Page 33 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Chapter Twenty

The sash slid from her hand and pooled on the floor. The bristles of the velvet tickled the pads of her fingers as it fell, but she hardly noticed. Alashiya sat there, unable to move or speak or even breathe.

The whispers of her grove filled her ears, but she couldn’t hope to understand what they were trying to tell her when they all spoke at once. It wasn’t like she could focus on anything besides him, anyway.

Nymphs were physical creatures. They were lovers of the senses, of touch and sound and taste. They were present in their bodies more than most could hope to be — aware, at all times of their flesh, their impermanence, and the unlikely privilege of existence.

And yet Alashiya had never in all her years been as aware of her body as she was then, when Taevas ran his claws over the curve of her jaw. She swore she could feel the spark of life itself in the infinitesimal gap between their flesh.

“You can’t be Adon,” she whispered. “That’s impossible.”

Taevas nodded. “I know. It’s the most impossible thing to ever happen to me, I think. But my name isn’t Adon. It’s Taevas A?daja, Isand of the Draakonriik, Lord of the Dragon Clans, head of Clan A?daja…” He paused to give her the gift of a slow, hungry smile. “And lover of beautiful things.”

When she said nothing — could say nothing — he trailed the very tip of one claw through the spiral of a wispy curl by her ear. “Do you need me to prove it to you, metsalill?”

It was like her brain had stalled out. He said the words, and she didn’t know how he’d know about the flowers if he wasn’t telling the truth, so it all seemed like something she should be able to understand. It didn’t work that way, though.

She tried to think through it logically, looking for any way he might’ve known, and came up with nothing.

She hadn’t packed any orders since he’d crashed through the roof of her barn.

She definitely hadn’t shared her habit of sending tiny gifts to her favorite customer with him.

There wouldn’t have been any reason to, since she hadn’t gotten to the point of packing anything yet, and it was such a private thing…

That was perhaps proof enough, but she couldn’t make herself believe it. She could hardly get her mind to work enough to disbelieve it. Instead, she simply sat there, blank, stuck between the two states of being, as Taevas’s tail slowly curled around her waist.

He spoke in a low, hypnotizing murmur when he continued, “The first time I saw your work, it was in Stalton’s Atelier.

That was ten years ago. Since then, I’ve commissioned just about everything I could think of from you — pillowcases, jackets, handkerchiefs, robes, shirts.

And everytime an order arrived, you sent me a card with a pressed flower. ”

He sat up a little. Slowly, like he was trying not to spook her, he curled his right hand around the nape of her neck and drew her closer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.

“I keep them in a crystal dish on my desk, so when I’m working I can always see something beautiful nearby. ”

“They’re just flowers,” she croaked, like it even mattered.

Taevas’s smile turned wry. “I’ve told myself that many times. They’re just flowers. It’s just embroidery. She’s just a faceless artisan. But I couldn’t bear to throw them out. I had to commission more. I couldn’t stop imagining the woman behind the needle, with her wild magic and perfect scent.”

What could she possibly say to that? Alashiya trembled all over, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. It was a lucky thing that Taevas didn’t need her to reply. Once he’d begun to talk, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“I’ve been trying to find you for years, Shiya. I practically begged the atelier to give me your name, a phone number, anything. I’ve sent a dozen messages and even more gifts.” A flinty look replaced the softness in his eyes when he commanded, “Tell me honestly now: Did you receive any of that?”

She could only shake her head.

He sent me gifts? A sick sensation rolled around in her stomach. He’d tried to contact her, to write to her, and the atelier had just… failed to tell her. She couldn’t even begin to understand why.

Her heart jumped when his fingers tightened around the back of her neck. It wasn’t a painful hold but an intimate one. It was like she could feel every tiny shift in his emotions through the smallest twitch of his fingers against the sensitive skin of her nape.

“When everything is back to how it should be, I will be making a visit to Mr. Stalton and his sons,” he promised. Alashiya hadn’t seen a look like the one he wore before. Not on him, at least. It was one of pure, icy menace.

“What does it mean to be Isand of the Draakonriik?”

They were both surprised by the question when it came tumbling out of her mouth. Alashiya wasn’t sure why they were the only words she could muster up, but it felt important; like she couldn’t begin to unravel the rest of her thoughts until that particular knot gave way.

