My cheeks warm. I didn’t think Devlan would fall prey to that tactic, but I gloat regardless. I’ve bested him. My chest rises with pride.
He makes another “come at me” motion. “We have no time to waste, princess.” He cocks his head. “I promise I won’t fall for that again.” He lunges at me.
Dagger still in hand, I don’t think; I react, swiping the air before me. He pulls back a fraction too late and my blade slices his chest.
“Devlan—” I reach
out to him. “It was instinct. I didn’t mean—”
“You missed.” He looks down and stretches out the cut fabric of his uniform vest and tunic. “At least, I think.” He pulls the tunic and vest over his head, then examines his chest. A thin cut beads red along the left side of his rib cage. “All right, maybe you got me a little.”
I huff out a long breath, relieved. “Don’t tell me you’re truly hurt. A scratch?”
“No, not hurt.” He swipes the slash of red away from his chest before looking up at me. “I’m just wondering how to explain my shredded uniform.” He holds up his tunic.
I bite the inside of my cheek. I didn’t give him a chance to change out of his uniform before I pounced on him. “It’s not shredded,” I argue, though it will be difficult to explain why it’s cut. His lips stretch into a smile, alleviating my worry, and a smile tugs at my lips. “Don’t you have another?”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes with me this time.” He eyes me, then nods to himself, as if remembering something. He turns and heads toward the canvas. “But I did leave an extra uniform here last time.” His back catches the torchlight, and I see the long scar more clearly here than at the meadow.
He bends over and comes up with a black tunic. His back muscles work against his skin as he turns it right side in. My eyes continue to trace the scar. I can’t help wondering how he got it, if it was a training injury. But it looks too calculated, purposely done, and with a weapon that wouldn’t be used in a combat exercise.
Before I can stop myself, I open my mouth and ask, “How did that happen?”
His back stiffens, and his movements halt. As he lifts his arms in a half-shrug, his shoulders flex, tense. “I was accused of stealing a Court horse.”
My feet involuntarily bring me closer to him, slowly. “Who accused you?” I ask, because I know Devlan is not guilty.
“Sebastian.”
My stomach sinks as understanding dawns. It was Sebastian’s way of severing their relationship. “Sebastian knew the punishment.” I take another measured step toward him. It’s not a question.
“Yes.” His tone is even. “But I’m not sure he knew that he’d be the one to administer it.”
I stop when I’m a breath away from him. My chest tightens as I imagine Sebastian holding the weapon in his hand, inflicting the punishment on Devlan. At the command of his father, I’m sure. Regardless, he carried it out. He chose to end their friendship to become stronger in his father’s eyes, and he cut Devlan deeply—physically and emotionally.
I raise my hand toward his back, and tentatively press my fingertips to the top of the scar. A muscle in his back jumps. Moving downward, I slowly trace my fingers along the smooth, silky skin. His body relaxes against my touch, and he turns to face me as my hand just reaches his ribs. I keep my hand firm against his chest.
My eyes linger on my hand, on his chest as it rises and falls. Lifting my gaze, I meet his eyes. His pale blue irises gleam in the torchlight. My heart races, matching the pounding of his under my palm. His hand covers mine, pressing it firmly over his heart. His eyes flick over my face and settle on my lips. I swallow hard.
A breath passes my trembling lips, and my only desire is to touch them to his. His intense gaze tells me he wants the same. He once said that a kiss was my choice—that I could bestow that gift to the one of my choosing. Only, I can’t remember his exact words as his eyes penetrate mine, overwhelming my thoughts with need for him.
What were his words?
His gaze drops, and his eyes reflect the torchlight, smoldering, as if they’re ablaze from within. He pulls my hand away and raises it between us.
My wrist is blue and black—small bruises having bloomed where Sebastian’s fingers gripped. With his other hand, Devlan takes the arm at my side and examines the bruising along my bicep. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. Words fail to form on my lips as his breathing deepens, and the embers in his eyes ignite, scorching me with a fierce glare.
“What did he do?” he growls.
I shakily jerk my head, trying to shake it. “No, Devlan. Nothing happened—”
He sidesteps me and marches toward the tunnel entrance. Panic bursts in my chest like a million pinpricks needling all at once, and I sprint after him. “Devlan. Stop.”
“I’ll kill him.”
I latch onto his arm, digging my feet into the ground. They slide against the loose rubble on the stone, and I anchor my arm against the corner of the entryway. “Devlan, listen to me,” I plead. “This will end everything you’ve worked for.” He barrels on, dragging me with him. He can’t confront Sebastian. We’ll lose all chance of saving our families. “Dammit. Stop!”
As I’m losing my grip on his arm, his words from the corridor that night come to me.