Page 67 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Shan

T he discussions with the King lasted all day, the shape and details of his plans coming to life as Shan transcribed them furiously in her small journal.

Later, when she returned to the capital, she’d have her secretary copy it out to send to Samuel’s office, go over it with her to translate her scribbled shorthand into something legible.

Not that it would matter much in the end.

Despite his role, Samuel had barely been able to get a word in edgewise, and it had become increasingly clear as the hours dragged on that the King cared little for Samuel’s input.

Her, he treated like an ally, actively seeking her advice as they sketched out a plan for how this elite Guard would be created.

While Samuel just sat there and stewed, his untouched tea going cold in its cup.

The conversation carried past dinner and well into the night before the King dismissed them.

Shan, his clever little assistant, would stay here in the countryside with him, running more tests on Mel, seeing how far her skills extended.

By the time they were done, Shan was sure there would be a pile of bodies left to burn, all sacrificed to the altar of knowledge.

The price that the King would gladly pay for stability in Aeravin.

And Shan would pay that price with him. Though she had never signed up to be Royal Blood Worker, she knew that she couldn’t flinch away from this.

Not unless she wanted to end up like Isaac.

Blood and steel, Isaac . What hells had he brought down upon them? And why did it have to fall on her to clean it all up?

There was a storm coming, and she just hoped that she could get them all through this alive. But that was a problem for the morning, now there was something more important to focus on.

Samuel had slipped away from them as soon as possible, locking himself in his room to rest for the evening.

And while she didn’t blame him in the slightest, she needed to speak to him.

Though she was thankful that the King had determined that Samuel’s part in this was done, she couldn’t let him slip away when there was so much unsaid between them.

She knocked twice on the door that separated their bedchambers, the sharp rap echoing in the tense silence.

“Come in, Shan.”

The door opened easily under her touch—unlocked, then, though that surprised her. With the chilly way he had been treating her all day, and after the brief but violent glimpse he got into her private dealings with the King, she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had locked her out.

If he never let her in, ever again.

Stepping through the doorway, her breath caught in her throat as she took in the room.

The master’s chamber was as indulgent as the rest of the house, even grander than the spouse’s chamber where she had spent the last night.

A large four-poster bed took up the heart of the room, covered in silk sheets and plush pillows.

The walls were covered in detailed wallpaper that looked surprisingly modern, Shan had seen the same shades of blue in fine houses across Dameral.

The King must have had it redone, then. A gift to his heir, though Samuel would spend little time outside of the capital.

She ignored the finery—the well-made furniture, solid and aged, but cared for in a way that made Shan think they must be heirlooms. Fine paintings hung on the wall, faces she did not recognize but all having the same shocking blond hair, the same glittering green eyes.

She didn’t care about the Aberforths that came before, she didn’t care about the Eternal King and his endless schemes. In that moment, all she cared about was Samuel.

He was sprawled in an armchair that he had dragged close to the fire, as if he was desperate to be as close to the warmth as possible, his jacket discarded and his cravat pulled loose.

He had lost his gloves in the past hour, rolling up his sleeves to show the bare length of his forearms, the dark lines of his scars still as stark as the day he received them.

Shan crept closer, flinching as real flames crackled, untouched by Blood Working. The log crackled merrily, filling the room with a soft, smoky scent that felt surprisingly comforting.

Samuel didn’t even look up at her, raising a glass to his lips, the glint of amber catching her attention.

“You’re drinking.” It wasn’t a question, and Samuel huffed, his only response to down the rest of it. “I didn’t realize you drank.”

He leaned forward, placing the glass on the mantle. “Things change.”

“That they do.” She twisted the ring on her finger, a restless tic that she shouldn’t indulge, lest it became a habit, a tell that would give her away. But she shouldn’t have to worry about that, not with Samuel.

Habits were a hard thing to break, even now.

“I thought we should talk.”

