Page 38 of Maksym

“You should rest,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. “That sounds like an order.”

“It was a plea.”

She studied me. Then, with the last tatters of her strength, she said, “You need practice.”

“Yes.”

Another breath. Closer to amusement this time, though too faint to count.

I rose slowly.

Grace’s body reacted before her mind gave permission. Her fingers tightened on the chair arms. Her gaze tracked my height, my hands, the space between us. I stopped at once and kept my palms visible.

“I am leaving,” I said. “Millie will come in. You will not be alone.”

She nodded.

“Rest,” I said. “Everything else can wait until dusk.”

For once, Grace did not argue.

I opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Only when I had pulled it closed behind me did I allow my lungs to work.

Taras sat exactly where I expected him.

He had folded himself into a carved wooden chair against the opposite wall, one ankle crossed over the other, arms drawn over his chest. His silver hair had fallen slightly across his forehead. His hazel eyes fixed on me the instant I emerged.

He read my face.

I did not know what he found there. I only knew his shoulders, held tight for hours, lowered by the smallest degree.

“She is holding,” he said.

“She is asking questions.”

His eyes closed briefly. Relief, for Taras, was often indistinguishable from pain.

“Better than screaming,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Better than trying to bolt through the wards.”

“She considered it. Decided against wasting energy.”

“That sounds promising.”

“That sounds like Grace.”

Taras leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “She knows?”

Clearly, my twin had closed off his hearing and allowed me the privacy my mate and I were due.

“About the bond? Yes.”

His brows lifted.