Page 14 of The Rivaled Crown (The Veiled Kingdom #3)

CHAPTER 14

DACRE

I didn’t let go of her until the door was shut behind us, sealing us away from the world outside.

Even then, my grip only tightened.

Even when I heard Wren and Kai step away, giving us space, I could see the worry covering my sister’s face. Even when I felt the tension still gripping this city like a noose, its people watching, waiting for a sign that they were right to fear her.

Even when I could still hear my father’s voice fighting to lock her away, his fury a blade at our backs, and Liya, the only voice of reason, cutting through the chaos. Even when I knew it wasn’t a victory, just a temporary reprieve, a battle stalled but not yet won.

I didn’t care.

I had her in my arms, and after everything she had endured, after nearly losing her, losing us, I refused to let her go.

Not now. Not ever.

I held her against my chest as I walked deeper into my room. It was dimly lit, with the fire in the lantern reduced to a flame that appeared to be losing its life. The scent of leather and old parchment filled the air, familiar but suddenly foreign.

This wasn’t where I belonged. Not anymore.

She was.

Verena barely stirred in my arms, her breath featherlight against my throat. Her fingers had twisted into the fabric of my shirt, clinging desperately as if fearing I might vanish if she didn’t hold on tight enough.

I knew I should speak, say something to ease the weight pressing down on us, but words felt futile. What could I possibly say that could erase what had been done? What could I utter that would undo the terror that lived in her eyes since I found her in the chamber, broken and bleeding?

There was nothing.

I lowered us both onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under our weight.

She let out a soft noise, something between a sigh and a whimper, and my grip on her tightened instinctively.

I pressed my lips tenderly to the crown of her head, needing to feel her warmth, her presence, to anchor myself in the reality of her being here.

“Verena,” I finally murmured against her hair, my voice barely rising above a whisper.

She shuddered, just a faint tremor that rippled through her, but I felt it.

Her delicate fingers flexed gently against my chest, but she didn’t lift her head.

I ran a slow, tender hand down her spine, feeling the sharp edges of her bones, the places where her body had wasted away under her father’s cruelty.

I clenched my jaw so tightly it ached.

I had been too late.

She was here, she was alive, but I had still been too late.

“I need to get you cleaned up,” I said softly, brushing a kiss against her temple. “I need to make sure there are no other wounds that need to be healed.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t answer, she simply clung harder to me.

I stood, cradling her gently against me, as I moved us to the bathroom. I shifted my hold, carefully lowering her to her feet, and forced myself to pull away.

It nearly killed me.

Verena stared at me, her eyes wide with uncertainty, with fear . Her gaze flicked around the small room as I quickly started the bath, filling the tub with steaming water and oil.

The room quickly filled with the scent of clove as steam rose from the water.

When I turned back to Verena, she hadn’t moved and her eyes were still haunted. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her shoulder drawn tight, as if she were trying to shrink into herself.

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself before lowering to my knees in front of her. My fingers gently reached for the worn, tattered edges of the shoes on her feet.

She stiffened.

“Verena.” I lifted my gaze to hers, making sure she was here with me, not lost in the memories. “It’s just me.”

She swallowed hard, the motion visible in the tense line of her throat. “I know,” she replied, but her voice was fragile. It was small.

I waited.

I would never rush her.

Her hands trembled as she reached out, gently resting them on my shoulders. Her fingers felt cool and hesitant as she steadied herself before cautiously lifting one foot. I quickly removed her shoe, the worn leather slipping off easily, before she lifted her other foot, allowing me to do the same.

The room was quiet, filled only with the sound of the rising water.

I reached for the ties of her trousers, deftly loosening them and sliding the fabric down her legs.

As she stepped out of them, her legs came into view, revealing the tapestry of bruises in various stages of healing, painting a silent story of pain on her skin.

I stood up, the gravity of her pain threatening to crush me.

Her hands shook visibly as she reached for her shirt, fingers fumbling with the hem before she slowly lifted. The fabric inched its way up her stomach, and I shuddered at the state of her skin. She moved it higher, the shirt gliding over her ribs and chest, until it finally slipped past her shoulders and over her head. She let it fall to the floor, the fabric pooling around her feet.

Angry red marks crisscrossed her flesh, wounds still healing, while dark bruises bloomed like storm clouds against her too pale skin.

A slow, controlled breath escaped my lips.

I reached for her, carefully sliding one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees. With a gentle lift, I cradled her against my chest, feeling the warmth of her broken body against me, and I moved closer to the bath, where steam rose in soft tendrils from the water’s surface.

Slowly, I lowered her, allowing her feet to dip into the warm water.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I murmured softly.

She responded with a small nod, her eyes meeting mine.

I let her body sink fully into the water, which rose to drench me up to my shoulders. She sighed softly as I cradled her head and laid it back against the tub’s edge.

I started running a cloth over her arms, gently wiping away the layers of dirt and remnants of dried blood.

I hated how fragile she felt beneath my touch, how easily I could feel every ridge of her ribs, every sharp angle where there used to be softness.

But she allowed me to care for her.

She let me have this.

I worked in silence, watching her, studying her face and the way she bit the inside of her cheek every time the cloth passed over a particularly tender spot.

I could barely contain the torrent of anger that surged within me, a seething fury that boiled over with each fresh scar or wound I discovered. It felt like a wildfire raging through my veins, consuming every rational thought and leaving only a blistering heat in its wake.

I gently brushed the cloth over the wound at her side, and she sucked in a sharp breath, her body jerking away from me instinctively.