Samuel leaned back in his chair, chin tilted towards her, looking up at her with that unwavering, righteous sense of judgement.

Even though she was the one standing, she still felt so small in front of him, like he was the King she once thought she could make him.

But that was before she knew the steel at his heart, unflinching and uncompromising, and before she had fallen so terribly in love with him.

He was the purest, most good-hearted man she had known, and she wanted nothing more than to fall at his feet. To rip out every little doubt that had wormed its way into her chest, to find the exact right sequence of words to explain that she had no choice.

That they had no choice, not if they wanted to survive in this court of blood.

But she remained upright, because if it was to be the end of everything they had, she would face it with her head held high.

Samuel rolled his hand at the wrist, a motion she had seen the King make so many times—telling her to carry on.

“I should have told you sooner,” she said, starting at the beginning. An admission of fault, such as it was. “Helped prepare you for this.”

“Prepare me,” Samuel echoed, and Shan winced at how empty his voice sounded. “Why didn’t you?”

It was a simple question, and one Shan wished she had a good answer for. The lies were already sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them down like acid, burning herself from the inside out. “To protect you.”

“Of course.” He ran his hand over his eyes, and Shan felt her stomach clench in fear.

“Always looking out for me, aren’t you? Always making sure I don’t get too distressed, or see something too painful, or get my hands too dirty.

Distracting me every time I tried to push for answers.

I don’t know why I expected anything different. ”

“Samuel—” She reached out, but he stood abruptly, stepping to the side so that she couldn’t touch him, catching the edge of the chair instead.

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped, and Shan flinched back at the harshness of his words, the sliver of darkness that hung between them.

The gift that they had both hoped was gone, slinking around her, shackles waiting to lock closed.

Not that he needed to use his gift. If he did not want her to touch him, she wouldn’t.

It still hurt, all the same.

She gripped the chair tighter, uncaring that her claws sliced through the soft velvet, forest green against metallic silver. Gouges that would not easily be fixed, a wound that would scar forever. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He finally smiled, though it was something soft and broken. “You never do, not really. Just like you never meant to hurt your brother. Never meant to hurt Isaac.”

“Don’t—” Shan hissed, as though she expected the King to saunter into the room, to catch them in something terribly close to treason. “Don’t mention him.”

“We are safe here, Shan,” Samuel countered. “Unless there is another reason you don’t want to talk about him.”

“I—” She cut herself off, rather than fumble for the words she did not have. Samuel gave her the time she needed, as she pulled each syllable out piece by piece, the words catching in her throat like shards of glass.

“I love him,” she whispered, a confession that she did not know would cost her so much. “But I cannot let him destroy this country. Samuel, you must understand that everything he does, every escalation he takes, the King will match him. And do so much worse in retaliation.”

Warm hands landed on her shoulders, the touch of bare skin on hers searing.

But Samuel didn’t pull her close, didn’t give her the opportunity to lose her worry and her cares in the simple release of their bodies.

The way she had done with him so many times now, because it was easier that way.

To use her body to say the things she was unable to vocalize, but oh, how he had misunderstood her.

She had never meant it to be a slight.

He just steered her into the seat, kneeling in front of her to hold her hand—chaste, gentle, kind. Forcing her to look him in the eye as he pressed her to continue speaking, to mine her every pain, excavating it like a precious gem to be measured and polished.

“I know you’re frightened, Shan,” Samuel said, thumbs slipping under the chains of her claws, holding her fast. “I am too. But that doesn’t mean that you have to play by the King’s rules.”

Blood and steel, how she wished it could be that simple. “If we don’t, then there will be war.”

“And sometimes,” Samuel returned, shattering her already fragile heart, “that is a price we’re willing to pay, because this is not sustainable.”

“Samuel—”

“Once, you told me that you wanted someone else on the throne.”

Why was he bringing this up? Solely to force her to confront plans that seemed so childishly idealistic in hindsight? He wasn’t that cruel. “You didn’t want it.”