Page 108 of The Call of Crimson
“Breyla sure knows how to pick them,” Cillian mutters, refilling both our glasses.
“What’s your next question?” Elijah asks.
“If this marriage was to bring peace, why the fuck is Prudia attacking our western border?”
A muscle ticks in Elijah’s jaw as he fights the urge to spill everything.
“We’re not convinced it is Prudia,” he finally says. “It wouldn’t serve them to attack the kingdom they just allied with.”
“Agreed,” Cillian says, “but they should at least be helping defend it.”
“You care an awful lot for someone who stands to profit from the situation,” Elijah notes.
“I don’t want to see Rimor fall,” Cillian replies evenly. “Just because we fall on opposite sides of the law doesn’t mean I don’t care for this kingdom.”
“Have you had your fill of truths for tonight?” I cut in, my head pleasantly buzzing from the wine.
Cillian smirks at me. “For now.”
“Then let’s have another and speak of lighter things,” I suggest, tipping back my glass.
Elijah downs the rest of his glass. “That sounds like a great idea, doll.”
Several drinks later, my head is swimming, and I lay it against Elijah’s shoulder. The low rumble of his laughter vibrates against my cheek, and I smile. He pulls my head into his lap, his fingers stroking my hair with a comforting rhythm. The simple touch pulls me back to memories of my mother and Layne doing the same once upon a time.
Instead of sadness, a strange, peaceful warmth fills me.
I drift, half asleep, while the two men continue talking like old friends. It isn’t until I hear Breyla’s name that I rouse a little.
“You still love her, don’t you?” Elijah asks.
A tense beat of silence. Then Cillian answers, voice rough, “I never stopped.”
Elijah sighs. “But she did.”
“Which she made abundantly clear the last time I saw her,” Cillian admits, something broken threading through his tone.
“It was your own doing, you know that, right?” Elijah says, not unkindly.
“I’ve known that from the moment I lost her, Elijah,” Cillian says softly. “Why do you think I put my blade through his throat?”
“I always suspected you were behind that,” Elijah muses. “It never made sense how he was killed so easily in his own home.”
“He deserved worse,” Cillian mutters. “He forced me into this life. Forced me to lie to her.”
“Males like us do dangerous things for those we care about.”
“And you would too, if you knew the depth of what I felt for her,” Cillian replies. “Maybe you already do.”
Their conversation blurs as sleep finally claims me, but I still catch the last few lines.
“So, she’s yours, then?” Cillian asks.
“She is,” Elijah says. His voice is steady, but layered with emotions I can’t quite untangle. “At least for...”
But I don’t hear the end.
Darkness pulls me under.
