
It was good to see Cian so at peace, despite the loss of a dear friend. Nevahn was good for him, good for us both. A balancing power between two strong opposing forces.
I ran my fingers lightly over Cian’s forearm and his eyes opened from a shallow sleep. He gave me a small smile and lifted my fingers to his lips.
Footsteps approached the yurt, and I sat up on alert. A moment later, Harif cleared his throat and called, “May I enter?”
I restrained the urge to scowl. The little gargoyle general clearly needed a lesson in respect after his earlier comments, but I couldn’t afford to take his foolishness personally. I had to be the viceroy of Jaida for now.
Cian sat up, a muscle feathering in his jaw the only outward sign of his pain. “Enter.”
All the movement finally woke Nevahn, who sat up, blinking wide eyes.
Harif entered with a tray heavily laden with food and drink, which he placed on the floor between us.
