Fall of Ruin and Wrath (Awakening, #1)

“What I came for before is unrelated to why I’m here now.” He faced me, the towel knotted at his waist and the edges of his hair damp. Tiny drops of water still clung to his chest, drawing my gaze as they traveled down over the dips of his stomach. “And the situation regarding the Iron Knights has changed.”

I started to ask why, but my eyes met his and I fell silent. My skin tingled with awareness. The sense to drop the conversation slammed into me, and this time I listened to it. I glanced around his quarters, my hands going to the sash on the robe. I wanted to thank him for making sure I bore no consequences for what I had taken part in this evening, but I had to choose my words wisely. “I . . . I appreciate you telling me why you have come to Archwood.”

Prince Thorne inclined his head in what I assumed was acknowledgment.

A keen sense of nervousness invaded me as he stared. “If there’s not anything else I can do for you, I should be on my way.”

He stood silent, watching me.

Taking his lack of answer as a good enough response, I gave a quick and terrible curtsy. “Good night, Your Grace.”

He didn’t correct my use of the honorific. He was still quiet, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite make out. Passing him, I made it to the door of the antechamber.

“Stay.”

I whipped toward him. “Excuse me?”

“Stay,” he repeated, his grip on the glass tightening. “Stay the night with me.”

I opened my mouth, but I found no words. He wanted me to stay? The night with him? I glanced at the bed, stomach clenching and dropping at the same time.

“To sleep,” he added, and my attention swung back to him. My eyes had widened slightly. Cracks had formed in the glass he held. Not deep enough to spill the drink, but I could see the fragile spiderweb-like lines racing throughout the glass. “That is all, na’laa.”

My mind went in two vastly different directions as I stared at him. One part of me couldn’t even believe he was asking for such a thing, because why in the five realms would he want to just sleep with me? The other part of me was foolishly wondering what it was like to sleep beside another who wasn’t Grady, and thinking about that caused the skipping of my breath to repeat itself in my chest and stomach.

And that . . . that was unacceptable for various reasons.

“That I cannot do,” I said.

His head cocked. “Cannot or will not?”

There was a difference between the two. “Cannot” wasn’t a choice. “Will not” was. The problem was I didn’t know which it was.

“Both,” I admitted, shaken. “Good night.”

I didn’t wait. Turning, I left the bedchamber and reached the main door. I turned the handle. It didn’t budge. Frowning, I glanced up, seeing that it was unlocked. What the— ? Prince Thorne. He was stopping me from opening the door. I stiffened, feeling his intense stare on my back, and for a wild moment, a wicked thrill went through me, leaving me breathless. The idea that he’d stopped me sent a hot, tight shiver through me.

I didn’t want him to let me go.

That damnable feeling— the one of belonging with him— surged through me, and dear gods, there truly was something wrong with me.

My hands flattened against the wood. In my chest, my heart raced. Then the door cracked open beneath my palms. He was letting me go. Something akin to . . . to disappointment flashed through me, leaving me even more confused, with him— with myself.



“All right, I’m officially . . . flabbergasted.” The soft glow from the lamp near the bed I sat upon lit Grady’s profile. He sat on the edge of my bed, his sword resting against the chest at the foot of the bed, more relaxed after most of his anger at learning that the special guest hadn’t been expecting me had passed.

“Flabbergasted?”

“Dumbfounded and every other unnecessary adjective you can think of. The Prince of Vytrus came to discuss the Iron Knights? Who wouldn’t be surprised.” Grady dragged a hand over his face. “And you’re sure he’s not going to say something to the Baron about you telling him the truth?”

“I’m pretty sure.” I tipped my head back. It was late, about an hour after I’d left Prince Thorne’s chambers. I’d just finished telling Grady what had happened— well, not everything. I didn’t want to traumatize him with unnecessary details. “But I can’t know for sure since I can’t read him. I tried several times to get inside his head, but I couldn’t.”

He scratched at the faint growth of hair along his cheek. “You have to tell the Baron that you got the information at least partly that way, though. If he thinks the Prince simply told you because you asked, he’s not going to believe you.”

“I know.” Which meant I really hoped Prince Thorne held to what he said, and that he wouldn’t speak a word of it.

Tugging the edges of the black robe— my robe, one made of comfortable cotton that wasn’t transparent— around me, I smothered a yawn as silence filled the large, fairly empty chamber.

There wasn’t much to the immaculate space. A wardrobe. The bed. A settee near the terrace doors. A nightstand and chest. The antechamber, though, was outfitted with more than the necessities— a deep-seated settee and chairs arranged upon a thick plush rug of ivory chenille, a small dining table and credenza made of white oak, and various odds and ends the Baron had gifted over the years. The space was beautiful, well maintained, and leagues above any other place I’d have ever slept in, but it wasn’t home.

I wanted it to feel like that.

I’d yet to know what that even felt like, but I thought it would be a lot like what I felt when I was in the gardens, my fingers sunk deep in the soil, and my mind quiet. There was a sense of belonging there. Peace.

“You were with this prince for a while.” Grady tentatively broached what he’d yet to bring up.

My toes curled against the sheet. “Not that long.”

“Long enough.”

Stay the night with me. My stomach made that idiotic dipping motion again. I shook my head. Why in the world did he want me to stay the night with him? I wasn’t sure I had pleased him beyond providing a release. Except, he had said I’d interested him, enthralled him.

“What happened?” Grady prodded.

Immediately, the memory of the Prince and me in that damn bathtub flashed in my mind. His hands on me. His finger inside me. Holding me. And it was the last bit that stuck with me. The holding me part. I dragged my teeth over my lip as I swallowed. “Not much.”

“Lis . . .”

“Grady?”

A muscle ticked at his temple. “You can talk to me about anything. You know that. So, if something happened that’s got you feeling— ”

“Nothing happened that I didn’t allow to happen,” I cut in.

“That’s the thing, though.” Grady scooted closer. “You didn’t really choose to go to him tonight, now did you? You felt like you had to, so were you ever in the position to not allow whatever it was that happened?”

I wiggled a little, discomfited with that being the second time I’d been asked that question. “He gave me a choice, and I did choose to go to him— something we’ve already established.”

Grady stared at me as if I had sprouted a third eye in the center of my forehead.

“Seriously. He gave me a choice in what we did— and we didn’t have sex,” I told him. “And so what if we had? I’m not a virgin, Grady.”

His lips curled, and though I couldn’t see the flush in his brown skin, I knew it was there. “I really didn’t need to know that but thank you for sharing.”

“You’re welcome.” Dipping my chin, I giggled at the glare he sent me. “He really did give me a choice, Grady, and I get that the whole idea of me wanting to do anything that I did is a complicated mess. Trust me. I know, but . . .” I thought of what Naomi had once told me when I confided in her that I sometimes enjoyed it when Claude sent me to find out information for him. Few things are black-and-white, Lis. Most of life exists in that messy gray area in between, but if you wanted what was happening— you enjoyed it and so did the other— then there’s nothing wrong, she’d said. Anyone who tells you different either hasn’t been where you’ve been or they’re just living a different life. Doesn’t make either of you right or wrong. I exhaled slowly. “But this Hyhborn . . . he’s different.”

“Different how?”