Page 88 of Winds of Ruin
Chapter 37
Emmerick
After leaving Elsedora’s bedchamber, I paced the parlor.
A vision of silk clinging to her body was burned into my memory. The way she’d looked up at me expectantly, it’d nearly broken my resolve. Her wet hair between my fingers had felt so sensually charged.
What had I beenthinkingtouching her like that?
I hadn’t been.
The rush of believing she had been in danger, paired with her wanting my help—it had stoked my ego. I’d protected Sybilla for years, loved her for years, pined after her for years.
I needed to learn my lesson before another woman broke me.
Elsedora wouldn’t be happy settling with me, or any other for that matter. And it would only make me feel lonelier in the end, when she inevitably bored of me. She’d said it herself to Lark—we could preserve this.
She had left a bundle of blankets and pillows on the sofa. The room had a roaring fireplace and a well-stocked brass barcart. Instead of marching up the stairs and giving in, I poured myself a finger of amber liquor and sat. Lust was natural—especially after twenty years deprived of touch. I could fight it.
Lying on the sofa, I polished off the liquor and set the glass on the floor beside me. My eyes refused to close, and my leg bounced uncontrollably.
Sources, the way she’d pressed her breasts together.Her nipples, hard against the fabric, had drawn my eyes down every curve of her thinly veiled body. She’d known exactly what she was doing—and I’d loved every moment. My hand trailed to the waistband of my breeches, fingers edging inside. I grasped my hard length, thinking about walking back up the stairs and pinning her beneath me, sinking into her and feeling her tighten around me.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t think about her like this.
Yanking my hand out of my pants, I heaved out a sigh. Crossing that boundary in my imagination didn’t change the fact that she would never settle with me.
The idea of sleep filled me with dread.
I lay there staring at the thick oak planks on the ceiling and counted the notches in the wood until the birds sang a morning song. Then I found a bathing chamber on the lower level and cleaned myself up. I dressed in a freshly pressed black tunic and dark breeches before scouring the study for some parchment and a quill.
I left Elsedora a note.
“Off to face the day and see our friends in Luz. I’ll be back for dinner.”
I bit my lip, adding,
“You’ll be on my mind until I return.”
I promptly scribbled out the added line. Though true, I opted instead to sign my initials, and I dropped the note on the parlor sofa.
Lark bent and lit a candle beside the statue of a familiar Moon warlock in the entryway of the Luz Palace.
An ethereal statue of a woman that reached for a crescent moon stood beside him. They’d memorialized Princess Freya and Prince Rynall Toth here. Elsedora had never mentioned that in our countless discussions; it pained me to realize how many things she may not have told me.
Suddenly, her permanence at Lamoreaux made more sense. I would put a good amount of coin on her hating to see that statue every time she entered the palace.
Yet she’d done it for years to visit me. Those plum trees protected more than the house—they protected her heart.
The Toths had been figures of legend in the Central Corridor, where Phynx once stood. But their city lay in ruins; the Great Wars had left it nothing more than a pile of rubble.
I’d learned through El that Freya had been Krait’s first wife. Syb’s husband had a monument of his former lover in their home—a testament to Sybilla’s growth.
I huffed a silent laugh. I found it difficult to imagine the young woman I’d known having enough empathy to let her lover so openly honor his late wife.
I’d once loved Sybilla Wymark. Hardened by necessity as a girl, she had not always made it easy. Her words often came out as lashes to dissuade anyone from drawing too close.
