“Rylan—”
But the rest of my words are swallowed by his mouth crashing down on mine. His lips are hot, fierce, and there’s no holding back now, no restraint, no second-guessing. It’s like adam has broken, and everything we’ve been holding in—the anger, the desire, the frustration—explodes in this one kiss.
One hand moves to my waist, gripping me tightly, almost possessively, as if letting go would mean losing me forever, and that’s something he couldn’t bear. I can feel the urgency in the way he holds me, the way his body presses against mine, pinning me against the tree. It’s like he’s pouring every ounce of frustration, every unspoken word into this kiss, and I can’t help but respond with the same intensity.
I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him like air. His other hand tangles in my hair, tugging, not gently, but I don’t care. All I can think about is the way he feels against me, the way his lips move against mine with a hunger that leaves me dizzy. The world spins around us, but I cling to him, like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
The kiss deepens, all the unspoken feelings between us pouring out. There’s a hunger in the way he kisses me, like he’s been starving for this, for me, and I can’t help but feel the same.
I feel his hands sliding up my arms, then around my back, pulling me even closer until there’s barely any space between us. My own hand grasps around the back of his neck, holding his head in place, willing him to never break this soul-shattering kiss. My heart is racing, every nerve in my body on fire as we lose ourselves in the kiss.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his voice rough with emotion. “Gods, how do you do this to me?” he rasps. “How do you make me feel like this?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I whisper, my chest heaving, still pinned against the tree, his body so close that I can feel the heat of him searing through me.
For a moment, he just stares at me, his gaze filled with so many things I can’t name—desire, anger, fear, and something deeper, something more dangerous. Then, without warning, hislips are on mine again, more desperate this time, like he can’t stand the thought of not touching me. His hands move down my sides, pulling me even closer, and I melt into him, letting the intensity of the moment consume us both.
We’re lost in the heat, the anger forgotten, replaced by a need so fierce it feels like it could burn the whole world down. And in that moment, nothing else matters. Not the words we didn’t say, not the arguments, not the pain—just the fire between us, blazing out of control.
It’s overwhelming, the intensity of it, the way his hands move from my back to cup my face, holding me like I’m something precious, something he’s terrified of losing. I can barely think, barely breathe, as our kiss grows more fervent, more desperate. It’s like all the walls between us have crumbled, leaving us exposed and vulnerable to each other.
Just as the kiss deepens and we’re both completely lost in the moment, we’re interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. We break apart, breathless, and turn to see Mathis standing a few feet away, looking serious. The guard’s presence is like a bucket of cold water thrown over us, instantly snapping us back to reality.
"Rylan, you need to come back to the castle. It’s the queen.”
THIRTY-ONE
Eirabella
Rylan barely makesit back to the castle in time to say goodbye to his mother. And when the queen passes later that evening, in the king’s arms, it’s as if the very soul of the castle is ripped away. The news spreads quickly, a hush falling over the halls as if even the stones themselves are mourning. I watch from the window as a black banner is hoisted above the tallest tower, the fabric catching the cold wind and fluttering sadly against the grey sky.
Servants move with downcast eyes, their steps quieter than usual. The bustling courtyards, usually filled with laughter and conversation, are eerily silent. Even the birds seem subdued, their songs softer and more mournful.
I find myself in the middle of this grief, feeling somewhat lost but knowing I need to do something, anything, to help. I spend much of the first day wandering the halls, lending a hand wherever I can. When I see a young maid struggling with a trayof food, tears streaming down her face, I take it from her and deliver it myself. When I notice a stable boy crying in the corner of the courtyard, I sit with him, quietly sharing in his sorrow until he finds the strength to return to his duties.
In a time when everyone seems to be drowning in their grief, small acts of community service feel like the only lifeline we have.
It’s Rylan who worries me the most. He doesn’t come out of his chambers for days after the news breaks, and when I ask around, everyone tells me he’s refused all food, drink, and company. I knock on his door every morning and evening, each time my heart pounding with dread, but there’s no answer.
Finally, on the fourth day, I can’t take it anymore. I push the door of his private den open and step inside. The room is dim, the curtains drawn tight against the light. The air smells of liquor and something that is sad and stale, like the room itself is mourning.
Rylan is sitting in a chair by the window, staring blankly out at the grey sky. A nearly empty decanter is clutched in one hand, his knuckles white from the tight grip. His hair is tousled, his face unshaven, and his eyes are red-rimmed, as if he hasn’t slept in days.
“Rylan,” I say softly, stepping closer.
He doesn’t turn to look at me, doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. It’s like he’s a statue, frozen in place, lost in his grief.
I kneel down beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Rylan, you can’t keep doing this.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to respond. His grip on the bottle tightens, and his jaw works as if he’s about to speak. But then he just shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on the grey, unchanging sky.
“She’s gone, Eirabella,” he finally whispers, his voice rough with pain. “What’s the point?”
“The point is that you’re still here,” I say, squeezing his arm. “And your people need you.” I need you.
He glances down to where my hand rests on his arm, but he pulls away from my touch as if it’s scalding him. “I can’t. Not right now.”
The words are like a door slammed in my face, and I stand up, swallowing the hurt that rises in my throat. “I’m here if you need me,” I whisper before turning and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind me.
