Page 126 of The Call of Crimson
“Oh, but we’ve already played that game, and the prince quite enjoys it,” I interrupt to taunt him.
He grins wilder, lethal.“—leaving him only his ears,” he finishes. “So he can hear your pleasure but never witness it. Never taste it. Nevertouchit.”
I turn my head to the side to study him. Sweat clings to his face, his dark locks drenched. Still burning with violent devotion.
“Gods, you say such depraved things,” I finally say.
His hand slides up to tangle in my hair, pulling just enough to make me gasp.
“I’d do much more depraved things, little demon,” he whispers, “if it meant keeping you mine.”
It’s a threat and a promise all at once.
It’s a prayer.
And gods help me, I believe him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AURELIUS
Crisp autumn air assaults my face as I watch the slow ascent of the sun.
In the weeks we’ve spent in Prudia, late summer has faded into autumn swifter than I remember. The green of the trees has surrendered to hues of red, orange, and gold. Mornings are brisk enough now that I favor a long-sleeved tunic and wool overcoat most days. Today is no exception.
I’ve been awake for hours, waiting for the sunrise, the bitter chill biting my cheeks.
Sleep has become an elusive mistress. Haunting dreams plague me night after night—vivid, almost familiar, yet I know I've never seen the places in my waking state.
Most nights, I find myself standing on the ocean shoreline, staring out at the sea. Salt from the water permeates the air, mixing with the scent of the wild forest behind me.
Sometimes, I find myself wandering through the dense trees, exploring the strange flora and fauna that run wild there. Thearea seems untouched, yet I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me.
There’s a soft humming that makes my blood sing, tugging and pulling me toward… something.
Each time, I wake before I can find it.
Despite the lack of rest, my body is buzzing with unspent energy.
The moment the sun fully crests the horizon, I head out.
I have no patience today for libraries or dusty tomes. Not even with the memory of what happened between Breyla and me the last time we were there.
No, I didn’t need her pliant body beneath me, no matter how tempting it might be. I needed to move, to sweat. I needed to train.
I make it to the training grounds in record time, surprised to find I’m not the first to arrive.
Breyla stands in the center of a ring, chest heaving, sweat gleaming along her flushed skin. Stray curls cling to her face, damp from exertion, her freckles standing out starkly in contrast.
Her sun-kissed copper curls are woven into a tight braid around her head, and I admire the way the gold shines in the early morning light. With the coming winter months, the gold will grow muted, and the red will deepen. In the summer, her hair favors her mother’s coloring. But in the winter, her hair comes directly from Raynor’s bloodline—a deep crimson flame.
Something reaches into my chest, squeezing gently around my heart. I’m not sure which color I wish to see more right now, both of them simultaneously opening and soothing wounds that Raynor and Gen’s deaths caused. I love it and hate it in equal measure.
My lips curve in a half smile as I fight the urge to laugh at her attire for the day.
A simple black dress, the skirt pulled between her legs and tied to form loose, makeshift pant legs. I know with certainty that she was able to win back one pair of her leathers from Ayden in the last week. She had also worn those leathers, much to the queen’s protest, every single day since then. At some point, she had to send them for laundering, and it appeared that day had come.
Brown leather boots stomp the earth beneath her feet, and I silently wonder where she procured them. For the first couple of weeks in Prudia, she had simply walked the castle barefoot rather than slip her feet into the dainty, uncomfortable flat shoes that most females favored.
