Page 33 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

Things were not as black and white as I once assumed. Even within this conqueror’s court lay varying shades of grey. Could Lucien be turned? Why would a man who showed his captive mercy support such a ruthless conqueror?

The flames flickered, stirred by a sudden gust, almost as if the night responded to my thoughts.

One step at a time, Ilya. Information first.

My heart stutter-stepped when Lucien returned without his helm, though the rest of his armor was still intact. Within his hands, he held a small pitcher and something wrapped in cloth that fit within his palm.

“You’re comfortable showing your face but still not the rest of you?”

His lips quirked up in one corner. “Would you like to see the rest of me?”

My mouth went dry. Damn it all, I did. I wanted to. But I only shrugged. “Just odd that you’d lose one piece and not the rest.”

“The helmet’s stifling.” He set the cloth and pitcher on the low, polished table before where I sat on the sofa. The swatch of tan fabric fell away to reveal a small clay jar painted blue at the bottom and fading up to its natural tan color near the top. A matching lid covered it.

Leather creaked as he took the seat next to me, too close for my racing heart.

I eyed him up and down, my traitor heart imagining the form underneath the armor. “The rest of it looks so much more airy and light.”

Deep laughter crawled down my back and burned in my core. It took everything I had not to shudder in something too far from fear for what this man was.

Lucien snatched the cloth from under the jar and dampened it with water from the pitcher. “Turn your cheek toward me.”

Heat crept down my neck as my mind slowly processed his request. He intended to clean my wound himself. “I can…”

He shook his head with careful slowness, a tall tree swaying in the breeze. The equally slow upturn of his lips threatened to strip away all thoughts from my mind.

Murderer. Monster. Remember Sorrena.

Flashes of memory doused the uncertain feelings creeping under my skin. Icy stillness embraced my limbs as I turned my head to offer the injured cheek.

“That’s better.”

I winced, jerking backward as the strip of linen touched the offending area, wiping away traces of drying blood. The material could have been coarse sand for all that it stung.

“Not too bad. It should heal well and quickly. You won’t have to worry about any scars on your pretty face.”

Pretty face?I bit my lip so as not to gape. I was fair enough, but such a compliment from him…it didn’t fit. At least, it didn’t fit with the perfectly constructed vision I had of him in my head. Little did these days. Each day stripped away a layer of fury and disgust like the rings of an onion until I feared what I might see once we reached the center.

“Do you treat wounds often?” I asked, a poor attempt to distract myself from my churning thoughts.

He set aside the towel and reached for the jar. “Mostly my own. Working on someone else is significantly easier.”

My raised brows tugged the tender skin. “You don’t have someone to do that for you? A healer, perhaps?”

Lucien pulled free one gauntlet, then the next. Strong fingers, freed of their shell, flexed before him. Visible calluses marred the otherwise creamy skin.

“One among us has those powers, but like all magic, it takes energy. Best to save that for when it’s necessary rather than smaller wounds that can be treated by traditional means.”

Pale, bluish goop resided within the jar. The color reminded me of the small flowers that grew near the cliffs of my homeland during the growing season.

“Energy,” I mused.

I’d never made a study of magic. As one not blessed by The Four, it didn’t affect me. Though as a future leader, I likely ought to have learned about it anyway.

He dipped two fingers into the goo, scooping up a dollop of the concoction. “It’s like running or anything else.” The goop formed a stiff peak off the bottom of his fingers but did not fall. “The more you do it, the easier it gets. Yet you always have to stop and rest eventually or you’ll collapse.” He raised the concoction to my face. “Hold still.”

I gasped as the mixture touched my skin. A sweet chill instantly soothed the aching flesh. A pleasant fruity scent teased my nose. Strong fingers rubbed the mix into my skin, but the touch didn’t hurt. Not anymore.

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