Page 84 of The Chains You Defy

“Sure. Where will you be sleeping then?”

“Also in my bedchambers.”

“Not going to happen. We’re in a castle with a million rooms, which has enough space for me to have my privacy again, thank you very much. In Ivreiana, we only shared accommodations because we were guests, and I couldn’t exactly demand a suite on my own.”

Gods, this female and her unnecessary desire for independence. “Again, this isn’t the right time for your sensitivities.”

Nayana surprised me when she backed off, then charged and tackled me in frustration. Her attempt resembled a kitten trying to scratch a lion, and I chuckled.

“I loathe you, Dionadair Dorchadas Coroin De’An Scriosta.”

She was grinning in triumph when a wince escaped my throat.

“Can you recall that I asked you for your full name back in Ivreia? Seems I was spot-on; chastising you with the unabbreviated version has quite the impact. Wouldn’t you agree, princeling?”

Suddenly, amusement took over. Sure, she’d landed a surprise hit, but I could easily change who came out on top. “Oh, you remember my entire name,” I purred. “Down to the correct pronunciation. Are you aiming to impress me?”

Nayana produced the most adorable frustrated sound, and I couldn’t resist tucking her into my chest. She didn’t struggle, and I banked this as a win. My lungs expanded as I took in her scent, my chin resting on the crown of her head.

“Let me have my own room, Dion.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not risking that someone with malevolent intentions sneaks into your chambers at night. No one is beyond bribery, especially not when their target isn’t fae. On top of that, only five minutes ago, I told you that my grandfather had his own daughter assassinated, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do if a deed helped his fucked-up plans. How can I protect you from him if I’m not close to you?”

“I don’t think that your grandfather has malicious intent toward me. After all, doesn’t he want you to be as powerful as possible?”

“Sorry Naya, but you’re naive. And I’m responsible for your safety.”

“Strictly speaking, we’re not traveling anymore.”

“Even if our bargain from Ivreia is history, I’d still tie you to the bed for security reasons. And since you’d loathe that even more, you really should see reason and stay right by my side during the nights of your own volition. That’s my last word. Now, through that door over there is a washroom. You might want to freshen up.”

If I didn’t put a stop to the discussion, she’d argue with me until all eternity. So I picked her up, shoved her into the bathing chamber, and shut the door between us.

Leaning against the wooden surface, exasperated by the mere fact of being back in Alaiann, I closed my eyes and sighed. One of these days, she would be the death of me.

Divine Immaru, I didn’t have enough time to pray for the heaps of patience I needed to deal with that male. After Dion had ended our discussion in one of his usual oh-so-charming ways, I dwelled on the spot where I’d come to rest after my not-so-elegant stumble through the carved door the prince had shut in my face. Staring at the polished wood, all I wanted was to yell at him.

This overbearing, insufferable bastard. He could go drown in a puddle for all I cared.

Sure, my anger might have been exaggerated. Yet I clung to the annoyance like to a lifeline because raging was a million times better than paralyzing every time I thought of eventually meeting the High King.

The brief summary of the assassination of Dion’s mother and the execution of his father—both orchestrated by Galrach—had done nothing to lessen the dread. Instead, a sharp knife stabbed my heart with each beat. I hurt for the prince who’d endured so much at such a young age. And I was sure this was just the tip of the highest Hungry Giant. After all I’d gathered, Galrach was the real monster and the one to fear the most.

Honestly, I wasn’t as mad as I’d pretended to be about not getting a room on my own, more that he had dismissed my desires outright—if he’d acknowledged their existence at all.

When would Dion understand that he’d have such an easier time convincing me of his plans if he took my opinions into consideration and discussed them with me like the adults we were? If he didn’t learn this and fast, we would indeed be miserable for as long as I lived, just as he’d stated in Amalach as something he wanted to avoid.

Yet being angry with Dion all the time was so godsdamned tiring, and if having the same argument on repeat wouldn’t also be tedious, my exasperation might not have dimmed forever ago.

That my anger hadn’t switched into resentment or pushed me into outright rebellion was something close to a miracle. One I credited to how this male had wormed his way into my heart and how special our friendship was to me.

Yes, exactly—friendship. Even though the memory of him washing me, caressing me—tasting me—was still lingering on the forefront of my mind. But by the gods, why had pondering about Dion’s controlling demeanor morphed into indecent daydreams again?

Damn.