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Page 9 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Six

Cayden

I know I’ve done terrible things in my life, taken jobs for the sake of deepening my pockets, fought without honor, and told more lies than I remember, but this woman— this woman —is my personal brand of torture.

“How long are you going to keep at this?”

Normally I relish silence and crave it when someone’s voice fills a room, but Elowen’s silence is grating on my every nerve like walking on nails without shoes.

I lean against the doorframe that leads to our bedchamber, watching as she kicks off her boots and glides toward the vanity against the wall.

She sighs, a contented smile painting her lips as she pretends to be engrossed in the task of slowly removing every ring on her fingers before moving on to her earrings.

“Elowen.” I genuinely don’t think anyone in Ravaryn has her audacity, and it both intrigues and irritates me.

She hasn’t spoken since we began the journey to the castle, blatantly ignoring all my attempts at conversation.

She uses a few cotton pads to wipe off her makeup and piles her curls on top of her head before striding toward the couch laid with several decorative pillows the maid must’ve removed when turning down the bed.

“I’m thinking of cutting my hair, perhaps shaving it all off. ”

She throws me an icy glare over her shoulder and shakes her head.

“Ah, so you can hear me.”

She presses her lips together, no doubt swallowing some sarcastic comment about how unfortunate a fate that is and hoists the mountain of pillows into her arms, throwing them down on the bed and arranging them into a line down the middle.

I leave her to her…task…and pour myself another whiskey.

Maybe I should just drink from the bottle. Gods know I need it.

She’s packing them in with the amount of vigor one would exercise while building defenses against an enemy, and just to annoy her, I pinch one of the mounds between my fingers and lift it high.

“Foolproof plan, love.” She glares at me, a stubborn curl falling in her eye, and yanks the pillow from my grip to slam it back to where it was.

“Isn’t the whole point of sleeping in the same bed to appear normal?

Do you often try to suffocate yourself with feathers while you sleep? ”

“Death seems a merciful fate compared to—” She slaps a hand over her mouth and grabs a book off the nightstand, all but sprinting into the bathing chamber.

“All hells,” I mutter while pinching the bridge of my nose and following her like a gods-damned dog again.

I bite my tongue so hard that I taste the coppery tang of blood as she ignores me and prances around the room to light candles and pour some oils into the oversized tub.

Her lips quirk up when she takes in the state of me and sets her book on the table beside the bath.

I drag a hand down my face as she slides her gown off her shoulders and shimmies it over her hips until she’s wearing nothing but the moonstone necklace she never removes.

Though it doesn’t accomplish what I’m sure she sought out to do.

My irritation from her attitude is nothing compared to the molten hot fury beating in my chest like a second heart.

If she thought I’d turn into a mindless man fueled by lust at the sight of her, then she should’ve factored in the state of her injuries I’m now able to see.

Dark bruises mar both sides of her torso and legs.

They’re all I can focus on. Knowing Ailliard beat her and shoved his nails into the cut on her thigh while I was only in the other room turns my stomach.

When she came limping into the banquet hall with blood spilling down her leg, I was prepared to torture every single prick that had a hand in her pain and set the entire castle ablaze.

“I’m sorry.”

Her lips part and eyes widen as she takes a step back before shaking her head and lowering herself into the bubbly water.

“How are you feeling, love?”

I try to wipe the anger from my features, but she’s already seen it.

She’s known me long enough to know that the constant anger burning within me will never burn her.

I’d sooner fall on my own sword before I ever raised a hand to her or made her feel unsafe with me.

Her father tortured and imprisoned her, her uncle beat and betrayed her, her mother sat silently as she was abused, and I deceived her.

I know I deserve this silence from her, probably even worse. She can give me all the grief she wants, but I will not be another person to discard her. Nothing she does to me will ever compare to the hell my life would’ve become if Imirath had taken her.

She grabs her book on dragon lore and cracks it open. It rests against the side of the tub, but her eyes don’t move over the words as she stares down at it. Tossing back the remaining whiskey in my glass, I turn away.

My eyes land on the desk nestled across from Elowen’s in an alcove hewn into the stone.

I moved it from my old bedchamber, now a library off the main sitting room in our suite.

We could’ve moved into the king and queen’s chambers, but they’re separate from each other, and neither Elowen nor I were keen on the idea of living in the same chambers as Eagor and Valia once did.

I walk through the parted midnight curtains held back by draconic hooks and unlock the top drawer.

There’s not much in here aside from a few reports, my reading glasses, and the small velvet pouch I grasp.

I step closer to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the rounded alcove while holding the ring up to the moonlight spilling through the frosty panes.

Something pinches in my chest when I look at it, but it’s sat in the dark long enough.

I shove down my unease and return to Elowen.

She peeks over the top of her book when I reenter and raises her brows when I sink to my knees beside her.

I gently take hold of her wrist and slide the ring onto her index finger—a glittering star sapphire framed by diamonds set into a gold band.

She blinks slowly while looking down at it before shaking herself from the trance and tracing the oval stone with her eyes.

I hadn’t planned on giving this to her yet, but it was always going to be hers.

A mixture of pride and possession twine together within me, and I don’t miss the irony of it being our house colors.

“Keep it safe for me.”

I don’t offer her any information as she continues to stare, and I leave her to ponder her theories. Women don’t wear rings to signify a betrothal, and if it were for that purpose I would’ve placed it on the opposite hand and ring finger, but it feels right to see it on her.

Returning to my desk, I grab the stack of sealed reports from the drawer and rest my glasses on the bridge of my nose.

The dragons swirl around the spires, and I watch them from the corner of my eye as their wings cut through the clouds.

Calithea looks like she was born from the night itself with her silver scales that resemble a shining star.

