Page 35

Thirty-Five

Ayna

When I’m done reading, the old, dried blotches of wet aren’t the only ones making the ink run across the parchment. Hot tears are streaming down my cheeks while the gazes of the others rest on me, expectant for me to tell them what I found.

Myron is the only one reading over my shoulder, and only because I lean into him, offering my mother’s words so I don’t need to repeat them.

She knew. She knew who my father was, if only in the end. She took me away to save me from a fate that found me anyway.

Forcing down a balancing breath, I tell the others, “It’s personal. Nothing that will change the course of this war.”

No one challenges my words, not because I can’t lie—I’m still not certain where my boundaries with the truth sit when it comes to having become a full Crow—but because they can sense the deep anguish and joy at holding something of my mother’s in my hands.

Without another comment, I fold up the letter and place it on the table, already picking up the next one. This one isn’t from my mother. The rest of the letters are a series of written reports from rebels all over Tavras. They have been monitoring and documenting the developments in the kingdom since my escape, and this might be the best asset we could get into our grasp after our failure to detect Ephegos’s troops.

Reading them out loud, I pass them to Tori and Rogue one by one while they are conjuring little carved figurines of various colors from thin air, placing them wherever the rebels reported incidents or military clusters. Half an hour later, the Tavrasian part of the map is covered in a colorful pattern marking the locations of spies and troops while, in the Askarean part, black pins mark the fairy legions. Even Herinor joins, giving his opinion on the likelihood of Erina or Ephegos pulling the ropes between each action. It’s a surprisingly calm musing, pushing our individual issues far into the background noise, a welcome reprieve and the first actual tangible proof of what is going on in my human kingdom. I don’t even think about my mother’s letter to Andraya much, my focus captured by having something to do and my thoughts bound to figuring out the meaning of Tavras’s military’s positioning.

Only when each of us has studied the reports a second time do we finally loose a collective breath, and I turn my back to the map, perching on the edge of the table.

“It seems we’ve got some work to do.” Silas claps his hands, eager to get moving, Royad seconding his statement with a list of actionable points of where to shift some of the Askarean troops for tactical advantage. I’m not surprised Tori is already discussing the feasibility of each move with Rogue, who places a finger on his mouth, listening intently to his general and the two Crow males so eager to help.

“Are you all right?” Kaira asks in my mind, tearing me from my thoughts with that surefire way of knowing when I’m withdrawing into a shell.

“I will be.” Because I have Myron at my side and my sister, and an entire family who’s looking out for me, Herinor included, in his own, twisted way. But even him I have in my corner.

When we leave the throne room hours later, Myron silently walks at my side, a pensiveness settling over him I hadn’t noticed earlier. The others are continuing to talk strategies, Silas and Tata launching into a discussion about whether he should be placed in her unit or fight alongside the rest of the Crows when the big confrontation comes.

That brings me back to the image of the map that has burned itself into my head, and which will give me nightmares for a good time to come.

Halfway up the stairs to our room, Myron drops my hand, curling his arm around my waist and tucking me into his side. He leans down to place a kiss on the crown of my head, his warm breath washing over my hair, but he doesn’t speak until we step inside our bedroom and close the door after us.

With a sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed, tired gaze landing on the cerulean rug spread between us while I remain standing a foot from the oak door.

“It’s not going to get any easier, is it?” He rubs his hands over his face as if trying to wipe the image we just pieced together in the throne room. “Thousands of soldiers at the border. Spies roaming all of Tavras on the search for we don’t know what. Legions combing the lands for either the rebels or for us. And no sign of the Crows. No sightings of Ephegos or any other of our kin.” The muscles in his neck and shoulders shift under his black tunic as he shakes his head, and I cross the rug with two strides, settling beside him on the bed, fingers laced between my knees and shoulder resting against his.

It’s good to feel him like this, solid muscle and strength, even when doubts are pestering him. Better even when he leans into me, too, using my support the same way I’m using his.

A deep sigh ripples through him. “I wish I had an army, Ayna. I wish I had forces to pit against Erina, against Ephegos and his traitor Crows.” A curtain of raven hair hides his face as he lowers his head, taking my view of those beautiful features. “I wish I was a real king with a real kingdom and the power to defend those I love.”

