Page 90 of The Musician and the Monster

He wasn’t entirely sure it was a question, but all the same, he replied, “He does.” Which was why he had to stop it. Too many innocent lives were already lost to the darkness, and it would only grow if allowed to spread, like a deep rot that would eventually consume the kingdom. For generations, Castamar kept tight borders and rarely let in outsiders other than for trade. Wariness that others should learn of their magic and lust for it themselves, his father once said, not that it was something a person could claim unless born to it. But maybe there was another reason, too. The havoc a wielder of darkness could cause against the innocents of the world was formidable, something those who valued the light saw in themselves to prevent and contain as best they could.

Eventually, Ceridwen shuddered against him, sucked in a breath, and stared up at him with her tear-stained face still leaning against the top of his chest. “I want to help you kill the king.”

“You…” He blinked at her, awed and surprised in equal measure. “You already have.”

“I can do more,” she insisted.

“It’s dangerous. If something happened to you—” He shook his head.

“My music can help you. Whatever it takes to stop this, it’s worth the risk.”

“Ceridwen—”

“Please. For Mother.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. She would not be dissuaded, no matter what he said. Drystan ran his fingers along the soft skin of her cheek, savoring the blush that rose in its wake. “How could I tell you no?”

He led her back to the edge of the bed. Silence sat heavily between them, worse than the grief and guilt that had spilled through their words.

“So what led you to play on the rooftops?” he asked. Anything to distract her, and himself if he were being honest.

Ceridwen gave a tentative smile and wiped away the last of her tears. “Music had been Mother’s great gift to us all. I couldn’t replace her if I tried. If I played near Father, he’d get a faraway look or even leave the room, so I stopped playing for my family too. Only for Mother. I played for her each evening, and I have most days since. I thought it would make her happy to hear me play, though eventually it became more of a comfort to me than it probably ever was to her spirit.”

“I always wondered,” he said. “When I heard your music for the first time in the spring, it was a light in the darkness of my soul. I often waited by the windows here in the tower, hoping I would hear your songs, especially if I planned to perform a spell that night. It gave me peace. Calm.”

“It was you. All this time…” She stared at him in awe.

“What?”

“Watching me.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Many nights I could feel a strange presence, like someone nearby listening to my song. I thought it might be Mother, but it was you.”

He cupped her face, drawing it toward him. “I wanted your music. Craved it. That’s why I asked you to come here. I never expected to want the woman who played it even more.”

Ceridwen met him halfway with a kiss so delicate and trusting it threatened to carve out a piece of his heart. Only moments ago, she’d feared the worst, but that was gone now. He could taste the acceptance of his truth in her touch, the way she gently sighed against his lips before leaning in farther. Goddess, how she slew him with her tenderness.

Warmth suffused his body when they parted, a balm to some of his physical aches. His stiff cock strained against his breeches, but he wouldn’t take more than she offered, no matter how much he wanted her.

“When we first met, I thought you a recluse with the pox who cared nothing for anyone but himself,” she admitted.

Drystan laughed, a deep rumbling roar that brought a smile to her lips. “Hopefully I disappointed on that score.”

“You did.” She traced a finger down the hard lines of his chest, causing his muscles to grow taut. “Eventually.”

The comment earned another laugh, one shorter lived. Something swelled in his chest, pressing against his ribs almost painfully, but it wasn’t his monster or the lingering pain from Malik striking it. This was something else, a desperation he hadn’t felt in years.

“Drystan?”

“Stay here with me tonight.”Please.More than anything, possibly even his revenge, he wanted her.

Ceridwen gaped at his suggestion. “The dress…” She held up a stained section of the skirt.

His gaze raked her from head to toe. “Take it off.”

“Oh!” She covered her mouth with one dainty hand, the flush on her cheeks deepening.

“If you want to, I mean,” he replied, suddenly sheepish, a boy caught taking an extra piece of cake. “I know I don’t have much to offer anymore. I’m supposed to be dead after all. I might be soon. Of course, there’s the dark magic, and you know what I become when—”

She silenced him with a soft palm against his chest. “You’re right, but none of that has stopped me from falling in love with you.”

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