Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians 0.50)

Her dark slash of bangs covers her eyes, and I push them aside, behind her pointed ear. She’s shifted into Kythan form in her sleep. Smiling down at her, I say a quick prayer to Isis—that if it’s the goddess’s will, she’ll bestow a child upon my friend. No child would be loved more deeply.

Once I feel I’m stable enough to walk—despite the swirling lights getting in my way—I stumble to her made-up cot in the corner. Unable to get comfortable, I roll to the floor on my hands and knees, deciding I miss my bed. It may not be as lush and inviting as the one I sleep on in the palace, but it’s mine. And right now, it’s more inviting than Lunia’s hard cot.

Once I make it out of her apartment and on to the quiet streets, I beam, proud of myself for not breaking my neck on the stairway. I point at the steps and laugh.

An old man trying to find sleep propped against the apartment wall shakes his head, mumbles under his breath. I nod at him, but he dismisses me as he jerks a tattered blanket around him and turns his back to me.

As I approach my apartment, the lights of the palace burn like molten glass from across the harbor, shimmering along the smooth surface of the water. My heart beats in my ears. Xarion is in one of those rooms. Suddenly the distance between us—physically and emotionally—is too great. My body demands to be near him, if only under the same roof.

After I’ve managed to find my way to the dockyard—honestly, who put all those loose stones on the street?—I ask the barge operator to take me to my home.

I lie back on the silk cushions. The sky is so clear, it’s as if the gods reached down and swept the clouds away permanently. The stars are so near I could reach out and touch one. And I do. I lift my hand and wave it across the dark canvas, anxiously awaiting the gleam in Xarion’s green eyes when I confess how much I love him.

Enough to run away together.

Chapter Eleven

The guardian blocking Xarion’s chamber stands at attention, his back straight, his face stoic. He’s determined to keep me out of Xarion’s room. My voice rises with my irritation.

“I’m his personal guardian,” I repeat, my words slurred. I struggle to sound each one out, to ensure he understands their importance.

He sighs heavily. “Again. The pharaoh gave strict orders not to be disturbed unless it is of utmost importance.”

This is! What could be more important than finally telling Xarion the truth? Annoyed, I spark my Charge. It swims along my fingers in ribbons of crackling white-blue fury. “I’ll not ask again, Merrick. I have urgent business with the pharaoh. Move aside.”

A click echoes through the dark corridor, and the door Merrick is guarding cracks open. “What’s happening?” Xarion groggily runs his palm over his eyes. “I precisely ordered not to be—” His words break off when he sees me.

I douse my power, and the hallway darkens. Merrick pulls his spear against his chest and lifts his chin. “Guardian Astarte demands your council, Your Highness. I expressed your orders to her, but she refuses to leave. Should I call General Habi to have her escorted away?”

Xarion’s gaze stays on me, unwavering. “No. That’s not necessary.” He widens the space between him and the door, his hand braced high above. “My personal guardian will take your shift, Merrick. You’re dismissed.”

With an almost relieved sigh, Merrick bows his acknowledgment. “Yes, Pharaoh.”

My chest loosens, and I duck under his arm as I enter the room. His familiar scent envelopes me. The calming aroma of sandalwood and the strong, masculine smell of frankincense in his perfumed oil. A candle burns low on the cedar table, its dancing flame casting the room in a flickering glow.

I hear the door close, and my body reacts with a sudden jolt. I’m alone with Xarion.

“What do you want, Star?” His voice holds a note of annoyance, remindful of the coolness we’ve regarded each other with these past months. But when I don’t immediately respond, his voice softens, his concern evident. “Why have you come to me in the middle of the night? What’s wrong?”

“There’s no emergency, master.” I rush to assure him. “I just—”

He groans. “I command you to never call me that again.” He stalks to the window and throws open the heavy curtains, allowing the moon to shine its pale light into the room.

As he turns to face me, my eyes slip over his form. His white embroidered robe, open in front. His toned, tan chest and stomach. His linen pants sit low on his hips, the curves of his muscled stomach very apparent against their seam.

My legs weaken, numb. But somehow, I manage to move closer to him. I keep my eyes lowered, focused on the exposed smooth skin of his chest. I’ve touched Xarion many times—in many ways. But never out of longing, want, need. Desire. Suddenly I can’t control my own limbs. They defy the tiny whisper of reason trying to break through the alcohol-induced cloud fogging my brain.

His shallow breaths skim my face as my hand goes to his flesh. It’s warm, soft and yet hard, and my fingers splay against his skin. He shudders under my touch, and as my palm sparks blue, sending a small current of Charge between us, he sucks in a sharp breath.

A low, anguished noise rises from the back of his throat. Then he’s quickly closing the gap between us. His hand captures the nape of my neck, his fingers sliding into my hair and grasping. My stomach flutters as he pulls my head back, and I’m forced to look into the deep pools of his green irises.

His intense gaze conveys so many things that words cannot. I begin to close my eyes as his face lowers toward mine—and the world spins. I wobble, unable to find balance with my eyes shut.

His lips never meet mine.

Cracking an eye open, I say, “You’ve changed your mind so quickly?” But it comes out sloppy, whiny. Not how I intended.

Pressing his lips into a hard line, he releases a strained breath. “You’re drunk.”