Page 121 of The Chains You Defy

Grabbing her by the hair and dragging her to my bed wouldn’t help my case, although the fantasy was definitely one I enjoyed entertaining.

Fuck this, it was imperative to get my mind out of the gutter.

Somehow, confessing my thoughts and feelings to Nayana had left me drained, and a particular weakness had settled into my every fiber, leaving me disoriented. No one had ever been allowed to see so much of me, and as hard as I tried not to be disappointed that she hadn’t rushed into my arms and kissed me senseless, my rational side insisted on how highly unlikely such a reaction would have been.

Nayana granting me a chance to back up my words with deeds was the best outcome I could have hoped for. And if I wasn’t lacking one thing, it was determination.

As usual, my stubborn female would come around.

There was only one right way to proceed from here.

The first step was to ensure that no one would disrespect Nayana ever again, not even my grandfather. So, having her reseated from that disgrace of a table they had placed her at to humiliate her to something more suitable—like my lap—would be my immediate action.

And then—

—I royally fucked up.

As I mulled over the pros and cons of enacting the plan forming in my mind today, or at an opportunity less public, Danartha appeared out of nowhere, and I was too preoccupied and distracted to shake her off or to put her in her place once and for all.

Fuck.

Naya stared at my retreating form, stunned in place with eyes as big as saucers, her expression almost gutting me. Disbelief radiated from her tiny form, and my chest ached. Had I already done more damage than I could repair?

Gods, this was too fucked up.

Well, I’d deal with everything. First, with the vile female inserting herself into my life time and time again, then I’d mend the fresh wound between Nayana and me before the rift could fester.

Fuck being cautious.

With a vicious snarl at Danartha, I placed my feet firmly on the ground, and even though we were in the middle of the dance floor, there was no way I’d take any more steps to the music with her. “Didn’t I spend an hour of my precious time earlier and explain to you with great patience that you have to leave me alone, Danartha?”

“You’re clearly confused. Ivreia didn’t do you any good.”

“Since when are you such an excellent judge of character?”

“When it comes to you? I’ve always been, Scriosta.”

Fury circulated in my veins, as hot as I imagined the Restless Desert to be, and I bared my teeth to the female in front of me, a warning gesture of the escalating aggression fueling my anger. “Just because my grandfather never misses an opportunity to throw us together in some official function or because we fucked a few times, you can’t be under the delusion of having any clue about me.”

Why was I still choosing the nice way? A voice in my mind insisted on solving the problem once and for all, and my fingers twitched. Reminding myself that if I tore her chest open, ruptured her sternum, and crushed her heart with my bare hands as I feasted on her suffering, the crowd wouldn’t stay docile, which was a prerequisite for the more important next step of my plan. Yes, I yearnedto slaughter every single one of those preposterous fools present, but sadly, I needed witnesses.

“You always lash out when you feel seen.”

Fine, that one was correct. Only it wasn’t she who’d seen all of me. Taking my anger and morphing the emotions into a mask so cold, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d frozen everyone around us. As I stared at her as if she were nothing more than the dirt under my fingernails, my voice cut through the air. “Leave Alaiann. Return to Laidir. I don’t want you to reside at the palace anymore. Or else—”

Danartha had the fucking audacity to laugh.

Chains rattled.

Something thundered.

“As if you could order me around.”

“If I were you, I would be very cautious. Remember your fucking place, Eiri.” Customs and conventions were critical to fae, like honoring the rites, bowing to power, acknowledging the gods—contrary to upholding the laws, which often enough clashed with said customs—and calling another fae by any other name than the one they’d chosen as their main was the gravest of insults. Even I had never stooped so low, but there was a first time for everything. Not only had Danartha picked up Galrach’s habit of spitting in my face and breaking convention in calling me Scriosta at every fucking opportunity, she’d also pissed me off enough that obliterating this boundary I’d set for myself was an easy decision. “Because if you dig your grave much deeper, only one thing will get you out of your predicament, and that would be fucking my grandfather.”

“How can you be so disrespectful? You’re talking about the High King.”

“Ah, so you are warming his bed, aren’t you?”