Page 84 of Tides of Shadows

Crossing the main courtyard toward my chambers, I spotted Peter.

“I am glad to see you returned safe and sound, my Lady,” he said with a polite bow. “And not only I. It seems a certain young Lord was growing rather impatient. Another day, and I might have been sent on a rescue mission myself.”

I rolled my eyes, and he handed me a small, folded note. The handwriting was bold and graceful:

I miss you.

Peter bowed again and vanished between the columns before I could say a word. Aidenar was no poet, yet my heart quickened all the same.

The bath was long and hot, scented with soap and roses. I washed away the dust, the weariness, and the ghosts of the road. When I stepped out, my hair was still damp, flowing over my shoulders like molten copper in the candlelight. I slipped into a simple gown, wrapped Mirabel’s cloak around me, and followed the call of my heart.

To the Regent’s chambers.

It was late, the corridors empty and hushed, as though the palace itself slept. I made my way along the familiar path: stairs, gallery, library, the narrow passage. At last I reached the heavy door. I pushed it gently and knocked on the bookshelf, as always. No answer.

I stepped inside. The bed was empty. I looked around and then I saw him.

He stood on the terrace, his back turned to me. A white shirt clung to his straight shoulders, his fair hair neatly combed, the faint shadow of his beard gone. He looked once more like the Aidenar everyone saw, the young lord, the heir, master of the air.

When he sensed me near, he turned his head. A warm smile curved his lips as he reached out his hand.

I went to him. He drew me close, his arms wrapping around me. He smelled of lavender and rosemary, then I noticed the pots of these herbs that filled the terrace, their scent thick in the warm night air.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

“It took me some time to recover from the journey,” I replied, still resting against his chest.

I looked down at the city spread below us, a sea of lights.

“Will you miss this view?” I asked quietly.

“This?” he whispered, his eyes were on me, not the city. “Always.”

The air between us grew heavy. My heart raced. I wanted him, there was no denying it, no hiding it. My skin prickled though the night was warm. His fingers slid up my neck, through my hair, and then he tilted my head back. His lips brushed mine, a question in their touch. I did not pull away. The kiss deepened, slow and burning. He guided me backward toward his bed, our breath quickening. My cloak slipped from my shoulders and fell soundlessly to the floor.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping my hips, drawing me closer until I straddled him. I saw his eyes widen and felt his body tensed. His touch was fire, his breath uneven. His mouth traced my neck, my jaw, my collarbone. His hands were gently discovering my body. The world narrowed to warmth, to scent, to him. My every nerve screamed that this was what I had longed for.

I pressed against him with my hips and suddenly he groaned in pain. A grimace crossed his face, and I realized it was the wound, still unhealed.

We stopped.

“Aidenar…” I whispered.

I pulled back slightly, my heart pounding. Then came the rush—fear, shame, reason. Thoughts spun through me like a storm. I realized where this was leading, and panic seized me. I was not sure I was ready. My mind filled with images of the other women who had been here before me, of the secrecy of my visits, of what I was becoming. My whole body tensed.

“I cannot,” I stammered. “I cannot be just another of your mistresses, hidden in your chambers.”

I grabbed my cloak, flushed with shame, and fled through the hidden door, leaving Aidenar sitting on the bed, his face marked with astonishment.

Chapter

25

After that night, I avoided Aidenar. I desired him, but I refused to become another of his conquests. My body thought only of him, yet my mind would not allow such weakness. I didn’t know how far his feelings reached, if they could even be called feelings at all. What did I mean to him? Was I anything more than a passing whim, another shadow in his bed?

I couldn’t guess what he thought of me after I fled. Was he angry? Wounded? Or had he simply decided I had gone mad?

Rumors spread quickly through the palace. I heard that he had recovered. Velena was the first to proclaim that, with deliberate sweetness, that “the Lord Cavareth is back to his old self” and that he looked “positively radiant.” She said it in a way that made sure everyone knew he was hers.