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“Because we care.” Myron is the one answering this time, and the weight of the world seems to be resting on his shoulders as he sighs. “We still care what happens to these people.”
“Even when you’ve given up on?—”
“Shut your beak, Ephegos.” This time, a clear threat reverberates in Myron’s tone as he cuts Ephegos off. It’s not only a symbolic statement since he flicks his fingers and Ephegos’s face shifts back into that birdlike mask that I will never get used to.
Shock tightens my chest, making it hard to breathe as the momentary lightness leaves the room, but Ephegos’s words linger.
Twenty-One
“What does that mean?”I step into Myron’s bedroom where he shuts the door behind us and drops onto the deep blue couch with a groan resembling a frustrated cat rather than an actual crow. I don’t relent. “What did he mean? What have you given up on?”
Myron shakes his head, eyes firmly closed as if that will make me go away. “It’s nothing that should concern you, and he shouldn’t have brought it up.”
I don’t take the time to examine why his words hurt after seeing such a different side of him down there. “Well, he did. And now I want to know.” With a few quick strides, I’m across the room, perching on the armrest on the other end of the couch from where he’s half sitting, half lying on the blue fabric.
One eye opens, then the other, as if he’s hoping I am a bad dream that would evaporate if he pretends to wake up. “You’re asking the wrong questions again, Ayna.” His voice is flat. Tired. As if those centuries have crushed a part of him he can never get back. But I saw him smile in the dining hall. Saw that spark of humanity in him that I’m not ready to let go of.
“Talk to me, Myron.” I slide onto the cushions of the couch, staring the Crow King down as I wait for him to give me a comprehensive answer. He’s been evasive since the moment he dismissed both Royad and Ephegos and insisted we go upstairs before we talk about anything.
Now, we’re here, and I’m not backing down even if he bleeds for his response.
“Everything seems to revolve around the fact that you are marrying once a year. And you seem less than happy to do so. You even told me you don’t have a choice. Royad’s cryptic statements about the Crowsgetting only one bride instead of many as before. What does that mean? How does it change anything for you and your court? Why is it so essential that you marry anyone if you apparently don’t care?—”
I stop myself as his gaze locks on mine, and I realize I just answered my own question.
“Because you no longer care about marrying. That’s what Ephegos was going to say. That you no longer care about marrying. Am I right?”
Myron’s features darken dangerously as he slowly sits up, leaning over me until I’m pinned to the armrest between his massive wings. Feathers pull in around his neck, climbing higher until his face shifts into bird form. His all-black eyes lock on mine, silent depths denying me answers. His feathers brush along my bare shoulders, my arms, as he tightens his grip on the backrest on one side of me and the edge of the couch on my other side, and an involuntary shiver chases down my skin.
He’s trying to scare me, trying to shut me up by petrifying me with his monster form. And though he’s intimidating as Eroth himself, I’ve glimpsed the real Myron in the dining hall. I am no longer afraid of this monster before me—even when my instincts tell me that death is just a talon swipe away. Because he is still deadly. His beak, his talons, his magic—all of them would mean my end if he decided to dissect me.
For a long while, we stare at each other, his bird face inches from mine. I don’t budge. No, I swallow the lump in my throat and lift my bad hand, tracing the feathers on the side of his neck.
Myron holds so still he might have turned into a statue, and I could swear I can hear his heart thumping in his chest—perhaps it’s mine, though. When he doesn’t cringe from my touch, I gather more courage, something I believed I’d lost the day I’d watched the crew of the Wild Ray slaughtered in the prison yard. It’s an emboldening sensation, tingling through my body with an almost-compulsion to slide my fingers along those silken feathers again.
I don’t question the feeling, just follow that impulse, raising my finger to his cheek where hues of black, sapphire, and purple shimmer in the soft glow of the fairy lights.
“Am I not disgusting to you? You should be terrified to be so close to a creature like me.” Myron’s words crack between a hiss and a caw, and I should be repulsed by the sound of it, by the sight of his bird face, the beak that can tear through flesh. But I shake my head.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
I can feel his shudder under my fingertip, even in his cheek. And as I keep staring into those depthless eyes, his features are clearing, one feather after the other receding. His beak disappears last, leaving behind that handsome face hidden beyond the nightmare of his Crow form.
There’s something about the way he looks at me that reaches deep into my core, and as I hold his stare, heat blazes behind those onyx eyes. His breath is a gust of warmth on my face, and his scent wraps around me in a wave of wind and pine and something more that I can’t quite place. I’m acutely aware of where his stomach presses against my thigh and hip as he leans over me, the hardness of his body against mine, and instead of wanting to flee, an ache to explore the solid muscles of his chest builds inside of me.
And that is before his gaze drops to my mouth and his throat bobs as he is clearly holding back words he shouldn’t be speaking or simply doesn’t want to. I don’t care.
I hold my breath as I wait for him to shy away, to slip back into the role of the grumpy king and push me away, but he surprises me with a long inhale that makes me feel more naked than the slightly revealing dress actually is. It’s in the way his eyes light up as he seems to scent me, the way he pulls his lower lip between his teeth as his hands wrap even harder around the edges of the couch.
“Tell me to leave you alone, and I will. Tell me that you don’t want to be so close to a monster, and I won’t even bring up how much I want to kiss you right now.” My breath hitches as his voice lowers into a near growl. “One word, Ayna, and I’ll be gone from this room until my head clears and I no longer think of what one single touch of your fingertip can do to me. Just tell me to leave, and I won’t bother you again. I won’t even suggest that you might want to be bothered.”
He holds his breath as he waits for my response, but I’m too engulfed in his scent, in his very presence, for me to say anything. All I do is lift my head and line up my mouth with his until our breath mingles and the tension in my core threatens to tear me apart. When my lips touch his, it’s not a gentle kiss. It’s the pent-up anger and despair, the hope I’ve not allowed myself to feel in weeks. It’s rough, and Myron’s ragged breathing washes onto my tongue, taking all words and thoughts away. He groans as I nip on his lower lip, and I could swear I hear the couch fracture in his grasp. But he doesn’t lower his weight onto me, he doesn’t push more into my space. His hands remain braced at my sides and his feathers spread with the angle of his arms.
Heat pools in my core as his mouth molds mine into a mind-numbing kiss, and I become weightless and boneless as his tongue glides along my lower lip, requesting entrance.
He tastes like sweet wine and mint, a surprising blend that explodes in little bursts on my own tongue, and I moan as he sweeps through my mouth, taking me deeper and deeper until my breathing is shallow and my head is spinning.
My fingers have made their way to the front of his vest, tracing the contours of those muscles I was aching to explore only minutes ago, and Myron makes a sound deep in his throat that is half pleasure, half exasperation.
