Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
“No.” The corners of his mouth rise. “I just think we’ve been right to steer clear of activities where I can’t be trusted to keep control. It’s the only way you’re safe, and as much as I want you to run, I’m too selfish to give you up.”
I nod slowly, since it’s not like I’m going to argue with what’s obviously his line.
“And just so you know, that memory of yours was really fucking hot. I loved every second of it.” He swallows and grips both sides of the desk again, like he already regrets his decision.
My brow knits. “I’m not quite sure how I even did it. Is the thought sharing an inntinnsic thing? Or a bond thing? It’s happened more than once with us.”
A corner of his mouth rises, and his grip relaxes. “No fucking clue. I’ve never tried it with anyone else.” His smirk shifts to a full smile, and I breathe a little easier. “The first time, I was sitting in tactics and couldn’t get you out of my damned head. Then you reached out, struggling to wield when you’d all but set the whole campus on fire the night before, and I just let the memory play, partly to help you, but mostly so you’d be in the same hell I was in.” There’s zero guilt in the admission. “Now let’s get dressed. We probably slept through breakfast.”
We get ready in relative normalcy considering what just happened. I wrap my knee quickly, going above and below my kneecap to hold it in place, then finish dressing. By the time I slip my armor on over my undershirt, Xaden is there, lacing it on just as efficiently as when he takes it off, though one takes considerably longer than the other. “You were out late last night,” I say as he works his way to the tie. “Anything to do with Duke Lindell being here?”
“Yeah.” He tugs gently, and my shoulders straighten.
“Makes me glad you’re sleeping here,” I note, and his fingers still. “All three of the highest Houses of Tyrrendor are here, two of whom are known to hold allegiance only to the province, and the third is suspected.” I glance over my shoulder at him. “Was it not Lindell who made sure you and Liam were trained to enter the quadrant?”
Xaden nods. “It was, though Lewellen had a hand in it, too.”
My brows rise. “I’m sure it’s crossed Melgren’s mind that he could wipe the slate clean. There’s a lot of chaos in these halls and almost no one of rank to notice.” Be careful. I say those two words with my eyes.
He nods again, then goes back to situating the corset, and I face forward. “Killing me isn’t required to annihilate the Tyrrish aristocracy. Officially, I’m just a lieutenant who has no place in any of the negotiations, and yet I’m supposed to speak for Aretia, according to your brother. All done.” He ties the corset strings, then shocks the shit out of me by placing a kiss beneath my ear before he walks to the weapons rack by the door.
“Thanks. Do you want to?” I ask, tugging my uniform top on and buttoning it.
“Sit in on the negotiations?” he asks, shrugging on his back sheaths.
“Speak for Aretia. All of it.” I cross the room, starting to braid my hair into its usual coronet on my way to the desk, and he looks at me with an expression I can’t read. “You said you were happy with the way things were running, but I don’t know if anyone ever…asked you.”
His brow furrows. “The Assembly runs Aretia. I just own the house, which is probably a good thing, since I’m…well, venin. Great on the battlefield, but not a good governing quality.”
I lock every muscle to keep from flinching, then continue braiding.
“Anyway, we’re trying to work out the terms of the riot staying, and Lewellen seems to think he can at least get my father’s sword back from Tauri, but it all feels tangled. If we don’t stay, Poromiel walks. If Navarre can’t protect the fliers here at Basgiath, Poromiel walks. If anyone murders anyone—which happens a lot around here—”
“Poromiel walks,” I guess, reaching for the pins on my desk to secure the braid in place, and most definitely noticing that he used the term we. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’ll be actively working on one of those things in the next forty-eight hours, but he doesn’t want to know, and losing control a few minutes ago isn’t going to help that stance.
“Exactly, and two of the third-year fliers had a run-in with First Wing last night near the great hall that left everyone bloody.” He starts sheathing his daggers along his thighs. “If Tauri isn’t willing to take civilians, then Poromiel has nothing to gain by promising not to attack our outposts. The only incentives are weapons and keeping the fliers safe.”