Page 114 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

Kora needed time, she needed space. He saw the look in her eyes at the marks lining her skin, the haunting shadows circling her mind. He could feel it in the bond, the lifeline was fragile, frayed, barely holding together after Kordelia nearly severed it.

“Call for me as soon as she’s ready,” Aryn answered, brimming with intensity. The protector bond could be consuming, sometimes leading to a relationship, or even losing oneself to it. Despite Raiden knowing where Aryn’s heart truly lay, the pangs of jealousy still stabbed whenever Kora was with Aryn. The way she looked at him, like he’d shield her from everything.

And he hadn’t fucking told her how intense these bonds could be. How Kora could . . . she could . . . Raiden shook his head, his grip tightening on the door.

“It’s so early.” Sirona yawned again, her pale hair braided and wrapped with a silken ivory tie. She wearily blinked in the shadowed hallway, and her robe was skewed from running here. “Someone woke me up from a lovely dream.”

“Do you have isuga ointment?” Raiden barked, his patience thinning.

“Depends, are you going to rub it on me?” Sirona smirked, revealing a small iron tin with a simple label. “Just kidding! A healer is never without her kit.”

Aryn gagged. “Now I’m definitely leaving.” He spun on his heel, his shoulders hunched as he trailed down the hallway, before turning at the corner. Towards Aerion’s chamber.

“Thank you, Sirona, truly.” The doorframe creaked with Raiden’s clenched grip, the wood splintering beneath his skin. Every second away from Kora was torture for him. What’d happened? How had Kordelia surged so soon—and so fast?

“Now you owe me another drink. A friend who owns a bar comes with many perks I aim to exploit,” Sirona muttered, her face hardening as she handed over the tin. “Apply morning and night for a week. If it itches, then I’d advise to stop.” She glanced down at Raiden’s crotch, and then winked.

“That’s not . . . no. It’s not for that.”

“Whatever floats your boat. If you want to swim naked in the river with leeches, by all means,” Sirona called loudly over her shoulder. “Maybe invite me next time.” She glided towards the healers’ quarters in the south wing. “Kidding again!”

Raiden stewed, knowing people in this wing would’ve heard as a gust of wind slammed the door shut. He leaned against it briefly, closing his eyes as he basked in the silence of his room. As he opened them, he cursed.

His room was a state. Spare mattresses lined his large bed, cushions from various guest rooms covering the floor. His dark sheets were tangled and messy from where Kordelia had pounced on him, and endless books on runes covered whatever spare inch of hardwood remained. Raiden pushed off from the door, collecting the multi-coloured cushions to arrange them in some awkwardly cosy fashion by his balcony.

His room wasn’t grand, it wasn’t what a former prince would usually reside in. He’d always favoured simplicity and organisation. All the rooms in the west wing were the same, with standard oak furniture, a raised platform leading to a squared balcony, the windows stained with various depictions of Galenite culture. From celebrating Hallow’s Day, to ceremonies at the Aurora Gap in memory of Haizea—the giver of the air they breathed—community gatherings in the promenade, and so much colour. Galenites loved colour.

The door swung open and Raiden paused, spinning to face Kora. She emerged from the steam, her skin pink from the hot water, her wet hair reminding him of moonlight reflected on a shimmering lake. A grey shirt covered her small frame, and Raiden twitched realising it was one of his he’d left in the bathing chamber. It fell to her knees, and she’d even put on a pair of his socks.

Holy Haizea.

His pulse skyrocketed, and he refrained from moving as their gazes clashed, electrifying the current of air between them. He didn’t even dare to breathe in fear of breaking the connection.

She was so gods-damned breathtaking.

“Can I stay?”

Her voice in his head shocked him and Raiden blinked, his body trembling from maintaining the distance that stretched out as long as the void between them.

“I can hear you . . .” Wonderment filled him as he dared a step forward. Kora watched him warily, her fingers twirling around one another.

“I think battling Barron’s magic . . . it somehow helped. When I was down there, I tapped into something . . . different.” Kora nibbled her bottom lip and Raiden nearly tripped over his feet.

“Do it again,” he breathed as he closed the distance slowly, his gaze never leaving hers—like the shimmering ocean, the expanse of freedom, the endless well of possibility lurking within the individual fibres of colour in her eyes.

“Can I stay?” she repeated.

A shiver raced through him, thrilling him. He wasn’t alone.

“You can always stay.”

“Did you already plan for it?” Kora frowned at the spare mattresses on the floor and Raiden froze, realising how this looked. “Although not sure I need three.”

A rare blush snaked up his neck. “Ah . . . no.” He hesitated, glancing at Kora, but his gut roared with certainty that he could trust her. “I’ve been having bad dreams since Barron took you on the ship. And every time I wake up, I’m floating on the ceiling and I can’t control it. The mattresses are there to break my fall.”

Kora glanced to the ceiling, as though she could imagine it. “What do you dream about?”

Raiden exhaled, surprised by her question. He expected her to leave at that instant, decide sleeping alone would be better than risking next to a sleep-floater that could squash her in the night.