Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Seventeen

With a curt nod, he walks out.

Kyron places his hands behind his back, intertwining his fingers, and paces the small room. His boots make a steady beat on the wood floors as he watches every step. The jaw-length strands of his black hair shield his face, leaving me to wonder what his expression is underneath.

When the quiet becomes too much to bear, I say, "I want a rematch next week."

His shoulders shake with what I assume is a chuckle before he replies, "You're completely maddening."

"Are you denying my request?"

He stops and runs his hand over his face. His hair flows through his fingers as he brushes it back, and his gaze meets mine. "Yes."

"Fuck you, Kyron!" I spring to my feet and the pain in my leg flares, sending me into the edge of the table.

Kyron bolts across the room and pulls me to his side before I hit the ground. I grip the front of his jacket; the buttons digging into my palm, and I try to focus on the discomfort rather than the euphoria I feel in his touch.

"I'm all right, just a little dizzy," I say, continuing to use him as a crutch.

"You're lying."

"Don't read my emotions!"

"Then don't be so stubborn! For Statera's sake, I think you're concussed. I should take you to the infirmary."

"Please don't." The words leave my mouth so quickly I scramble to justify them. "Everyone saw me make a fool of myself today; I don't need them to know just how bad the damage is."

"You didn't make a fool of yourself," he says, helping me to my bed and pulling back the sheets.

I glare at the ceiling and grind my teeth while he removes my boots and tucks the blankets around my aching body. I hate feeling like a helpless child, but I put myself in this position. And I will do it over and over again if it means I finish what I came here to do.

"I was no match for you, and it was stupid of me to try without more training. But I can't train because I have to clean stables and feed chickens. Do you see the conundrum I'm in?"

The corner of his mouth ticks. "Even with a real sword in my hand, none of my opponents have fought as hard as you did."

"But it wasn't enough."

Kyron shakes his head, and apprehension rises within me as he walks away. I'm not ready for him to leave yet. It shouldn't matter to me; he is just a roadblock to getting what I want. The sooner he leaves, the quicker I can gather my bearings and concoct a new strategy. But I'm overwhelmed with the desire to have just one more minute in his presence—a chance to redeem myself.

Relief sweeps over me when he pulls a chair to the side of my bed and sits. He folds his hands in his lap, and I study the way his fingers separate and curl. I can almost see his power slithering over his light brown skin. It takes on the likeness of colorful and mesmerizing bursts of light. My body reacts as if caressed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I silently will his gift to come to me, but without a physical connection, it's just outside of my reach. My eyes flutter shut, and I try to find peace in the faint buzzing.

Kyron gently shakes my shoulder. "Don't close your eyes; you need to stay awake a little longer."

I rest my hand over his, and the rush of his gift leaves me breathless. My desire to submerge myself in his power is all-consuming. Our skin to skin contact invigorates and calms me, but mostly it makes me...I squeeze my thighs together and bunch the sheets beneath me in my hands. I want to jump into his lap and wrap my body around his, hoping it will ease the want that rose within me the moment he entered my room.

My past is sprinkled with moments driven by lust. The desire to touch and be touched. Boys have left me breathless and begging for more. But their mouths and fingers roaming my skin have never made me feel the intense need Kyron's gift evokes within me. The need to give and take until nothing remains but skin and bones.

I brush my thumb back and forth over his knuckles. The way he feels makes my lightheaded. I feel like I'm swimming through a hot spring and my words come out muffled as I say, "I can't figure you out. Sometimes you have me convinced you are one of us fighting for our cause. And other times, I'm not so sure."

He brushes away strands of my hair caught in the corner of my mouth. "It doesn't matter what I tell you, you are going to have to come to your conclusion about me on your own."

The haze surrounding my vision lifts a little, giving me a clear picture of him leaning in to talk with me. He is handsome—breath-taking, heart-stopping handsome. The scar above his brow and the one under his chin are minute imperfections that only add to his looks. And that power—warm, dark, enticing—I'm just as obsessed with it as I am his face.

"What are you doing to me?" I whisper.

"Nothing," he answers, his fingers twitching under mine.

"Kyron, if you are siphoning my p—"

"I don't take what isn't mine." His features darken with hurt, and he pulls his hand away from mine.

His words are a blow to the gut. They squelch my desire and violently pull my head from the clouds. I'm supposed to be the unifier—the queen who brings change and rules Khiros and Cyffreds as equal. Yet with no evidence, I've judged Kyron. Nothing he has done validates my preconceived notions of the Stigian. I've not witnessed him luring Lucents away from the safety of our kingdom or heard them speak of the heinous act I accused him of. If anything, he has proven over and over again that he is an exception to the rule.

I scramble to fix my wrong with the right words. "I didn't mean—"

"You did."

"I'm sorry, Kyron."

"I'm sorry as well."

I know he isn't apologizing for anything he did wrong, but for my inability to look past what he is. He has every reason to be upset. The only person here who has acted in questionable ways is me.

Kyron stands and heads for the door. I wish I knew how to make him stop, but I've done my fair share of speaking without thinking today. My lips fold between my teeth, and I bite down hard to hold back the emotion threatening to overwhelm me.

Kyron freezes in the doorway. He doesn't turn around and the tone of his voice is flat as he says, "If you're feeling up to it, you can start training tomorrow."

He doesn't give me a chance to answer, closing the door behind him.

After all the stupid things I said, he gave in. I don't deserve to train; I didn't earn it the way we agreed upon. This win feels cheap. And even if I could look past the fact I got my way despite my shortcomings, the hurt I've caused the general will overshadow my victory.