Page 42 of Rhapsody of Ruin (Kingdoms of Ash and Wonder #1)

Elowyn

The chamber stilled when the latch clicked. No herald announced him. No guards preceded him. Only the heavy weight of his presence as Rhydor closed the door behind him, the sound echoing louder than any shout. The flames in the hearth snapped sharply as if they too recognized his anger.

I stood by the table, hands resting on an open ledger I had not read for the past hour. The words blurred on the page, meaningless scratches in the candlelight. My body felt rigid, my breath shallow, every part of me aware of him.

He strode into the room like a storm barely leashed. His boots struck stone, hard and final. The air shifted with the scent of steel, leather, and faint sulfur. He carried the weight of Drakaryn’s forges in his skin, and tonight, every ember of it was sharpened into fury.

“Where,” he said.

Just one word. Low. Threaded with dragonfire.

I forced myself to meet his eyes. Molten gold and ember, bright with restrained violence. “Where what?” My voice was calm, but my fingers dug crescents into the ledger’s edge.

He advanced, the distance between us shrinking with each step. “Where did you take him.”

My throat tightened. The child. Valimir. He knew. Not how much, not everything, but enough.

I smoothed my expression into the mask my mother had taught me. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Don’t play games with me. The court whispers already, your absence, your knight, three nights gone. They say you left to hide a child. They say you defiled your vows with another man.”

Heat surged into my face, not from guilt but from fury. “Lies.”

“Then prove them false!” His voice snapped like a whip, fire licking at the edges. “Where did you go? Why did you vanish with Sir Thalen while I steadied Emberhold? Do you expect me to believe in sacred rites when rumor brands me a cuckold before the court?”

The word cut like glass.

I pressed my palms flat against the table, grounding myself. “It was the Moonshrine Veilturn rites. Three days of seclusion. You know of them.”

His laugh was sharp, bitter. “Sacred silence? Convenient silence. Do you think me blind? Do you think I cannot see the lies unraveling before me?”

“I did what I must,” I said, voice like ice.

“What you must?” He paced, circling like a predator. “You leave without a word, take a knight into the woods, and return to whispers of a child hidden from crown and court, and you call it duty?”

I held his gaze, though my chest ached. “Yes.”

He stopped, fury radiating from him like heat from a forge. “You risk Masking. You risk exile. If you will not tell me the truth, the council will demand it. Do you want that? To be judged before every mask in Lunareth, your secrets torn open?”

My lips trembled, but I forced the words out, steady and cutting. “You married a Fae. What did you expect?”

The silence that followed was heavier than iron.

His breath came hard, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something between rage and hurt. The fire crackled, the scent of smoke thick, filling the void where neither of us spoke.

Finally, he moved.

One step. Two. Until the heat of him pressed against me like a furnace, his shadow swallowing mine. He loomed, taller, broader, his presence filling every corner of the chamber.

“Do you think I will be mocked?” he whispered, his voice low and lethal. “Do you think I will let the court see me weakened by your lies?”

I should have stepped back. I should have turned away. Instead, I stood still, defiant, though my knees trembled.

His hand lifted, rough and unyielding, fingers sliding against the side of my neck. Not gentle. Not cruel. Simply claiming.

He pulled me forward and crushed his mouth to mine.

The kiss was fire, hot, consuming, devouring. His lips were fierce, his grip hard, dragging me against him until I could feel every line of his body through my gown. I gasped, and he swallowed it, deepening the kiss, demanding, taking.

Heat surged through me, searing down my spine, curling low in my belly. My hands, traitorous, clutched at his tunic, holding on as if I might burn away without him.

But there was no tenderness. No trust. Only hunger sharpened into a weapon. He wanted my twilight. He wanted the fire it ignited in him.

And I gave it.

Because what choice did I have?

His hand slid lower, gripping my hip, pulling me tighter. His mouth moved to my throat, teeth grazing, heat blooming where he pressed. My pulse thundered under his lips. Sparks flared between us, the clash of dragonfire and twilight magic.

The chamber swam with sensation, the roughness of his grip, the heat of his breath, the rasp of leather against silk. My knees weakened, but his hold kept me upright, caging me, consuming me.

I wanted to fight it. To push him away. To scream. But my body betrayed me, shuddering under his touch, my magic rising to meet his, feeding him strength.

And I hated it.

Because every tremor of pleasure was poisoned by the knowledge that this was not love. This was not trust. This was survival sharpened into cruelty.

When he finally tore his mouth from mine, his breathing was ragged, his eyes bright with renewed fire. Alive. Restored.

And colder than ever.

He stepped back, releasing me as though I were nothing more than a blade he had used and now discarded. His face was carved from stone, unreadable, his mouth hard.

I stood trembling, my lips swollen, my chest rising too fast. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting skin, the sting the only thing keeping me from crumbling.

I would not weep. I would not bend.

The silence stretched, deafening, louder than any argument.

Then he turned.

He strode to the door, his cloak snapping behind him. He wrenched it open, cold air sweeping into the chamber.

He did not look back.

The door remained open after he left, the emptiness of it echoing louder than a slam.

I stared at it until my eyes burned, refusing the tears that clawed at the edges.

No shouting. No broken glass. No final strike.

But something in us had shattered all the same.