─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"I used to build dreams about you."
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
APPARENTLY THE 'inn' was little more than a raucous tavern with a few rooms for rent—usually by the hour. And as it was, there were no vacancies. Save for a tiny, tiny room in what had once been part of the attic.
I wasn't complaining, but I also wasn't jolly. It was better than sleeping on the damp and cold ground outside.
Rhys didn't want anyone knowing who, exactly, was amongst the High Fae, faeries, Illyrians, and whoever else was packed in the inn below. Even I barely recognized him as he—without magic, without anything but adjusting his posture—muted that sense of otherworldly power until he was nothing but a common, very-good looking Ilyyrian warrior, pissy about having to take the last available room, so high up, so high up that there was only a narrow staircase leading to it: no hall, no other rooms. If I needed to use the bathing room, i'd have to venture to the level below, which...given the smells and sounds of the half dozen rooms on that level, I made a point to use it quickly on our way up and then vow not to visit again until morning.
Before we had entered, I took by Rhys's example, dampening my own power as I contained its energy within me. Snuffing it out until we left. A mere High Fae passerby with her..whatever.
My exhaustion had dissipated just barely on our flight, yet it still weighed on my bones and in my movements. Sleep tugging at my gently from the other end of the rope, a constant presence but not a nagging one.
Luckily, the magic I had expended playing with fire and light and darkness and storms had wrecked me so thoroughly that even without my dampen on my power, I doubted anyone would look my way. I was corrected, not even the drunkest and loneliest of the patrons so much as turned their heads in the town's taverns. The small town was barely that; a collection of an inn, an outfitters store, supply store, and a brothel. All geared toward the hunters, warriors, passing through this part of the forest either on their way to the Illyrian lands or out of them. Or just for the faeries who dwelled here, solitary and glad to be that way. Too small and too remote for Amarantha and her cronies to have bothered with.
In truth, I didn't truly care where we were, so long as it was dry and warm and not out there.
Rhys opened the door to our attic room and stood aside to let me pass.
Well, at least it was two of those things.
The ceiling was so slanted that to get to the other side of the bed, I'd have to crawl across the mattress; the room so cramped it was nearly impossible to walk around the bed to the tiny armoire shoved against the other wall. I could sit on the bed and open the armoire easily.
The bed.
One.
"I asked for two," Rhys said, hands already up.
His breath clouded the air in front of him. Not even a fireplace. And not enough space to even demand one of us sleep on the floor. I didn't trust my mastery over flame enough to not burn the entire building down on accident in an attempt to warm the room.
"If you can't risk using magic, then we'll have to warm each other," I said, and instantly regretted it. "Body heat." I clarified. And just for good measure because of the stupid look on his face, I shoved his shoulder with a hiss. "You're a pig."
"I'll try to keep my hands to myself."
My mouth went a bit dry. Curse him. Curse him entirely.
I made a show of looking around the room entirely, my freezing hands stuffed in my pockets. "I'm sure you will." I said, before looking over. "I'm hungry. What does a fine establishment like this have to eat?" I asked.
He stopped smiling at that. "I'll go down and get us food while you change." I lifted a brow. He said, "Remarkable as my own abilities are to blend in, my face is recognizable. I'd rather not be down there long enough to be noticed."
"Then let me go." I offered, casting a glance with a small shrug. "I'll glamour myself." Something I could do at the moment and Rhys couldn't."
Rhys cast a skeptical look. Not at my offer, but at the latter. "You know how to glamour yourself?"
The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, "Of course, I do. I do it every day." I froze, not meaning to let the slip up pass. Not meaning to reveal that important and yet inconsequential piece of information.
He did not know. Did not know about my scars or my true baggage. My memories.
Only Azriel did. And he only knew about those of my hands.
I did not care about the fact my scars marred my skin. No, they were memories of my triumph. My strength. And yet those very same memories had the ability to bring me to my knees.
Rhys didn't look away for a moment before he said hesitantly, "I'll go." Indeed, he fished a cloak from his pack and slipped it on, the panels fitting over his wings—which he wouldn't risk vanishing again. He'd used power earlier in the day—small enough, he'd said, that it might not be noticed, but we wouldn't be returning to that part of the forest anytime soon.
