Page 20 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)
Leif rubs his hand along the back of his neck and releases a long sigh. “My hands are tied, Elle. Maybe it's time to go home. You've met the soldiers looking for your father. You know they're the best.”
“I have seen no such thing. Not once has anyone here spoken of him or gone on a rescue mission. They're not doing enough.” I slam my palm against the tabletop, cringing as more pain rattles through me .
“He's not their only priority, or did you forget we're at war?” he counters, the volume of his voice matching mine.
The needs of our kingdom come first is a lesson pounded and massaged into every fiber of my being.
My wants can act as a hindrance to our people's betterment.
It's the reason I've never made a fuss about marrying Leif.
My duty has always been at the forefront of my mind until my family was ripped apart.
“I didn't forget, but he's my only priority, Leif.”
We stare at each other, with our mouths set in firm lines.
I'm not looking for his rational thoughts on the matter.
This is a moment where I need my best friend—the boy who seeks big adventures and righting the wrongs in the world, not the analytic army captain.
I harden my gaze, willing him to admit I'm right, and he leans back, crossing his arms and not giving in.
A knock comes from the door, and Leif looks away. He walks across the room with an annoyed sigh and yanks open the door. His burly frame blocks my view, but the voice on the other side is unmistakable.
“I need to talk to her alone.”
Leif opens the door wider to let Kyron in and gives me one last look. He isn't ready to let go of his belief that the army is doing everything it can to rescue my father. I can’t back down from my beliefs either. More can be done. It needs to be done.
With a curt nod, he walks out.
Kyron places his hands behind his back and paces my small room. His boots make a steady beat on the wood floors as he watches every step. The longer 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.
He 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. Then again, I put myself in this position, and I’ll do it over and over again if it means I get to 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?” I ask.
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.”
The pride that swells in my chest quickly deflates under the pressure of reality. “But it wasn't enough.”
Kyron shakes his head, and apprehension rises within me as he walks away.
I should let him go. He’s just a roadblock to getting what I want.
The sooner he leaves, the quicker I can gather my bearings and concoct a new strategy.
Yet, I'm overwhelmed with the desire to have just one more minute in his presence. I need 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 mesmerizing colorful 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 hand.
I want to 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. With each stroke, I grow lightheaded, and my words are muffled when I say, “I can't figure you out. Sometimes you have me convinced you’re one of us fighting for our cause. And other times, I'm not so sure.”
He brushes away the strands of my hair caught in the corner of my mouth. “It doesn't matter what I tell you, you’re 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’s handsome. Breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly handsome.
The scar above his brow and the one under his chin are minute imperfections that only add to his looks.
And that power is 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.
“It doesn’t feel like nothing. It’s like you’re…” I shake my head not wanting to voice the fear that has been taught to me since childhood. But the words don’t need to be spoken for him to know where they lead.
His features darken, and he pulls his hand away from mine. “I don't take what isn't mine.”
Hearing him say that terrible nagging thought in my head is a blow to the gut. It crushes 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 equals.
Yet with no evidence, I've judged Kyron. Nothing he’s done validates my preconceived notions of the Stigians.
I've not witnessed him luring Lucents away from the safety of our kingdom or heard them speak of the heinous act my subconscious thinks him capable of. If anything, he’s proven over and over again that he is an exception to the rule.
I scramble to set things right. “I didn't say?—”
“You didn’t need to.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. 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. I wish I knew how to let go of my fear, how to just cling to the good he’s shown me.
It’s hard. He’s the enemy I was taught to fear.
I’ve never had a need to understand someone like him beyond the basics.
He is a Khiros, and he’s also a Stigian who has fueled his power by siphoning.
It feels so cut and dry, but something deep inside tells me I have to look past what I thought was right.
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.
He freezes in the doorway, facing away from me, and the tone of his voice is flat as he says, “If you're feeling up to it, you can start training tomorrow.”
I open my mouth to thank him, but he doesn't give me a chance, 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 that I got my way despite my shortcomings, the hurt I've caused the general overshadows my victory.