Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(52)

Which was essentially what had happened.

I looked toward the bathroom, seeing nothing as I listened to Ilyan work behind me. I was content to look anywhere other than at Ilyan until I could figure out what had just occurred.

“My love,” Ilyan said from behind me, the tenderness in his voice almost catching me off guard. “I need you to show me where they are.”

I sat still for a minute before sliding off the bed, knowing I couldn’t ignore him for long while truly dreading being ordered to do anything by someone I had viewed so tenderly.

The stones were cold on my bare toes as I walked toward him, my eyes focused on my feet as my heart pounded in my chest. I walked right up to the map, my eyes scanning over the surface before I pointed to the spot way off to the east where I had felt the guard.

“Here.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

I kept my focus on the map, even though I knew Ilyan was no longer looking at it. I could feel his eyes on me—feel him move closer to me—but I held still, my head hanging low.

He came up right beside me, the soft pads of his fingers trailing over my jaw as his magic surged into me, mine swirling comfortably in greeting. I closed my eyes at the touch, happy when he didn’t try to calm me, leaving me only with the comfort of his magic, like a hot water bottle against a chill.

With the softest of touch, he pulled my chin up to face him. I opened my eyes, unsure of what I would see, only to be met with eyes different from what I had seen before, the color almost calming.

“What is wrong, my love?” he asked, his concern taking my breath away.

I bit my lip at his question, knowing he would need an answer, though I didn’t feel even remotely able to give him one. I wasn’t even sure how to explain the odd cyclone of discomfort and pleasure I was feeling.

“Ilyan… I mean…” I stopped abruptly and looked away from him, my throat feeling swollen and uncomfortable with what I was about to say.

You are the King. I sent the words to him as I swallowed, my eyes still focused away from him.

“It took you this long to realize that? I thought I told you months ago,” he laughed as he spoke, his words obviously meant to break the tension, but instead they made me more uncomfortable.

Yes, I had known he was King. I had seen him dispense orders, and I had seen him with a crown on his head. I knew he was King. Though, somehow, over the past few months I had forgotten what that meant. I had forgotten that I was kissing a king; that I lay next to a king when I slept. Seeing him with Wyn right then had been a devastating reminder, something that had made me feel lowly and unworthy to be around him. I shouldn’t be here.

Ilyan’s hand trailed over my skin as he cupped my jaw, the rough pad of his thumb gliding over my cheek as he caressed me. His magic flowed into me as the strength of his love surged. I sighed at the feeling, the hot water bottle sensation growing as my eyes drifted back to meet with the soft blue of his, the expressive orbs an inch away from me.

I could feel his breath against my lips as he spoke, the warmth of his body so close, somehow taking away the worries that I had let infest me.

“I may be King to Wynifred, to Sain, to Thom, but to you, I am your Protector first. I could never rule over you,” he whispered, his voice soft as his fingers moved over the skin surrounding my mark, the touch a stark reminder of what would happen if he touched the raised brand, of what he really meant to me. That he was more than my Protector.

The touch was meant as a reminder of how different I was to him; a promise of what I meant to him, and why I didn’t need to worry. While my stomach still knit together in embarrassment, the nerves didn’t seem quite so important anymore. Because they weren’t. Even though the touch of his fingers against me set me on fire, Ilyan meant more to me than that. And I to him.

“I just want you to be Ilyan,” I whispered, sure I had stopped breathing.

“Always. For you, my love, I will always be that.”





Fourteen



“I need you to focus, Joclyn,” Ilyan said, his voice a cross between humor and that strict tone he always had when he was training me, which was essentially what he was doing—training me to keep the anxiety out of my mind even when I came face to face with my horrors.

Or in this case, Ryland.

We had about an hour until everyone was to gather in the kitchen and make the final plans for escape; for battle. Ilyan needed everyone to be there, which meant Ryland and I would be in the same room. Face to face. While last night had gone fairly well, Ilyan had essentially been controlling both of our emotions, and with a battle coming, my emotions couldn’t be numbed all the time. I needed to be able to move beyond the fear and anger and try not to kill him every time we saw each other.

Which meant I needed to be able to control my emotions more quickly. Which meant training.

I tried to remind myself that it was only training.

Except this felt like anything other than training.

When he calmed me from the nightmares or held me while I slept, he had never held me this way. This was different.

I stood still on the stone floor of our room, a lightweight blanket wrapped around me while Ilyan’s arm enveloped me, his wide hand fanned out on my stomach as he pressed me against him. I couldn’t feel the touch from his skin through the thin blanket he had wrapped me in, however, I could feel his warmth radiating through the thin fabric as it tried to reach me.