Chapter 81: Eighty One
Lucien
Seven days. She stayed seven days, dressed as a maid, blending seamlessly into my castle. She was in the kitchens, thick as thieves with the rest of the help. She was in the revelries, drawing more attention and trouble than any noble woman in the gathering could and flirting carefree and hard enough to get the clothes off the backs of both men and women. She was in the stables, tending my horses. She was amongst my personal maids, helping me get dressed for the day. She was fucking everywhere.
And at night, she’d fall asleep on my couch, a book fell over her face, silky mane scattered about and wearing nothing but another one of my shirts. And she never picked the regular ones. She wore my most astounding pair and used my oils, my scents, my everything. She was worse than Evadne. At least, with my cousin, I could express my irritation.
If I so much as scowled at her, she would giggle and kiss both my cheeks soundly. Or walk about naked in my chambers until I ran from it.
And so it happened that for those seven days, I didn’t think of Ilya as much as I should have. And it frightened me.
It was on the eighth night she joined me on the terrace where I overlooked the courtyard and said, "I’m leaving."
I didn’t turn around. "I do not assume you need my permission to go and come as you please. Leave, and do not darken my door again."
I was antsy. Itchy. Hungry. Tired. And very drunk. She’d succeeded in crawling under my skin. I couldn’t very well sleep in my chambers anymore, not when it was covered in her scent. I thought I’d be relieved to hear her say those words, but all it did was invigorate my temper.
Distracted, I did not hear her move until her hands closed around my wrist. The touch physically burned, my head swimming with images that would torment me when she was gone. That had been tormenting me for ages. "Don’t fucking touch me."
I saw then that she was dressed to leave. I didn’t know whose leathers she had stolen, but I could very well see that she had, once more, stolen my pouch of gold. She wasn’t even trying to hide that she had taken from me again.
Her eyes held mine and I saw why she came to find me. Not to say goodbye, but to strip my mind of her again. The goblet in my gasp crushes to fine pieces of dust and I bared my teeth in her face. "The last time had been a fluke. I was taken by surprise. If you so much as try to slip into my head again and alter my thoughts, I will kill you."
Lyra’s lips pressed thin. "If I do not, you will look for me. And I do not yet wish to be found."
And just like that, her pupils started to expand. The fuck not.
My hand caught her throat, crushing her windpipe and I twisted, holding her over the edge of the railing so precariously high, the fall wouldn’t be pretty if I *mistakenly* dropped her. "Do not vex me, Lyra. You are one step closer to a rather watery grave."
Her nails dragged against my hand, and she didn’t try to dislodge my grip or fight it as she dangled from my grasp. Instead, her eyes glowed with unholy light as she rasped, "My Prince."
I stiffened, the very air halting at the term of endearment, the tone. I brought her back over the edge, her face now so close to mine that I caught the tiny silver flecks in them. "What did you call me?"
Reaching out faster than I could detect, she pressed fingers against my cheek and breathed, "Unhand me."
"No," I rasped, but my fingers moved of their own volition, unwrapping tenderly from her skin. "Lyra, stop it."
But I was already caught in her thrall, again. Never should have looked at her. Never should have let her touch me. Never should have left my defenses in utter ruin. It was never usually so easy to break through, but even if she was the enemy, my mind, my body felt safe around her enough to coalesce my walls into dropping. How she could do that to me, I couldn’t tell.
But I wasn’t interested in losing any more of myself to her. I couldn’t move, not much, as she began to bind me with her words.
But I could stop the words, if I could shut her up, startle her enough to break whatever hold she had on me.
I did the only thing I could think of. I kissed her. I feel it break then, but while congratulating myself for the inventive strategy I’d employed, I acknowledged that this was a cowardly attempt at self-deceit.
I did want to kiss her. It didn’t make sense to me, either. I understood that any further form of physical intimacy might skew my impartiality, but the skirmish had brought us close and she was warm and soft and I wanted a little of that for myself. I wanted her hands on me, needed her to fill me with even a fraction of it. I felt like I had been cold for so long, the ice in my veins had merged with my blood.
I found myself plunging his tongue between her lips with the intention of seducing rather than conquering, and I sensed the moment when it stopped being my way of controlling her and became nothing but a savage desire.
Her tongue stroked expertly against mine, and I noted that in the last couple of decades, she’s been kissed by others, enough to keep up, enough to make me groan into her mouth and tug her head back harshly for more access.
I didn’t like it one bit. "How many?" I asked. "How many men have there been?"
Her nails scratch softly against my neck as she pressed her chest to mine. "I lost count at twenty. Jealous?"
"No," I said, and my insides twisted with the force of the lie I hadn’t even realized was a lie until then.
She sank her teeth into my bottom lip, pulling it back with her as she drew away, breaking the kiss. "Lucien," she breathed against me, settling back on her toes with a slightly dazed expression. "It was always going to be you."
There’s a bitter edge to her voice and resignation. I catch her hair between my fingers, intent on brushing it back from her face, but I knew it’d come sooner or later. The *whisper*.
Without alerting her, I snipped the lock of hair off with a single claw and crushed it in my fist, the silky texture of it swaying with the breeze.
"Forget me," she whispered, amongst a group of commands that wash over me completely.
And I did forget her. Again. But the lock of hair, I kept, even if I didn’t remember why.