I immediately dropped the cloth. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, her eyes betraying the storm of emotions despite her words. “You didn’t…” she managed, though her breath was uneven and ragged. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t.

I lifted my hands, gathering what magic I could still feel within my fingertips. “Let me finish healing you.”

“No.” The word was sharp, sudden.

She snatched my wrists with trembling hands, her grip feeble yet frantic. Her eyes met mine, wide with panic. “No, Dacre. You can’t. I might…” The words faltered on her lips.

She couldn’t even say it, but I knew.

I could see the fear etched into her features. She feared that she might take from me again.

My chest constricted as I gently pried her fingers from around my wrists. “You won’t,” I assured her.

Her response was a silent shake of her head, breaths fast and shallow, hands trembling as they curled into fists under the water. “I won’t risk it.”

The fear in her eyes pierced me, a reflection of my own guilt.

I cupped her face in my hands, tilting her chin so she had no choice but to look at me. “You won’t hurt me,” I insisted. “I trust you.”

Her eyes blazed with uncertainty, a storm of emotion swirling within. “I don’t trust myself.”

I leaned in and kissed her, the action driven by instinct rather than thought. There was no hesitation, just an overwhelming need to bridge the gap between us.

She softened into me instantly, her hands moving to my shirt and clenching the fabric like a lifeline.

I needed her.

Needed to remind her of what we were, that this bond between us was stronger than her fear.

She melted into me as I deepened the kiss, her fingers trembling as she clutched at me with a mix of urgency and uncertainty. Her lips parted beneath mine, soft and desperate, a silent plea for something neither of us could put into words.

I slid my hand up the back of her neck, threading my fingers through her damp hair as I pulled her closer, needing her, needing this—needing to feel her warmth, her life, after so many nights fearing what I had lost.

Her breath hitched, a delicate gasp, as I dragged my lips over the corner of her mouth, tracing a path along her cheek until I could whisper against her skin, “You are not your father.”

A shudder ran through her, a ripple of emotion, but she didn’t pull away.

I pressed my lips against the delicate skin beneath her ear, letting my lips linger there for a heartbeat. “You will never be him, Verena.”

Her hands tightened in my shirt as a ragged breath slipped from her lips.

I kissed her again, gently, reverently.

I wanted to pull her into me, wrap myself around her until she forgot what it meant to be afraid. I wanted her to forget everything until she only knew this, only knew me.

But when I felt her shift, her body stiffening, I forced myself to pull back.

Her eyes were wide, haunted, her breathing still unsteady.

She was still drowning in that fear.

I ran my hands slowly down her arms, then took her wrists in mine, holding them between us, letting her feel the steady beat of my pulse. “I trust you,” I said again, softer this time.

Her eyes flickered to my wrists, as if she could still see the place where she had once siphoned from me, where she had drained me without meaning to.

I knew she would never forgive herself for it.

“Come here,” I murmured, shifting so I could brace my arm behind her back, supporting her weight. “Just let me hold you.”

She hesitated.

Then, slowly, she moved toward me, pressing her forehead against my shoulder, her breath warm against my throat.

I let out a quiet exhale, wrapping my arms around her, one hand smoothing down her back. She was too thin, too fragile, but she was here.

She was here.

And I would give everything to keep her that way.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer as she sighed into me, a sound that sent a slow ache curling through my chest.

When we finally pulled away, I let my forehead rest against hers, our breaths mingling.

“I love you,” I whispered. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, couldn’t risk not getting the chance to tell her exactly how I felt.

She let out a shuddering breath, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “I love you too.”

I needed more.

I needed to feel every part of her.

I lifted her from the tub, her damp skin pressed against me as I carried her back into the room. She didn’t fight me, didn’t even hesitate. She just pressed into me as if she belonged there.

I set her down on the edge of the bed, reaching for the towel, and wrapped it around her gently, tucking the fabric against her shoulder. She clutched it tightly, her hands barely peeking from the folds.

Her skin was still damp, the ends of her dark hair curling as water dripped from them. She looked small. So small.

And I hated it.

I knelt before her again, my hands resting on her knees. “Come here,” I murmured, gently tugging her toward me.

She listened.

She slid forward, letting me press between her thighs, her body pressing into mine until I could wrap my arms around her, until there was no space between us.

Until there was only us.

She buried her face in my shoulder, her hands fisting in my shirt. “I don’t want to close my eyes.”

I exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Then don’t.”

She let out a soft laugh, but it was hollow, empty.

I hated that too.

I pulled away just enough to tip her chin up, forcing her to look at me.

“We made it back,” I said, my voice steady. “You’re safe. And I will burn this fucking world to the ground before I let anything happen to you again.”

A flicker of something passed over her face, something fragile. “I know.”

I let my forehead press against hers, closing my eyes. “Then let me hold you while you sleep.”

She hesitated.

But then, she nodded.

I stood, lifting her with me, and she let me. Let me settle her in the center of the bed, let me climb in beside her, let me pull the blankets up around us.

She pressed into my side the moment I lay back, her fingers resting lightly against my chest, feeling my heartbeat.

I ran a slow hand down her back, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

I could feel the tension in her body, the lingering terror that clung to her even now.

So I held her tighter.

I pressed my lips against her hair, against the crown of her head, against her temple, willing her to feel me.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured. “I’m not letting go.”

She exhaled softly, the breath fanning across my throat.

Slowly, her body relaxed, her breathing steadied.

Her hands pressed against my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.

I kissed her forehead once more, lingering.

Then, finally, finally, sleep pulled her under, and I stayed awake, holding her, watching over her, because I would never let anything take her from me again.