Page 225 of The Call of Crimson
“So soon?” I croak.
“This victim was discovered faster than the others thanks to a civilian stumbling upon the body by accident.”
I worry my lower lip between my teeth. “That must have been terrifying for them.”
“They were quite disturbed.” Ayden’s gaze settles on me, and something in his expression shifts; his eyes soften. “You have nothing to worry about, little one. You are safe within my walls.”
I nod, turning away from him. His promise does nothing to assuage the anxiety building in my gut.
“Now,” he drawls, “are you two going to make room for me inmybed or will I be forced to sleep elsewhere?”
“I’ll go,” I yawn.
“Good night,” Breyla mumbles. She’s snoring softly before I even make it out of bed.
Ayden offers me a hand up that I gladly take. He squeezes my hand tightly, holding on for longer than is comfortable.
The walk back to my chambers is short. I undress, too tired to search for a nightgown, and crawl into bed.
When sleep claims me, it’s deep and dreamless.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
BREYLA
It takes another week for me to voluntarily leave Ayden’s chambers, but I no longer shut out Ophelia. We sit together every day, telling stories and reminiscing over the ones we’ve lost. There are tears. There is laughter. There is grief. And finally, there’s a small semblance of peace.
When I finally venture out, I find myself drawn to the library. Something about the smell of parchment, the feel of the leather tomes, and the soft crackle of logs in the fireplace calms me. I curl my feet under me, settling into the chair closest to the fire.
Elythia’s journal lies sprawled across my lap, but before I can lose myself in her story, I sense Ayden approaching from the left.
“It’s good to see you out of the bedroom,” he says, surprise coloring his tone. “You’re even wearing real clothing.”
I resist the urge to make a crude gesture or curse him because I deserve that. I’ve been a shell of myself, incapable of even the most basic self-care, for almost two months.
“I figured if I want to train with you, I should probably be dressed appropriately.”
One dark brow arches. “You want to train?”
“I need to do something.”
“What’s changed?”
“Darian said I had given up on living, that I was simply existing. I haven’t been able to get those words out of my head,” I explain.
Pity flashes across his face, softening his expression. “Darian was?—”
“Right,” I interrupt before he can justify my behavior. “His words wouldn’t have hurt so much if they weren’t true.”
He nods, choosing not to argue.
“So… training? I thought maybe we could work on my projections,” I suggest.
“As much as I love that you are feeling more yourself,” he says, “I don’t have any time today. There’s a council meeting in ten minutes.”
“What are you discussing?”
“Primarily, the murders still plaguing the kingdom.”