Imirath’s front has been quiet, but I don’t mistake the lull for peace. Garrick will never surrender, nor will I. He’s too proud, and if he’s figured out who I am by now then he knows I’ll never let him live.

There is no ending to this war where we both survive.

I exit the alcove and toss the stack of reports into the fire across from the four-poster bed. There’s nothing of value within the words, so there’s no sense in keeping them. I rest my hands on the mantel and bow my head while listening to the crackling logs and Elowen getting dressed.

She steps back into the room but pauses in the doorway.

I feel her eyes burning into my back like a brand and slowly look over my shoulder to take her in.

Her cheeks are flushed from the bath and damp, dark curls hang down to her hips.

A sage slip with golden embroidery brushes the tops of her thighs and a robe made of white lace drapes behind her and down her arms.

I swallow thickly and avert my gaze to the wall as she climbs into bed, still clutching the same book in a white-knuckled fist. My nails dig into the wood before I push off the mantel and retrieve some medical supplies from an ornate box on a small table.

She holds the book against her chest like a shield as I approach and sit beside her.

“I can’t watch you be in pain and do nothing about it,” I state.

“Why?” She whispers the word, and it’s weighed down by exhaustion, but something else lurks beneath the surface. There’s a twinge of desperation, like she needs to hear the answer to quell the doubts in her mind cultivated by my actions.

I run my tongue over my teeth as I contemplate how to articulate my thoughts. “From the moment you stepped into my life I’ve had this incessant need to ensure your well-being, and I’m too much of a jealous prick to watch someone else tend to you.”

She laughs quietly while propping herself on the pillows at her back and bending her knees so I’m able to work.

“Fuck,” I mutter while breathing deeply, though that doesn’t help considering all I’m inhaling is her intoxicating scent of lavender and vanilla.

She laughs again because the temptress knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

I unroll the heated bandages I’ve used on her before while raking my eyes over her.

A small scrap of lace covers the apex of her thighs that I could easily pull aside, and her nipples press against the silk covering her chest as it rises and falls unevenly.

She hums in relief when I get halfway up her thigh, and I pause my actions briefly. “Do you wake up every day and think of new ways to torture me?”

“Yes.”

Her voice.

Her laugh.

It’s like hearing a ballad after stepping off a battlefield.

She sits up once I finish her thigh, but I get no relief from our new position considering all it does is bring her face closer to mine.

She shivers beneath my touch as I dip my hands under her slip and gently dust my fingers along her torso.

Her eyes don’t leave mine, and she doesn’t back away, doesn’t avoid looking at me as she did in the bath.

I press my hand into her back, selfishly bringing us closer and tilting my head down while I begin wrapping the bandages around her.

She sucks in a sharp breath as her hands shoot forward and digs her nails into my shoulders.

“I’d raise him from the dead just to kill him again.

You know that, right?” I murmur against the side of her head.

She nods in the crook of my neck. “Just breathe for me. Once you’re wrapped it’ll feel better, but the injuries will take longer to heal if I don’t do this.

” Her exhale fans against me as I continue my movements slowly, no matter how hard it is to be close to her knowing she’ll withdraw in mere seconds.

“What other words did you learn while studying Ravarian?”

“I mainly focused on the basics, and some dragon commands, also phrases to insult you successfully.” She relaxes against me and my lips quirk up. “I’m going to continue after you finish. I took a break to read about dragon origins. I want to know if there’s a reason I share a bond with them.”

“What did you find out?”

“Asena, the high priestess, told me I’m blessed by the Goddess of Flames.

During the dragon ceremony she said that my soul was forged in the fire of the gods.

” She leans back to look at me as she speaks.

“Dragons came into the world centuries ago during the Age of Dragons. They first hatched from stars, but the goddess sensed something lurking within the earth’s core.

Every day for five years she would place her palms to the ground and let her magic seep from her.

She was plagued by dreams that made others think she was mad, but the dragons began clawing their way out.

It was said there were so many dragons you could never step outside without seeing one in the sky. ”

My brows crease. “Did it say what happened to them all?”

“It didn’t say what caused their downfall, but I’d like to ask Asena about it when I have the chance.

” Her eyes come alive in a way I haven’t seen since the night Ailliard died.

“If she is correct, the soundest explanation for my bond is that the dragons sensed the fire within me when the eggs were placed around my cradle. My soul summoned them when it came into the world.”

“And do you believe her?” I don’t want to crush her hope, but Asena isn’t the strongest resource. Blind faith is the absence of logic. It may work for some people, but not me.

Elowen’s eyes drift to the window, tracking her dragons’ movements as she contemplates.

“I’ve never worshipped the gods, but I’m not opposed to hearing all theories as I continue my research to widen my perspective.

There’s always some truth to be found in legends if you read carefully.

” She brushes past the topic without giving me the chance to respond, and asks, “Will you tell me about the ring?”

“One day.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.

It’s not the answer she wants, but it’s the one she needs.

It’ll cause her to pull away, but she’s not ready to hear about the origins.

I wish I could be selfish enough to tell her, to be how I am with everyone else, but I can’t.

Even in her anger, her heart remains soft, and I want to win it back with my actions, not with a story from my past.

She huffs and flops back onto the pillows, cracking her book open to shield her gaze from mine. “You don’t need to keep up the mysterious facade. You’re nice to look at so I’m sure that’ll keep me interested as the years tick by.”

The ghost of the caress burns my flesh, and I flex my hands to rid them of the emptiness. “Are you implying that you think I’m handsome and would’ve married me had I asked properly?”

She drops the book to her chest. “I never said that.”

I tap a finger against her lips. “You didn’t need to, sirantia.”