Even now, his brain kept repeating, “Holy shit!” like a skipping record.
He’d kissed Drayce. His best friend in all the world. The one person who’d been through countless adventures and misadventures with him. The only person in his life who chose to be with Caelan because he genuinely liked him rather than being assigned to him as a job.
Not that he thought Eno or Rayne disliked him, but they’d been thrown into his life out of duty.
Drayce was his friend first and everything else second.
And now there was a good chance Caelan had ruined all of it with a single kiss.
He didn’t want to think that he’d destroyed years of friendship with one impulsive act. If Drayce felt nothing for him besides friendship, that was fine. They could always go back to being friends. Caelan had been attracted to Drayce from the first moment the young man had smiled at him in his goofy, crazy way.
Drayce was pure chaos. The world was an oversized playground for him to explore and enjoy. Most of the time, Caelan felt he was the one tagging along behind Drayce as the man followed one impulse after another. Sure, Drayce’s impulses had gotten them into plenty of scrapes and hot water over the years, forcing Eno or Rayne to bail them out, but Caelan had loved every minute of it. He didn’t want to do anything to ruin that.
But he had known as soon as he’d decided to hand himself over to the Empire that there was a good chance it would all blow up in his face and he’d die. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to die regretting never having kissed Drayce. He could learn from Drayce’s impulsiveness and seize the moment.
Did he regret kissing Drayce? Nope.
Did he want to do it again? Yes.
Did he hope that Drayce wouldn’t let this ruin their friendship? Definitely yes.
At least his friend wasn’t the type to hold on to a grudge. It might take them a while, but he would laugh it all off, and they’d return to the way they were. That was Caelan’s hope.
His back to the hard metal wall, he placed his heels on the edge of the metal cot and rested his arms on his bent knees. Everything seemed to hurt, but it was more of a bone-deep weariness. He’d been running almost nonstop for nearly two weeks now, not leaving much time to simply sit and think about what was happening or what the best course of action was. They had to keep moving and fighting. Even now, as he sat trapped in a cell, he was balling up energy from the God of Storms as well as pulling in a trickle of energy from the Goddess of Life. He needed to be ready at any moment to put up a protective barrier should the Empire suddenly decide that keeping him alive wasn’t in their best interest.
The one good thing about the kiss was that it gave Caelan’s mind a break from worrying about the Empire and its plans. He’d given himself a twenty-four-hour window in which to get the information he needed and then escape, or have his friends rescue him.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but there was little doubt in his mind that he was running out. His twenty-four hours had to be nearly up, but he’d spoken to no one since being tossed into the brig. If he couldn’t get in front of the Lord High Commander or someone with some fucking power, this entire gambit would have been for nothing. He would have risked his life, the lives of his friends, and the lives of Caspagir soldiers who might be helping his friends as well.
Footsteps echoed off the flooring and along the smooth walls, growing louder as they approached. Caelan quickly climbed to his feet and immediately swayed. He placed his hand on the cool wall to steady himself. Was that the ship rocking in the harbor, or was he getting lightheaded? Lovely. He tightened his grasp on the Goddess of Life’s thin thread of energy, praying it was enough to form a barrier if he needed it.
The power swirled in his chest, swimming through his bloodstream. It was enough to at least give him a second wind. If he could get through the next couple of hours and off this ship, he would sleep. He would sleep like the fucking dead for an entire day. He clung to that promise as he straightened his shoulders and dropped his hand from the wall, watching a guard stride into view in front of the metal bars.
“Present your wrists for handcuffs. The Lord High Commander is ready to grant you an audience now,” the guard barked with a thick New Rosanthe accent. Another guard stood behind him with an assault rifle held in both hands, ready to gun him down if Caelan so much as smirked at his captor.