Page 64 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

Aidon used to yearn for stolen, quiet moments. But as he sat on a large tree stump at the back of the small house, the plains stretching on endlessly into the horizon, the quiet brought little peace. It gave his mind too much space to wander, his thoughts too much volume to fill.

He watched as Akeeta and Azul circled the house, their ears pricked forward as they kept guard. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there. Long enough for the blood to have stopped flowing from his nose, and for the sun to have set, the early stages of twilight crawling across the sky.

The deep purple reminded him of a landscape Josie painted of the sunset beach fires in Rinnia. She’d chosen that exact shade of purple for the sky. The painting hung in the small dining room of the family’s private wing in the palace.

Or, it had. The Bellare had likely laid waste to anything sentimental.

His chest ached as he thought of his family.

Josie might have been safe when Cole had left, but how long before the Bellare sought her out in the Maraciana?

How long could Natali keep her protected?

And what of his parents? He had to believe they were alive—any alternative fate would extinguish his resolve immediately—but only the seven hells would keep them from their children.

Aidon’s hands curled into fists on his thighs. He had known the rumors of his power would cause trouble, but he hadn’t expected this . Perhaps that made him naive. Perhaps it was more evidence he was unfit to rule.

Then again, he’d had plenty to occupy his mind these last two months. Finding Aya, keeping Will from careening off the cliff of desperation, trying to keep his own power from devouring him like a particularly hungry beast.

He’d succeeded in two of those, at least.

Aidon’s uncurled his fists and flipped his hands, peering down at the lines in his blistered skin. He was no more than a fumbling Visya child, overcome by his emotions and losing control of his power.

Except theirs doesn’t try to kill them.

A rustle sounded behind him, the wolves stilling with it. But they relaxed in the next moment, and Aidon heard the off cadence of uneven footsteps.

Dauphine.

He fixed his attention on the stars that began to blink across the sky. She took a seat beside him, her wrapped thigh pressing against his as they sat in silence.

“How’s your pain?” Aidon finally asked, glancing down at the bandage.

“How’s yours?” Dauphine retorted as she rested back on her palms, her chin lifted toward the sky. She’d cleaned off the blood and braided back her long hair.

Aidon traced her side profile, taking in the roundness of her cheek, the fullness of her lips, the long expanse of her neck.

He forced his eyes away, back up to the stars. A pity—they lacked in comparison.

“I’ve had worse healings,” she answered when it became clear he would not.

Hollow amusement pulsed through him. “High praise.”

“Might still ask the saint if she will bless me with her touch when she’s able.”

“Don’t jest,” Aidon muttered wearily. “She damn well saved all of our lives. We do not need to be asking her for further favors.”

Dauphine nudged him. “Don’t tell me you harbor feelings for her as well.”

That, at least, got a true chuckle out of Aidon. What he wouldn’t give to be back agonizing over alliances and forced marriages and love. It all seemed so trivial compared to what they faced now.

“She’s my friend,” he assured her. “Nothing more.”

There was a time those words would have been a lie, but now…

He loved Aya in that same devoted way he loved Clyde, and Lucas, and once—before he had betrayed Aidon by siding with his treasonous uncle—Peter.

The reminder of his late friend stirred the fury that he had just managed to calm. His jaw locked as he scanned the skies, his knee beginning to bounce.

“You’re angry,” Dauphine remarked.

“My kingdom has been attacked by sycophants,” Aidon bit out, dragging his gaze back to her. “Of course I’m angry.”

“ Your kingdom?” Finally, she turned to look at him, her braid sliding over her shoulder as she did. “I wasn’t aware you were still intent on keeping your crown.”

“Do not goad me,” Aidon warned. “You saw what happened when Cole did.”

Dauphine leaned closer, until her shoulder was pressing firmly against his. She tilted her chin up, her eyes wide and sparkling with amusement. “But it’s so fun,” she whispered, her breath brushing across his lips.

“Dauphine—” His words died on his tongue as her hand found his cheek.

“I am not afraid of your fire, Aidon.” Her gaze dipped to his lips for the briefest of moments. “Burn me if you must.”

Seven hells, he would not be surprised to find that he was burning right now. Every inch of him felt hot, but this time his Incend flame was not at fault.

