Page 213 of The Call of Crimson
“It’s cold as shit.” I squeeze him to me tighter, hoping it will keep him from moving.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I also stole you some of Rowina’s fur-lined leggings.”
“Have I mentioned I love you?”
“No. I think I need reminding.”
“I fucking love you, Aurelius.”
“I fucking love you, Breyla. Now get dressed.”
Reluctantly, I release him and reach for the leggings. Slipping them on, I sigh in sweet, warm relief. Without needingto be asked, Aurelius drops to one knee, a pair of thick wool socks in hand. I brace against the dresser and lift my foot. He rolls one sock on, followed by my boot, then repeats the process with my other foot.
Lastly, he drapes a fur-lined cloak across my shoulders and ties it snugly in place.
“No matter what,” he says as we head for the door, “I’m with you, Princess. Always.”
We stand in the courtyard, waiting for the others to arrive. Cold winter wind nips at my skin, painting it pink. I should feel cold, but the overwhelming emptiness is all I notice. The warmth recently conjured by Aurelius’ presence has fled as he stands beside me, not touching any part of me.
There are still traitors in this court, just as there were in my own. Though Ayden hasn’t explained entirely, I knew we were being watched and they needed to believe the farce that was our engagement. Which is why I lean into his heat when he steps up behind me.
It was comforting, but he didn’t chase away the gnawing emptiness like Aurelius had. His handsome face is solemn as he pulls me close, his fingers curling gently around my shoulder.
I glance around at the attending faces. There were so few, and even fewer who truly knew Elijah. Queen Josephina is here, but I suspect it’s out of royal obligation. There should be more. In Rimor, he was well-loved by everyone at court, but this kingdom did not know the male resting on the funeral pyre.
Rowina and Darian stand on the other side of Aurelius. Cillian and Ophelia are the last to join. With no regard for the prince, Cillian shoves his way between us, pulling me into a tight embrace.
After my initial shock wears off, I wrap my arms around him, returning the gesture.
“I’m so sorry, Breyla,” is all he whispers before releasing me and returning to Ophelia’s side.
He guides her to stand beside Ayden, her face unreadable. Her eyes are red and swollen but vacant. They’re somehow filled with immeasurable pain, yet nothing at all. It’s a haunted look that I don’t recall ever seeing on her before. Not even when she lost Layne.
Something is irrevocably broken in her. My soul echoes the sentiment.
“Love,” Ayden says, offering me a flower, “we have a slightly different ceremony here than in Rimor.”
To call it beautiful would be an insult; there were no words to describe it. Deep burgundy petals that fade into the darkest of black tips surrounded a gilded center. Iridescent gold specks covered the flower, giving it an ethereal glow. I had never seen a flower like it before.
“We call it the La Crencia flower,” he explains. “It’s believed to be a product of the faeries of old, made of pure magic. It only grows here as far as we know.”
I lift the gorgeous flora to my nose, inhaling deeply. “It smells like…”
“Citrus and honeysuckle,” Aurelius says, his nose buried deeply in his own flower.
“It smells different to every individual, but the scent should mean something to you.”
That explains why it doesn’t smell at all like honeysuckle or citrus to me.
“Mine is… spicy and earthy,” I say, trying to avoid outright saying it smells exactly like Aurelius.
“To me, it smells like honey,” Ayden muses. “That’s new.”
“Lilacs,” Cillian mutters.
Ophelia tips the flower to her nose, her brows furrowing. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispers.
“What do we do with them?” I ask.