He tugged on the hood, and I savored the shadows and menace and wings.
He said softly, "I love it when you look at me like that."
The purr in his voice heated my blood, "Like what?"
"Like my power isn't something to run from. Like you see me."
And to a male who had grown up knowing he was the most powerful High Lord in Prythian's history, that he could shred minds if he wasn't careful, that he was alone—alone in his power, in his burden, but that fear was his mightiest weapon against the threats to his people.
"I do see you, Rhys." I spoke. More than he could ever know. More than I could let myself know.
I added, "Though you were scary when I first met you. I was quite afraid." But scary in the way you saw a black cat out the street and assumed you would have bad luck for days.
His white teeth flashed in the shadows of his hood. "No, you weren't. Hesitant, at times, but never afraid. I've felt the genuine terror of enough people to know the difference. Maybe that's why I couldn't keep away."
When? Before I could ask, he walked downstairs, shutting the door behind him.
I sighed.
Say their names. Do not give in. Do not forget.
My half-frozen clothes were a misery to peel off of my body, clinging to my skin like they were attached. I may have knocked into the ceiling, nearby walls, and slammed my knee into the bedpost once, twice, or five times as I changed. The room was so cold I had to get undressed in segments: replacing a freezing shirt with a dry one—a long sleeve teal garment that was unbuttoned on the top—pants for fleece lined leggings, sodden socks for thick hand knit lovelies. When I tucked myself into an oversized, black sweater that smelled faintly of Rhys, layering it over my teal shirt, I sat crossed legged on the bed and waited, idly running my fingers through my wet hair until the knots were gone.
The bed wasn't small, but certainly not large enough for me to pretend I wouldn't be sleeping next to him. Honestly, I don't think I could have fooled myself anyway.
The rain trickled on the roof mere inches away, a steady beat to the thoughts that now pulsed in my head.
The Cauldron knew what Lucien was reporting to Tamlin, likely at this very moment, if not hours ago.
Lucien had been prepared to take me against my will. Go against everything I wanted just as Tamlin had done in Spring Court. Stifling my choices.
Fae males were territorial, dominant, arrogant—but the ones in the Spring Court...something had festered in their training. Because I knew—deep in my bones—that Cassian might push and test my limits, but the moment I said no, he'd back off. And I knew that if...that if I had been wasting away and Rhys had done nothing to stop it, Cassian and Azriel would have pulled me out. Done what Lucien was too cowardly to do.
But Rhys...Rhys wouldn't have not seen what was happening to me; would never have not cared. He'd understood what it was like to be a prisoner, to be helpless, and struggle with the horrors of both.
Rhys's feet were near silent, given away only by the slight groan of the stairs. I rose to open the door before he could knock, and found him standing there, tray in his hands. Two stacks of covered dishes on it, along with two glasses and a bottle of wine, and—
"Tell me that's stew I smell." I breathed in. I wasn't the largest fan of the food, but anything sounded good at the moment. I stepped aside and shut the door while he set the tray on the bed. Right, not even room for a table up here.
"Rabbit stew, if the cooks to be believed."
"I could have lied without hearing that." I said, and Rhys grinned. That smile tugged on something low in my gut, and I looked away, sitting down beside the bed of food, careful not to jostle the tray. I opened the lid of the top dishes: two bowls of stew. "What's the other one beneath?"
"Meat pie. I didn't dare ask what kind of meat." I shot him a glare, but he was already edging around the bed to the armoire, his back in hand. "Go ahead and eat," he said, "Im changing first." "
Indeed, he was soaked—and had to be freezing and sore.
"You should have changed before going downstairs." I said, not needing to be told twice as I picked up my spoon and swirled the stew, sighing at the warm tendrils of steam that rose to kiss my face.
The rasp and slurp of clothes being shucked off filled the room. I tried not to think about that bare, golden chest, the tattoos. The hard muscles.
Don't look.
Wow, Danika, look how interesting your stew is. Look at that, so cool. Such an interesting array of familiar vegetables. Awesome.
