His soulless eyes widened in surprise as fine lines appeared in the pale skin of his cheeks. The cracks deepened into a web of fractures that spread down his throat and under the collar of the tailored satin shirt he wore. I held his stare as the tiny ember of eather went out of his black eyes.
And, only then, for the first time in twenty-three days, did I feel nothing at all.
Chapter 3
Twenty-eight days.
Nearly a month had passed, and the constant ache throbbed so intensely it hurt. I clamped my jaw shut against the scream birthed from the cavern that had become my heart, one of frustration and ever-present helplessness and guilt. Because if I had controlled myself, if I hadn’t lashed out…
There were so many ifs. So many ways I could’ve handled things differently. But I hadn’t, and that was one of the reasons he wasn’t here.
The fluffy and buttery mound of eggs and strips of fried meat before me lost their appeal as the scream built in my throat, pressing against my sealed lips. A bone-deep sense of desperation rose and swiftly gave way to potent fury. The center of my chest hummed, the ancient power pulsing with barely leashed rage.
The fork I held trembled. Pressure seized my chest, closing off my throat as eather pulsed and swelled, pushing against my skin. If I screamed, if I gave in to all the pain and rage, the sound of desperation and anguish would become wrath and fury. The scream choking me, the power building inside me, tasted of death.
And a small part of me wanted to let it out.
Fingers several shades deeper than mine closed over my hand, stilling the tremor. The touch, something that had once been so forbidden, jolted me from the dark path, as did the faint charge of energy that passed between us. Slowly, my left hand was turned so the shimmery golden swirl of the marriage imprint was visible.
Proof that he and I were still together, even if separated.
Proof that he still lived.
My gaze rose, colliding with the striking winter-blue eyes of a wolven.
Concern was evident in the sharp angles of Kieran’s handsome face and the tension bracketing his mouth. He looked tired, and he had to be. He hadn’t been sleeping well because I had hardly been sleeping.
The fork trembled again—no, it wasn’t just the fork or my arm that shook. The dishes vibrated, as did the table. Down the hall, the hanging white-and-gold Atlantian banners that had replaced the ones belonging to the Blood Crown shuddered.
Kieran’s gaze flicked past the empty chairs in the Cauldra banquet hall, to where the light-haired Atlantian, General Aylard, stood guard at the pillared opening.
I sensed the same thing now as I had when he first introduced himself. Distrust brimmed beneath his impassive features, tasting of vinegar. It wasn’t a surprising emotion. Many of the older Atlantians were cautious of me, either because I had been raised by their enemies, the Ascended, or because I was many things they hadn’t expected.
A scarred Maiden.
A hostage.
An unwanted Princess who’d become their Queen.
A god.
I couldn’t exactly hold their wariness against any of them, especially when I made the entire manor tremble.
“You’re starting to glow,” Kieran warned in a whisper that I could barely hear, sliding his hand away.
I looked down at my palm. A faint silver sheen emanated from my skin.
Well, that explained why the general now stared.
Lowering the fork to the plate, I steadied my breathing. I forced my mind past the suffocating burst of pain that always accompanied thoughts of him as I slipped my hand under the table to the small pouch secured to my hip and reached for the glass of mulled wine with the other. I washed away the sour taste with spice as Aylard turned slowly, his gloved grip remaining on his sheathed sword. The white mantle draped over his shoulders settled, drawing my gaze to the gold-embossed Atlantian Crest. The same crest now lining the walls of Cauldra—a sun and its rays, a sword and arrow at the center, crossed diagonally so both lengths were equal. Briefly closing my eyes, I finished off the wine.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Kieran asked after a few moments.
I placed the empty glass on the table as I glanced at the open window. Broken pieces of a foundation jutted up from bushy yellow wildflowers. Massene was not well kept. “I ate.”
“You need to eat more.” He rested his elbows on the table.
My eyes narrowed on him. “And you don’t need to be concerned about what I’m eating.”
“I wouldn’t have to be if you didn’t leave bacon untouched on your plate—something I never thought I’d see.”