Page 6 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)
Chapter Four
Cayden
I pull on the reins as I turn onto Healer’s Row and note three male figures lurking across the road from Elowen’s cottage.
Soldiers often congregate here, as well as citizens seeking medical attention, either for themselves or someone in need of their escorting, but judging by the way they sway in place, I’d reckon they’re drunk.
Koa’s hooves clack on the cobblestones as I slow his pace and pull down my hood and mask, riding between them and her.
Their laughter soon fades, as does the color in their cheeks when they realize who I am.
Braxton stands at the top of the stairs leading to the porch with a hand on the hilt of his blade, his shoulders relaxed as if he welcomes the threat should they approach.
I stare without emotion and jut my chin toward the mouth of the road.
“Go,” one of them commands, setting them off, disappearing in a sloppy sprint.
My protectiveness of Elowen doesn’t stem only from selfish reasons, it’s also because I’ve seen how cruel this world is, especially to women.
The sharpest memory I have of my mother is her screams the night she died.
Not her laughter. Not her smile. Pain shapes us like a blacksmith honing a blade that we point at anyone who threatens to take what little joy we find in this corrupt world.
“How long were those men here?”
“They arrived only a few minutes before you,” Braxton answers. “I’d have confronted them myself if you hadn’t come.”
“Seize them if they return,” I order as I dismount and tie the reins on a post. “I don’t care if they’re bleeding out and Elowen is the last healer in Ravaryn. They will never cross this threshold. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Like Alexus, Braxton has known me for years, and I’m thankful they didn’t conform to the rules of society and call me Your Highness. I’ve never cared much for propriety.
Aside from Ryder, Braxton is the only general I trust to guard Elowen.
I’ve seen him take on several enemies at once and come out without a scratch.
He swore to die for her before he even knew her, and Braxton is not a man that takes an oath lightly.
He lost his wife and child on the birthing bed over twenty years ago yet still wears his wedding band.
“I have her from here. Have a good night, Braxton.”
He dips his head before gliding down the path that leads to the road.
I tighten my grip on the bouquet and shove the door open.
My impatience is too strong to delay this a moment longer.
Bundles of dried flowers tied with ribbons now hang from the rafters.
She must’ve found them in the basket I left in the storage closet.
I recalled her saying something about how Nyrinn’s shop had bundles, so I figured she might want some here.
Several books are open and facing downward on the table and couch to hold her place, and something loosens in my chest when my eyes land on her.
I wish I could hate her for having this control over me: to consume my thoughts and reinvent the man I am despite my not wanting to let the old version go.
She’s my only exception, the one crack within a heart made of stone.
Braxton must’ve been in and out because she doesn’t turn to face me.
Spiraling curls spill down her back as she balances on a stool, desperately trying to reach a jar at the back of the top shelf.
I see the very moment she knows it’s me.
Her shoulders stiffen as I close the distance between us and reach above her with ease.
The dark strands of her hair that smell like a spring breeze smack me in the face as she spins, rattling several vials as her back slams into the wood.
I shove my irritation with how careless she is with herself aside as she stares up at me with wide eyes that make me want to drown in a pool of honey. I look for her in everything, everywhere. I see her eyes in the mundane details of my day that make me crave the moment I’ll be with her again.
She takes the jar out of my hand, successfully ignoring the massive bouquet in the other. “Where did Braxton go?”
“Gone,” I say as she hops down from the stool and strides to her desk while holding the glass up to the light to examine its contents. “No sense in keeping him here when I’m perfectly capable of guarding my wife.”
The quill pressed between her fingers snaps in half, splattering her inventory log with ink. “I’m not your wife.”
“I’m happy to remedy that mistake within the hour.”
“Unless you have a ring worth my time on your person, you’ll be waiting for quite some time.” She scrunches her nose and narrows her eyes on the bouquet. “Though I’ve always believed it’s best to get things over with, like yanking an arrow out of a limb.”
I rip off one of the starsnaps and tuck it behind her ear as she continues to glare at me. “Have dinner with me.”
She yanks the flowers out of my grip and tosses them to the floor without even looking. “No.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“How shocking,” she mutters before gliding toward the mantel on the far side of the room to pluck off a random book and flip through the pages carelessly.
I follow her like a damn dog on a leash and pull it from her grip, setting it aside as she spins on her heels, ready to busy herself with some other diversion.
Normally, I’d love this, but not when I note the way she’s limping.
I bend down to wrap my arms around her waist and hoist her in the air, not caring if we’re putting on a show for anyone outside and careful to avoid her injuries as she squeals.
“You are such a—” She cuts herself off with a growl when I gently set her down on the couch and take a seat on the coffee table, keeping my hands on her hips.
“Finish the sentence, love. I’m eager to know what you think of me.”
She crosses her arms and sharpens her glare, and gods, if it doesn’t make me want to kiss the spot on her neck that’ll make her melt in my hands until she’s begging me to keep them on her.
“At the moment I’m thinking about how stupid you were to go on a midnight ride through the kingdom when we’re supposed to be happily betrothed.
There was gossip about a potential rift all throughout the castle—even Finnian knew about it before I saw him. ”
“I built you a library in our chambers before I left,” I flatly state.
“Yes, and I’m sure you carrying wood and broken furniture up and down the tower was a sure sign of a satisfied man.”
If Elowen wasn’t upset with me, I’d keep her occupied well into the night, and I tried to sleep on the couch to give her some privacy before I nearly went mad.
She can be angry for as long as she needs, but that doesn’t mean I’ll make it easy for her, and I refuse to accept living separate lives behind closed doors now that I know what it’s like to truly be with her. “Couples argue.”