"You were training all day. Getting you a hot meal was the least I could do." Rhys answered.
I took a sip. Bland, but edible and, most importantly, hot. I ate in silence, listening to the rustle of his clothes being donned, trying to think of ice baths, of how cool and awesome my stew was—anything but his naked body, so close...and the bed I was sitting on. I poured myself a glass of wine, then filled his.
At last, Rhys squeezed between the bed and the jutting corner of the wall, his wings tucked in close. He wore loose, thin pants, and a tight, form fitting shirt of what looped to me soft cotton. "How do you get it over the wings?" I asked while he dug into his own stew.
"The back is made of slats that close with hidden buttons...But in normal circumstances, I just use magic to seal it shut."
"You seem to have a great deal of magic constantly at use all at once."
A shrug. "It helps me work off the strain of my power. The magic needs release—draining—or else it'll build up and drive me insane. I have no doubt yours will too. That's why we call the Illyrian stones Siphons—they help them channel the power, empty it when necessary."
"Actually insane?" I asked, setting aside my empty bowl of stew and removed the lid from the meat pie. And I was at risk of going insane too apparently?
"Actually insane. Or so I was warned. I can feel it, though—the pull of it, if I go too long without releasing it."
"That's...unique."
Another shrug. "Everything has its cost, Danika. If the price of being strong enough to shield my people is that I have to struggle with that same power, then I don't mind. Amren taught me enough about controlling it. Enough that I owe a great deal to her. Including the current shield around my city while we're here."
Everyone around him had so much use, mighty skill. I felt out of place...I had my assets, my knowledge. But there was not much I could contribute aside from that. A burden, maybe.
"You're not."
"Don't read my thoughts."
"I can't help what you sometimes shout down the bond. And besides, everything is usually written on your face, if you know where to look. Which made your performance today so much more impressive."
I refrained from feeling insulted at the fact he knew how to read me.
He set aside his stew just as I'd finished eating my meat pie, and I slid back on the bed to the pillows, cupping my glass of wine with a chilled hand. I watched him eat while I drank. "Did you think I would go with him?" It was obvious I hadn't wanted to. But I wondered...before I had said no. What had he thought?
He paused mid bite, then lowered his fork. "I heard every word between you. I knew you could take care of yourself, and yet..." he went back to his pie, swallowing a bite before continuing. "And yet I found myself deciding that if you took his hand, I would find away to live with it. It would be your choice."
I sipped from my wine, "And if he had grabbed me?"
There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. "Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back."
A shiver went down my spine, and I couldn't look away from him. "I would have killed him," I breathed, "if he had tried to hurt you."
I had barely even admitted that to myself.
His eyes flickered, "I know."
He finished eating, placed the empty tray in the corner, and faced me on the bed, refilling my glass before tending to his. He was so tall he had to stoop to keep from hitting his head on the slanted ceiling.
"One thought in exchange for another," I said, "No training involved, please."
A chuckle rasped out of him, and he drained his glass, setting it on the tray.
It was likely a stupid idea that would bite me in the ass. No doubt. But...I wanted to know.
He watched me take a long drink from my wine, "I'm thinking," he said, following the flick of my tongue over my bottom lip, "that I look at you and I feel like I'm dying. Like I can't breathe. I'm thinking that I want you so badly I can' concentrate half the time I'm around you, and this room is too small for me to properly bed you. Especially with the wings."
And there it was. Biting me in the ass.
I stared at him unblinking. Unable to look away. Unable to do anything but feel the pounding of my heart, knocking in my chest as it yearned to be let loose; set free. Pounding and pounding, my lungs along with it.
Screaming and screaming
Give in. A chant; a prayer over and over telling me, begging me to let whatever lay within breath.
A flash, a memory in my mind, of Astrid and Flynn's death and yet this time it was not them under the knife. But Rhys. His throat slit in front of me as I screamed and pleaded.
Do not give in. Do not forget.
"I need some air."
A/N: *insert evil laugh* it is time
Patience is key my friends, just wait ...
Chapter Countdown: 5