Page 132 of The Soulbond and Her Beloved

“Ah. A fine choice,” the merchant said as Aekeira handed her the vial. “Blended with rose oil, valerian root, and a touch of cinnamon. Warms the muscles… and stirs the senses.”

Aekeira arched a brow. “Stirs the senses?”

The merchant’s smile deepened. “A touch of heat beneath the relaxation. If your men are warriors, then their bodies know strain. But a gentle burn… that can make them feel alive again.”

The three women exchanged glances.

“We’ll take it,” Lady Morina said, setting a handful of silver coins onto the wooden counter.

***

That night, after Emeriel bathed, she dressed in a simple, loose nightdress. The soft clothing hung over her swollen belly, its drape flattering, making her bump seem smaller.

She gathered the basket she had prepared—vials of oil, a small clay jar, linen cloths, and a shallow bowl. Leaving her bedchamber, she made her way quietly through the hall toward his. But the soldier standing guard outside told her he'd gone to the study after his evening bath, so she went in search of him there.

The study was dark when she entered, but she knew her way around well enough. Crossing quietly to the nearest table, she reached for the candlestick.

“Leave it off,” came a deep voice. Low. Rough.

She paused, her hand hovering over the candle. Then she set it back down.

Following his voice, she moved carefully to the desk. As her eyes adjusted to the dim, she could make out the shadow of his form.

He sat behind the desk, his elbows propped upon its surface, face buried in his hands.

Emeriel approached him, the basket in her hand making no sound as she placed it on the desk. “I have given you the space you needed for days, but I’m worried about you. I can barelysleep.” She stopped herself from reaching for him. “I’m so sorry for everything you are going through.”

Silence and darkness. Zero movement.

“I wish our bond was active again so I could share even a little of your pain. But I cannot and it kills me.” She tried to keep the wobble from her voice. “Please, let me help you in whatever small way I can.”

“Emeriel…” he groaned.

“Please,” she whispered. “Let me help you.”

He lowered his hands, straightening in his chair. Emeriel reached for his hand, drawing him to his feet. He rose without resistance.

She removed the heavy robe from his shoulders, then his loose undershirt before he sat again, slow and weary.

Reaching for the bowl, she mixed the oils as Lady Morina had shown her—warming them with her hands. Moving behind him, she placed her palms on his shoulders, the muscles hard as stone. She began to knead them.

Emeriel had never done a massage before, and truly, she had no idea if she was doing it well, but she felt better doingsomething.

He groaned after a few moments, his head rolling to one side as her thumbs worked into the knots at the base of his neck.

“I cannot believe all of this happened under my nose,” his bitter voice came at last. “I had no idea...”

She did not interrupt. Smoothing the warmed oil into his skin, listening.

“Yes, I knew Zaiper hated me,” Daemonikai continued. “I knew his family’s obsession with the throne. When you have ruled for millennia, you become accustomed to it. I knew he was ambitious, but I didn't know he wasthiscorrupt.”

Her hands paused briefly. But she bit her lip and let him speak, working in silence as he emptied his thoughts.

“Beware the vampire of Greyrock.”He laughed without mirth. “When the Oracle gave me that warning, I thought her foolish. Why risk pain to tell me something I already knew?” he paused, then scoffed. “What did I know? I was dining with the male who killed my entire family. Oblivious and fucking stupid.”

Emeriel dipped her fingers into the clay bowl again, coating them with the warmed oil, and began smoothing them over his shoulders once more.

“At least that answers the question of why he was not broken like the rest of us. I always cut him some slack because he lost his beloved brother. I never would have thought him involved.” Daemonikai shook his head. “I watched those two grow. They were brothers every step of the way—loved and cared for each other. I cannot believe Zaiper killed Kristoff.”

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