“Not us. We don’t have the privilege of making mistakes. We can’t fail. There’s too much—” Her breathing quickens, and she places a hand on her ribs as her face contorts in pain. “I will not lose this war because of our inability to put on a convincing front for the kingdom.”
“Elowen,” I say her name with a gentleness I didn’t think myself capable of and slowly slide my hand beneath hers, knowing it’s both warmer and larger. “I made you a promise. We will not lose this war.” She lets out a shuddering breath, though I’m unsure if it’s from my touch or my words.
“We cannot afford an internal rebellion. All our strength must be focused on Imirath, especially now that they’re aligned with Thirwen. We’ll be fighting two armies, and I don’t know if Galakin will entertain us now that I’m betrothed to you and not their prince as they wished.”
“I’ll send my condolences if it helps sway them.” She grants me a half smile before wiping it clean off her face. “Alexus took the job to spy on the nobles so the situation will be easier to monitor with a man on the inside. Internal conflict will be terminated swiftly and without mercy.”
She nods as the tension in her body slowly loosens. Her face is mere inches from mine, and the warmth of her skin burns the tips of my fingers like hot iron. “No matter what you do, it won’t change the blood in my veins. People will always care about that. You should—”
I quirk a brow. “I should care? You know I’ve never cared about your relation to Garrick.”
Her cold fingers wrap around my wrists and remove my hands from her body. “Perhaps you don’t right now, but…”
Talk to me.
I can practically see the walls she’s trying to build between us again. This doesn’t sound like her. No. It sounds like Ailliard. She never told me what he said to her the night she killed him, but I’d wager it had something to do with that.
“I’d never judge you for who your father is, nor where you come from.”
“Why?”
Because mine was the worst man I’ve ever met.
“Because they never deserved you.” I shake my head. She may be Elowen Atarah, princess of Imirath, but she’s always been so much more than that. I’ve seen her soul, and the darkness within it just makes the light that much more beautiful.
She sucks in a sharp breath and tries to stand, but I rest a hand on her uninjured thigh to keep her down. She needs to rest, and to keep weight off her bad leg, but she tries again, and it will only hurt her more if she struggles against me.
“W-what happened to your eye?” She stiffly walks toward a cabinet in the corner, pulling out a tin and a rag.
“I lost focus and got hit while fighting.”
“That seems unlike you. You’re not one to get distracted.”
“No, I’m not,” I say, my eyes locked on her face.
Denying her aid is on the tip of my tongue, and if she were anyone else I would without hesitation, but I swallow my discomfort as she dips the rag into a bowl of water and comes closer.
“I own a tavern in the slums of Verendus. I bought it with the money I made as an assassin and increased my profits by smuggling goods and putting a fighting ring in the basement.”
“Why?”
“Renting a room felt like throwing money away, and I needed a place to meet with spies.” I shrug. “I was also tired of not having a way to make money unless I worked for someone else.”
“And you fought in the fighting pit tonight.”
“I take a tonic to disguise my features, so nobody knows it’s me.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Is that why you’re richer than other commanders?”
“And some kings.”
“Then why bother working your way through the army? You could’ve bought one with the amount of money you must have.”
“Money doesn’t buy loyalty, blood does, and mine has spilled beside my soldiers’. I needed a steadfast army to stand between us and Garrick once I found you.”
She tips her head to the ceiling before uncapping the tin of salve. “And you expect me to believe you did all of this strategizing and didn’t factor the marriage clause into your plan?”
“I didn’t. You—”
She holds up her hand, exhaustion evident on her features, and I grind my teeth. “Is this something you smuggled? It’s infused with healing magic, and we’ve only just lifted the bans on it.”
“Yes, it’s from Galakin. They have healers that channel light magic into medicine.”
Her fingertips brush my cheekbone, and her touch slows, becoming more of a caress.
I remain still, afraid that any movement on my part will break whatever trance she’s fallen into.
It’s like a knife is twisting in my gut, knowing I can’t close the distance.
Wanting her is the cruelest form of torture.
A horse whinnies outside, and Elowen’s gaze clears as she turns away. The celestial and draconic beading on her light blue velvet gown shimmers as she glides away, and I close my hands into fists, trying to use the pain of my nails digging into my skin to curb the longing pulsing through me.
“I’m assuming you’re still against separate chambers, considering you got rid of the furniture in your bedroom to add the library to our suite.”
I clench my jaw. “Yes.”
“It’s entirely normal for—”
“I don’t give a fuck about other royals or couples or what’s normal for them.” I risk her ire, standing from the table and tightening my hands in her thick curls until I can tilt her head up exactly where I want it. “Be angry at me all you wish, but you’ll never be rid of me.”
A flush creeps up her neck and cheeks. “Starting tonight you’ll sleep in the bed with me and remain there until dawn.
I don’t care how painful it is for you to lay there; in fact, I hope it is.
You’re too tall for the couch and we can’t risk a servant seeing you, but I will bind your hands if they reach for me. ”
“Quite the imagination you have.”
She throws the rag at my face and rolls her eyes before darting them to the side, noting the few people lingering in the road to get a glimpse of us through the window.
Just as easily as she adopted theatrics in Imirath, a smile slides onto her lips as she looks up at me, rises onto the tips of her toes, and kisses my unscarred cheek.
She’s never done that, and something like shame pumps into my blood.
She scoops the flowers she tossed on the floor into her arms and cradles them to her chest, gently smiling down.
It’s the first hint that I’ve done something right since the betrothal.
I pluck her coat off the hook by the door and help her into it, flicking my eyes between her and the bouquet as I offer her my arm.
“The flowers are innocent,” she insists.