It was the first time since they’d begun their conversation that Taevas looked away.

His jaw clenched as he stared at some point in the distance she couldn’t see.

“It’s complicated. Technically, the word means lord.

But it’s an old thing, with a traditional meaning closer to the one who sits on the tallest mountain.

It means that the dragon who sits above others is responsible for all below them. ”

Her mind had begun to work again. Alashiya could tell by the way it felt like the earth started to shift beneath her, sliding slowly away until she could perceive some terrible opening creeping closer. Her stomach plunged.

“You sit above all others. You’re… the leader of the Draakonriik.”

Taevas flashed her a huge, brilliant-white smile. It was genuine, she thought, but something in it felt practiced, like he was posing for her rather than truly joyful. “I told you this, didn’t I?”

He had. It was simply his misfortune that he’d fallen into the lap of the one person in all the UTA who didn’t pay any attention to what happened outside the borders of her tiny haven.

Of course she knew where the Draakonriik was, but what use did she have for learning the frivolous titles for every leader of the territories?

From what she recalled in school, there were heaps of them.

Sovereign. Matriarch. Alpha. Congress. Queen.

The list was endless. It was enough to know that those important people existed, she thought.

It never occurred to her that the path of her life would ever cross with one of them.

The opening in the earth beneath her was rapidly approaching. She could feel the slip-slide of it speeding up as it rushed nearer.

Speaking in a whisper, she told him, “Adon means lord.”

Taevas’s smile fell. The striking features of his face softened into an expression of wonder as he slowly, slowly inched their faces closer. “And metsalill means wildflower,” he murmured. “Minu metsalill. My wildflower.”

It’s him. He’s here. It’s been him this whole time.

The floor fell out from beneath her.

She’d imagined him many times. Too many times to count. As she fell asleep at night, she’d picture what it would be like to meet him. He’d be handsome and kind and sensitive. They’d recognize each other instantly, and he’d sweep her away to some other life not so full of fear and grief as her own.

He was wealthy, since that was the only thing that made sense in context, but not important. He’d never been a dragon, but the head of a sept of gargoyles, maybe, or a loner. He was a harpy, too, with grand feathered wings and penetrating raptor eyes.

Why hadn’t it ever crossed her mind that he could be a dragon? Gods, not just any dragon. The dragon.

Taevas’s soft look bled into one of concern. “Shiya, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Her voice was breathless with a nameless kind of panic. “I never imagined— You weren’t supposed to be—” She clutched at his sturdy arm like it was the only thing that could pull her out of the hole she’d fallen into. “Was this all a plan? To— to meet me?”

“No, of course not.” He gave the back of her neck a firm squeeze.

“Look at me. Remember how injured I was when I landed in your barn. How would I have faked that? And even if I had — why? You think I wanted to meet you at my lowest? Alashiya, I dreamed of impressing you, not imposing myself on you.”

Yes, of course. That all made sense. But the panic wouldn’t leave her. She wasn’t let down by the revelation that her Adon was Taevas, leader of a territory, but there was a staggering sort of loss in the revelation.

Keeping him as a dream, the husband of her heart, had kept her safe. Now that he was real, her husband was banished to the place where all fantasies went to die. She was left behind in the cold reality of it. Him.

Real people could hurt you. They could let you down. They could crash through your barn and steal your bed and make demands. They could break your heart without even trying.

Taevas’s tone was back to being that stern, worried one that simultaneously annoyed and delighted her. “Shiya, tell me what you need.”

Her skin prickled as age-old instinct moved in a wave inside her. “I—I want to hide. From this. You. I don’t know why.”

Looking truly alarmed now, Taevas cupped her cheeks and pressed their foreheads together.

Rather than give her space to calm down, his solution always seemed to be to bring her closer.

“I’m so sorry, but I can’t let you hide from me.

I’m too damn weak to hunt you down again so I must keep you here.

Breathe, minu metsalill. You must breathe for me now. There’s nothing to fear.”

She tried to, but it wasn’t easy. A great weight had settled on her chest. It pressed down on her so hard, it squeezed all the air out of her lungs and made her eyes water. The more her thoughts spun, the worse the weight became.