Page 58 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

My eyes widened at her observation, heart pounding in my chest.

“So today,” she continued, “we are going to paint, and you’re going to relax and be happy for once.”

“But Gabriel and the others…”

“How did their plans turn out?” She cocked an eyebrow at me as she returned to her canvas.

Not well. If I’d been with them, it would have been a second offense for me. My punishment would have been worse, and Lucien’s reprieve would not have kept me from the cells this time.

So, I painted with Reyna that afternoon until my arm cramped from the movement of the brush across canvas. To my surprise, the guards left us mostly alone. More shockingly, I found I enjoyed the craft more than I ever expected.

I didn’t notice when Lucien left. Or the fading of the sun as it dipped toward the far hills beyond the lower levels of the castle and painted the sky in hues of brilliant orange growing fainter into the dark blue.

That afternoon, I wasn’t the heiress of Sorrena or a woman striving to free her people. I simply was. It calmed my heart, eased my spirit. But mostly, I gained a new twist to my strategy. Relax. Blend in. Don’t be a threat.

I’d be the silent snake in the grass until I chose to lash out once again with my fangs.

Chapter26

Ilya

Ajax escorted me back to Lucien’s quarters after dinner. He never failed to be kind and courteous. Over the last few days, I’d actually found myself enjoying his company.

“Your painting was delivered earlier this evening,” he said. “Quite a lovely piece.”

My smile was as much for myself as for his compliment. Artwork managed to disarm and relax the residents of this castle more than several tankards of ale.

“Thank you.” I batted my eyelashes. “It’s my first piece, but I worked quite hard on it. Hopefully, I can do more in the coming days.”

“We’ll look forward to it. Perhaps they’ll liven this place up a bit,” his companion added as she held the door open for me.

My canvas reclined against a side table in full view of the door. It would need a more permanent home, especially if I planned to add to its number. Would Lucien let me hang them in his quarters? The thought of the captain tugged my attention toward his door.

I blinked, barely comprehending the sight before me. The door stood open, revealing the staircase beyond. Fire rushed under my skin as I recalled the last time I’d witnessed such a sight and what it almost led to.

Surely, he can’t think I’d leap into his bed now.

I reached for my necklace, aching for the comfort of the solid gemstone, but my fingers touched only smooth skin. I’d removed the Mark of Sorrena before dinner, tucking it away in my trunk. Someone at peace with their new life wouldn’t wear the symbol of their old one.

Butterflies warred with eels in my stomach, memories of the past few days churning up the internal battle. I’d be a fool to miss the opportunity to enter his room again. Any little piece of information could change the game. But facing him again in such a setting was bound to be difficult. A shiver racked my body.

Eventually, curiosity conquered fear.

I inched up the stairs, treading on near-silent feet across the smooth stones. With any luck, I’d glimpse Lucien before he saw me, giving me some indication of his intent. Or better yet, I’d be able to garner some information from his room.

The sight that greeted me as I rounded the curve of the ascent shocked me more than anything I’d imagined, including Lucien laying naked upon his sinfully large bed.

Books and papers were strewn about the room, coating the desk, the bed furs, a few gracing the ornate rug on the floor. The man himself hunched over the desk, peering into an open tome, his back to the stairs. No armor hugged his form this evening, only fine, dark clothing.

Like a man possessed, he flipped one page, then the next. The candle near his arm fluttered in the paper breeze, sending a trail of hot wax running down the side to pool on the desk below. Lucien didn’t appear to notice the mess or to care.

I cleared my throat where I stood, barely into the edge of his room.

Lucien whirled in his carved, wooden chair. The movement stirred a stack of loose papers whose edges fluttered precariously close to the candle flames before settling back onto his desk.

“Ilya.”

His deep voice filled the quiet space, wrapping around me like a shawl.

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