Page 80 of The Curse of Golden Blood
She jerked away from my touch. "I can decide for myself."
I took a deep breath and stepped closer to her, my hand dropping to her chin and lifting her head so she could see my face, so she could see that I wasn't lying to her.
"I know you can," I said. "You've already proven yourself more capable than I gave you credit for. I underestimated you, and that's on me."
Mira's eyes were still hard as flint, her chin tipped up in defiance. She held my gaze with her own, unwavering and determined. A strand of her hair had slipped out of place and hung over one of her eyebrows. I wanted to sweep it aside, but I held back. It wouldn't help my case right now.
"You will continue the bloodletting."
This woman, this creature, she was so vulnerable, so strong, and so utterly fascinating.
"But know this." My hand dropped from her chin to trace a path along her collarbone, the curve of her throat. "If the magic eats away at you, if it draws your mind into madness, I will stop the treatments. Even if it means locking you up."
twenty-one
Burnt Thread
Miralyte
Iusedtothinkthe most infuriating person in the universe was Ciradyl. She would always find a way to tease out every weakness, to test me, until the smallest comment sent me spiraling uncontrollably. But now, I understood how wrong I had been.
It was him.
The male standing across from me, the one that had been an utter pain in my ass since the first day I had arrived at this court. He was the most infuriating, arrogant, pigheaded, annoying bastard I had ever met. His mere presence was like a match to kindling, igniting my rage in a way nothing else could.
Even worse, I couldn't seem to stop thinking about him. Even after what we'd shared last night, the memory of his touch still lingered on my skin, his taste still on my tongue. I couldn't shake him from my thoughts no matter how hard Itried. I was supposed to hate him, I was supposed to despise everything about him, and yet...
And yet, when he'd left me this morning, I'd felt a strange sense of loss. Of emptiness.
Faeries took lovers as they pleased. It was expected, even encouraged, since children were so rare among their kind. But a mate bond was something else entirely—a binding of souls that went beyond the physical, beyond choice. Sacred in a way casual unions were not. And I was not fae, but mortal. Our bond was not blessed by the gods or any divine force.
We had come together in secret, driven by a mutual attraction that neither of us could explain. We had not spoken of it, but we both knew that our relationship was forbidden. If Ylvena were to discover it, she would surely have me executed, and Zydar would be disgraced and punished severely.
"Miralyte." The name struck like cold water. I blinked, breath catching, and tore my gaze from the courtyard beyond the window where Zydar still stood—silent, unreadable, a storm bottled in flesh.
Tomos stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable under the flicker of torchlight. His voice had changed since the last time we laughed as friends, hardened into steel, sharpened to a fine point. It was a voice that had seen death and suffering and emerged colder for it.
"Yes?"
Tomos didn’t answer right away. He adjusted the cuff around my wrist, fingers steady. "You should sit. The siphon’s almost ready."
I nodded, settling onto the stone platform without looking at him. My gaze flicked back to the window where Zydar stood, half-shadowed beneath the arch. He wasn’t watching anymore. Of coursehe wasn’t.
Tomos stood beside me, fingers adjusting the siphon where it fed into the vein at my forearm. The silver line pulsed faintly, drawing a thin stream of blood toward the shallow obsidian bowl etched with runes. My blood glowed faintly in the basin, brighter than it should have. Warmer.
He leaned closer. “Are you with me?”
I nodded once. “Hm. Yes.”
The pain was manageable. It always was. That wasn’t what made it hard to breathe. It was the weight behind the door. The presence. Zydar’s silhouette lingered just beyond the threshold, cloaked in shadow, unmoving but unmistakable. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“Her hands are cold. She did not take to the cold so swiftly before.” Tomos glanced sternly at the healers. They walked over to check on the siphon, but didn’t change a thing.
I shook my head, not wanting them close to me for some reason. “No matter, I’m well. Just nerves.”
The lie tasted like ash. My fingers curled into the fabric of the platform, knuckles going white. The air was too thick. Too heavy. My lungs burned.
The silence stretched. Tomos leaned closer, just a touch closer than would be appropriate. “Miralyte. Are you here by choice?”
