And then, at last, he pulled himself to his feet and held his hand out to her. As if he was chivalrous. As if there was even a single courteous, civil bone in his body. Under normal circumstances, she would have laughed at his attempt of chivalry, at his mockery toward manners, or lack thereof. Because, simply put, he wasn’t even allowed totouchher. But something compelled her to slip her hand in his and allow the monster to haul her up.
A cry fell from her lips and she keeled over, her knee throbbing painfully. She had ignored it for the most part during their whole conversation—or maybe the shock and rush of panic had veiled everything from her—but with her realization that she wasn’t immediately going to die came the awareness of how much her body ached and pulsated viciously.
Nikator grabbed her by the biceps, holding her steady while she inadvertently grasped the lapel of his tunic to keep herselfupright, her eyelids fluttering shut as she withstood the waves of pain. She hadn’t even meant to, but there she was, being held by the villainous man who had murdered her family. She couldn’t forget who he was, even in a moment like this.
“Let me go,” she breathed when she could bear the soreness. She recoiled from him, but he held onto her biceps tighter than before.
“You’re hurt.”
“Let me go.”
“Where did you hurt yourself? Your leg? Was it when you fell?”
Her eyebrows pulled together. Why did he care?
“I’m fine,” she bit out, pushing his hands away. “Don’t pretend like you have a heart. It doesn’t suit you—this … this tenderness you’re pretending to have.”
A muscle on his jaw feathered, the only indication that he had heard her, and he turned away, his emotions disappearing until there was only stony apathy. He motioned behind her. “We should get going.”
Panic swelled in her chest, and she finally looked around herself, seeing everything for the first time. It was a courtyard, of sorts, with training dummies lining one far wall, and various obstacles—hoops and pillars and standing rings—scattered throughout. She didn’t even want to imagine what the mages practiced here. Torture through target practice? Flaming their opponents? Research on how to best kill their enemies?
Above, at least three or four stories up, was the overhang they had catapulted from; thankfully, they had landed in a squelchy pile of mud, which had no doubt softened their landing, but she paled to think that things could have ended much worse. The height of their fall looked even more daunting now that she was staring up at it; although terrifying, it hadn’t felt like such a drop.
How had Nikator endured the fall? Although her knee throbbed and ached painfully, it probably wasn’t as bad as the fall he’d taken. And yet there wasn’t a limp in sight, or even a grimace on his stony face; he appeared uninjured.
How strange, she thought.
Nikator clucked his tongue, his voice sharp. “Let’s go.”
She jumped at the sound, wincing as a jolt of pain shot through her injured knee.
He turned his face away, the shadows of the night collecting on his form. He waved to one of the walls, where a set of doors with metal, inlaid dragon carvings that shone in the moonlight were, and he said, softer this time, “I’ll escort you back to your room.”
Biyu hesitated. The rain, which had been softly dousing them, increased in pace and intensity. The skies lit up with threads of lightning, the sound of thunder cracking a moment later. She licked her dry lips, tasting the splatters of rain and mud coating her, and wiped it with the back of her hand a moment later—further smearing mud over her face.
“Come on now.” Impatience laced his tone.
With a reluctant sigh, she limped behind him.
8
During the entirewalk to Biyu’s room, her nerves were pulled taut like an unused bowstring. She still wasn’t sure if Nikator had bought her lie, or if he was just delaying the inevitable, and the more the silence between them grew, so did her worries. The palace guards glanced at them as they walked through the halls, but Nikator either glared at them, told them to mind their own business, or gave a short reply that he was watching over her for now. None of them questioned him further. He hadn’t revealed what had happened, how he had caught her in the mage quarters, or anything of the sort. That, at least, assuaged some of her worries.
When they reached her door, her guard was still slumped over the wall, fast asleep. He was snoring loudly, his head tipped back and his mouth agape. Nikator only gave the man a dark scowl and waved at her door.
“Go inside for now,” he said gruffly.
Biyu didn’t need to be told twice—she didn’t even need to be toldonce. She wanted nothing to do with him, and the faster she could get away the better. She pushed through her door and it took everything within her not to slam it straight on his face.
Jade raised her head from where she was sleeping on her bed, blinked at Biyu, then rested her head back into her curled body. Well, at least her cat was happy.
Biyu went toward her dresser and paused when she passed her reflection in her large, beveled mirror. Her mouth nearly dropped open at what she saw. Mud smeared her mouth, her cheek,andher hair. Not to mention the splotches of it that covered her dress. But the most egregious part of her appearance was the fact that her pale colored dress was almosttranslucentwith how soaked through it was. She could see the dusky outline of her nipples. A blush clawed up her throat to her cheeks and ears, her body trembling as mortification set in. Even though she was alone, she covered her breasts with her hands.
He had most definitely seen them, and that horrified her down to her bones.
Was that why he’d chosen to walk directly in front of her, directing attention to himself and making sure the guards didn’t get a good look at her whenever they passed by?
She groaned loudly, sticking the heels of her hands against her eyes.
