Page 100 of Blackheart

“You’re going to walk.”

My knees wobbled, eyelids heavy as stone. I couldn’t argue anymore, or do anything for that matter. Existing was exhausting enough.

“I can’t.”

Darkness flashed in and out like the lightning striking in the distance. When my eyes fluttered open again, I was slumped over Xavian’s shoulder as he hiked up the hill to the Silver Circle. The rest of the city had avoided the storm, while I’d crashed with it.

I closed my eyes once more. I was so tired.

Chapter 31

Charming, Yet Cruel

“Nightcastors—conniving tricksters, the lot of them. Trust one, and you deserve what follows.”

—Marker Dane, Lord of Lawship

I wokein a comfort I had never known before. The mattress was soft and plush, my head cushioned by a real pillow. A clean white comforter had been draped over my body.

The bedroom was as grand as Princess Clayvarie’s—dark oak bed, intricate violet wallpaper veined with stone, and arched windows facing the dreary skies above the roaring sea and distant capital.

My clothes clung to me, reeking of mildew.

Knock, knock, knock.

I sat up, sliding my eyes across the room. My bag rested in the corner next to a silver armoire.

Knock, knock, knock.

Crossing the expansive space, I snatched up Singer before swinging the door open.

Riven.

The weight in my shoulders dropped as his eyes met mine.

Of course he found me. Who else would have shown up at my door the moment I opened my eyes? It was as if he had listened for the first creak of the bed frame.

“I never showed up for training, or your tour,” I began, shame creeping up my chest.

I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t gone, or why I hadn’t just told him I wasn’t ready to come back to the House of Sterling.

“It’s okay.”

“Word must travel fast around here,” I said.

Riven stood raffish in his brotherhood uniform, while I needed a bath. The knots from sleeping in rain-soaked hair would be a nightmare to comb out.

He shifted his muscled arms behind him, suddenly at attention. “I’ve been sent to inform you that your presence is required in the council chambers at the House of Sterling this afternoon, my lady.”

The title rolled off his tongue as though I’d been branded a stranger, his words pricking like a rosebush. Charming, yet cruel.

I would've preferred a slap across the face. Depending on the circumstances, I may have even liked it. But this was no game. This was a new line being drawn.

“Is that what I am to you now? Someladyyou deliver missives to, like a fucking messenger pigeon?”

“Elora,” he whispered.Thatwas the voice I had begun to grow fond of. My heart desperately begged to cling to that, to be agreeable and yield, just like I had for men in the past.

But that had only ever left me bedded and broken.