It was her.

All her.

Aidon shut his eyes, as if that would somehow protect him against the way he so desperately yearned to give in. It made it easier to whisper the words he had been repeating silently to himself since he’d stormed out of the house.

“I have to go home.”

There it was, the truth laid bare. He hadn’t been sure when he’d first taken to the woods with Will if he would ever be able to return to Rinnia, to his people. But now…

He would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try.

“We will not win this war without all of us united,” Aidon murmured, his eyes fluttering open. If the Bellare stayed in control, Trahir would remain isolated from the fight.

Isolated, that is, until Kakos decided to bring their destruction to their door.

“Cole is right. I have fought Kakos three times now. They may not accept me as their king, but I was once their general. Perhaps that is who they need to hear from now.”

They might never accept him, but it was a risk he had to take. For his family. For his friends. For his people. For Eteryium.

The corner of Dauphine’s lips twitched. She leaned in, pausing for a beat—giving him the chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

Aidon’s pulse thundered as she pressed her lips to his. His hand cupped her jaw, and gods, her skin was soft and warm, her lips full and perfect. He licked into her mouth, swallowing the soft moan he dragged from her throat as she slid a hand to the back of his neck and pulled him closer.

Aidon’s stomach tightened, heat racing down his spine and stirring in his gut, and he braced a hand on the stump to stop himself from laying her down right here. If the way her body rolled up against his was any indication, he did not think she’d mind.

Even still…

Aidon pulled back, his breath rendered into soft pants that he tried to swallow as he caught his bearings.

“What was that for?” he asked, his hand sliding back into her hair.

Dauphine tugged him in again, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip in a way that tore a soft groan from his chest. He could taste her smile as she pulled away.

“I was worried for a moment that you weren’t the man I thought you were,” she answered. “I’m glad to be proven wrong.”

“And who is it that you think I am?”

Dauphine’s smile turned soft as she brought her other hand to his cheek so that she was cupping his face fully, like she was holding him steady so that he could not escape her words.

“A leader ,” she emphasized. “With a burning desire to do right by his people.” Her thumb stroked the fragile skin just below his eye. “It is not the crown that makes the king, Aidon.”

Someone cleared their throat from behind them, but there was no force in the world that could have jarred him away from Dauphine.

“She’s awake,” Liam called.

Dauphine grinned, her hands falling to her sides as she moved out of Aidon’s space. She shot him a wink before she pushed herself up and made her way inside.

Aidon gave himself to the count of five to pull himself together before he followed her. Liam was leaning against the edge of the house, looking as smug as smug could be. He lifted a brow as Aidon passed.

“You’re playing with fire,” he remarked as he clapped him on the shoulder. But there was a smile dancing in his voice, softening the words into more jest than warning.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Aidon wasn’t playing with fire. He was the flame, and he’d finally found the air he needed to truly burn.

***

Aya was waiting for him. She’d washed the blood and dirt from her face and hair, but her clothes, like the rest of them, had seen better days. Aidon shoved down the roil of disgust in his gut at the navy uniform and instead folded Aya into his arms.

She hugged him fiercely, her voice muffled against his fighting leathers as she said, “I’m sorry about Trahir.”

Aidon laughed into her hair, the sound scratching against the sadness clogging his throat.

She would apologize for his pain, as if she weren’t suffocating beneath her own.

But he knew Aya better than that. He pushed her away slightly, his chest aching as he took in the haunted look in her eyes.

There was a vacancy beneath it, as if she were looking at him, but not.

As if she were the room, and yet so, so far away.

“I’m sorry about…” He swallowed the words, his gaze darting to the Decachiré sigil on her uniform. He did not know how to encapsulate it all. He didn’t even have the details of what, exactly, she’d endured.

Perhaps he never would. But he knew in his heart it was horrid.

Whatever they had forced her to do, whatever means by which she’d survived…he could see the weight of it bearing down on her. She looked smaller. Hollower. And yet the corner of her mouth twitched, the ghost of a sad smile flitting across her lips.

“Inside wounds,” she murmured.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “We’ll make them pay.”

Aya inhaled, her whole body seeming to expand with the movement. He’d never seen someone breathe like that before—as if they were trying to pull strength from the air and withstand the agony of it all at once.