I had no idea he was feeling this way, nor do I want him to feel like he’s lacking anything when he’s everything to me.

Out of their own accord, my fingers graze his, folding through his laced ones until my palm rests between his.

“You are a real king, Myron. You might not have a large army at your disposal right now, but you have a kingdom.”

Lifting his head, Myron scrutinizes me from two orbs of ocean blue, and the devastation there nearly breaks my heart. “A king of three Crows, and one of them’s a traitor.” The bitter chuckle spilling from his lips sends that dormant fissure right through my chest.

“ My king,” I correct. “The king of my heart and my soul, no matter how many others you reign over. You’ll always be my king.”

Just like that, the bitterness melts away, and the depths of his eyes swallow me whole.

“As you are my queen. My kingdom. My universe. There is nothing I want apart from you. But I do need to defend you, Ayna. I won’t risk Ephegos sneaking up on us another time. I won’t risk him succeeding in fulfilling his bargain with Shaelak.” My breath hitches as he lifts his hand to my cheek, fingertips grazing my skin lightly like a cloud. “I won’t risk our mating bond, not even in death can I bear the thought of you with another male.”

Heat lances down my spine as his hand brushes the side of my neck, finger sliding under the collar of my leathers in a smooth motion, reminding me what it’s like to have those hands all over my torso.

But the devastation in his gaze hasn’t faded, even with this contact between us, the undeniable connection binding us through the mate mark, and the tingling warmth spreading within me, originating in my palm right where the mark is slightly glowing where my hand now rests against the top of his thigh.

“Even if death takes you from me, I will never be someone else’s. Even if Shaelak himself wills it.”

A breath hitches in his throat as my fingers curl to the inside of his knee, nails scraping over the leather of his pants, and I can’t hold back the need to forge my mouth with his.

Before I can form a clear thought, my lips meet his in a fierce kiss, a tangle of tongues and teeth, of stuttering breaths, and his hand delves into my hair, cupping my nape and tilting my head for better access. White-hot need washes through me, a sensation so powerful I don’t care if it will consume me whole, and I slide over him, straddling him with a swift motion and inhaling his groan of surprise and approval as my center brushes up against his arousal.

Myron’s hands claim my hips, securing me against his front as he turns us over so he’s kneeling between my legs on the bed. With a moan, I arch into his touch, relishing each featherlight kiss he places along the side of my neck. And his teeth?—

A curse escapes my lips as he bites down on the side of my collar, tearing the button open with one efficient tug, but my hands are there, fumbling open the buckles along the front until my thin undershirt is the only thing separating me from his touch. With a growl, Myron releases my hips, hooking a talon that must have slipped through his attention into the collar of my shirt and ripping it open straight to the waistband of my pants. The fabric peels away, leaving me bare, and Myron takes full advantage as he sits up, looking his fill of my heavy, aching breasts before swiping a gentle finger across them.

“My beautiful Crow,” he whispers, awe melting with desire, with a raw need so forceful my palm burns as he pours his emotions into me through the bond.

I reach for his shirt, sliding it over his head, then the front of his pants, unlacing the leather until I can shove it down, freeing his cock. Myron’s breath stutters as I guide him to my entrance, his entire form trembling with restraint, but he doesn’t move an inch as I take his face between my palms, kissing him gently, deeply.

“No one but you,” I remind him as I slide over him, letting his hard desire sink into me.

Myron isn’t breathing, pulse raging in his chest so hard I can hear it over the gushing of my own wild blood. Like honey, his tongue melts against mine, and as I nip at his bottom lip, moaning at the deep fit of him within me, Myron unleashes himself on me.

Hard thrusts combined with reverent kisses. I’m afloat with the potency of the emotions building within me. Not just the pleasure coiling tight in my belly with every time his hips meet mine, fingers curling around my thighs as he lifts me a few inches to take me even deeper. On his chest, the mate mark lights up under my touch, lines of stardust glimmering between us as he drives into me like he can’t bear an inch of distance between us.

When I come undone, Myron is right there to catch me, his groan of release tearing through the small universe we’ve formed for us alone, shredding it into a million stars.