The Crimson King and the Masked Heir (#1)

Chapter 6

Lyra

The sun's light peered in through her window, and Lyra's eyes opened as she felt it's first sliver of warmth touch her face and spread through her body. She lived for this moment every morning. The sunlight filled her, renewed her--it gave her the strength to move forward. On the hard days, this moment could mean the difference between getting out of bed and staying curled up, letting the loneliness and fear walling in around her finally win.

Loneliness wasn't something she could claim in this moment. Even without touching--because he'd awkwardly slept in a position much more respectful than she would have liked--she could tell Alaric was still beside her. She felt his familiar warmth that seemed to fill the space around him. She tilted her head up on the pillow to get a better look at him. He was staring at her window with a perplexed frown.

"It doesn't belong," he said and nodded to the silver blanket hanging over her window.

She didn't want to talk about the blanket. "It belongs with me," she said firmly, thinking that would be the end of that.

"That part makes sense. It matches you somehow."

She leaned up on her elbow, curious as to what she had in common with her blanket. "How's that?"

His grey eyes never left the blanket, studying every inch of it and then he turned to drink in the site of her. "Look at the edges, slightly frayed. But then if you look closer, you see that's part of the pattern. Then the pattern grows softer and more intricate, more elegant as it continues to the center."

"I'm trying to figure out if comparing me to my blanket is a compliment," she lied with a forced chuckle. It was definitely a compliment, but not one of the generic kind she was used to receiving. No, this was the sort of compliment that left her feeling exposed and seen in ways she hadn't felt before.

"It is," he said with urgency, afraid he had offended her. "It's a beautiful blanket."

"Thank you," she said softly. For the compliment. For following her lead. For trusting her. For seeing her. Without thinking, she leaned up and brushed her lips against his.

He stared at her with surprise. He reached out slowly and placed his hand on her cheek. His thumb stroked her cheek and then he slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her toward him.

In a world of bad plans, this one probably ranked fairly high. Shadows of the damned, he was the Crimson King. And someone was trying to kill him. Someone who wanted her to take the fall. Yet, even knowing all this and the danger looming over their heads, she still tangled her body with his, drawing him closer and relishing in the taste of his skin as she trailed her lips down his neck.

He moaned in pleasure and echoed her actions, but it wasn't long until his instincts took over and his lips and hands explored her body in equal measure. She was so lost in his touch that she almost didn't notice her bedroom door fling open to reveal the angry guards on the other side with her very cross landlord standing behind them.

The landlord's chest heaved as he took in the scene before him with angry surprise. "I knew nothing of this illegal guest," he immediately protested. "She will be evicted, of course."

Lyra cursed under her breath and stood up to face off with the landlord and guards. "This is a misunderstanding, I assure you. My friend simply came by this morning--"

"It's her, I'm certain," one of the guards said.

Lyra tilted her head at his interruption. "Have we met?" she asked, trying to feign innocence even as her heart threatened to burst from her ribcage. It was the same guard from the other night. The one who tripped her. The one the blood magic pulsing beneath her skin had lashed out at.

The guard had no care for her charms or questions. He held his hand out and an invisible force wrapped itself around her. "Check her for weapons."

Lyra batted her eyes at the guard patting her down, noting the dark leather gloves covering his hands. He circled to her back, and his fingers dug into her shoulders. He slid his hands across the top of her chest, his slimy palms sliding across her breast line and snaking up to her neck. Some pat down, she thought as her eyes narrowed at the remaining guard.

Alaric stood up, and she could see the magic building in his eyes as they started to turn red. "Ric, don't. I can handle myself," she said quickly. "It will do no one any good if you get yourself into trouble too."

The landlord pushed in. "He is in trouble. I want this man arrested as an illegal guest. I will not be shut down because of your proclivities, Lyra."

"No," she gasped and wrenched herself to turn and see Alaric being incapacitated. It was a spell someone of his power could easily break, but he was letting himself be taken willingly. "What are you doing?"

Alaric worked on steadying his heaving breaths as he was searched. "It will do no one any good if I fight."

She wasn't sure she agreed. It wouldn't help anyone if he was locked in a cell when the moons crossed and the throne demanded it's toll. She opened her mouth to reveal his secret, but her tongue was so heavy in her mouth. She smacked her lips together and her head lolled to the side as the familiar smell of sweet flowers filled her nose.

Shit. The guard wasn't feeling her up when he patted her down. He was dosing her. She knew this feeling. She'd felt it once before as a child, not long after her blood magic revealed itself.

"What are you doing?" Alaric shouted. "You're killing her!"

"We're not killing her," the guard said gruffly. "She'll stand trial for what she's done. The people will want to see the wench who killed our sovereign die. Slowly."

Lyra knew the guard was telling the truth. Her restraints grew tighter, but no invisible noose held her throat. Her breathing was slow and labored, but not restricted. They would make a spectacle of her death. For now, they would keep her incapacitated.

"Don't," she managed to croak, hoping Alaric heard her. She could see he was poised and ready to fight. His look of determination melted to one of hopeless fear, and he dropped his head, letting her know he understood her meaning. He was true to his word and following her every direction.

Her vision started to fade and her head grew heavier. She blinked slowly, voices from her past mixing with those in her present as the poison smeared across her chest took hold and she slipped under.

"Be gentle," her mother urged. "It needs to look like she died in her sleep."

"I am," her Nienna responded with an edge in her tone as she lathered the poison onto Lyra's chest. "She'll rest peacefully."

"May the ancestors keep her and protect her from the Blood," her mother whispered.