Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 13: A wrinkle in time

Water dripped from Ella's hair, dampening her robe. She shivered, biting the edge of her thumb as she stared into her wardrobe.

She'd been standing in the same spot for the better part of half an hour, chilled and uncomfortable, but unable to make a decision.

A stupid decision, she knew. What to wear. Why was that even important?

She knew, if she was honest.

Ella had come to a conclusion—she needed to talk with Aedion. She'd kicked the event off long enough. She could no longer continue to postpone the inevitable. It had to be done today.

So in true Ella fashion, she now focused on the minute details to avoid it just a bit longer. Namely, what to wear. As if that even mattered.

What are you even doing, she scowled at herself. Stars above, this was just pathetic. With more force than necessary, she yanked on a simple night slip. What did it matter what she wore? No scrap of clothing was going to make this any less painful.

Twisting her damp hair away, she exhaled and straightened her back. She was not going to be cowardly anymore. Decisively, she walked to the door and yanked it open, before she could lose her push.

Almost immediately, she collided face-first into a solid wall of black.

Taking a step back, she looked up at an equally startled Aedion, fist still suspended in the air, as if about to knock.

"I was just going to see you--"

"I came by to talk--"

Ella let out a nervous half-laugh. Hell, this was uncomfortable. Standing aside, she waved him in. "Come in, sit."

Aedion shuffled in stiffly and took a seat on her sofa. His hair was also damp, and his shirt, made of soft cotton, was pushed up to bare his toned forearms. It was unfortunate they were in a bad way. She would have stolen that shirt, too.

"We did well today," Ella blurted, wanting to say something. She curled up in the armchair in front of him and hugged her knees to her chest.

Aedion's answering smile was light. "Yes, I suppose we did. And no threats or physical harm were needed. I consider it a win."

"Other than that nasty business with Lord Roan, it was calm." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "What a sad little man."

Aedion looked at her pensively, his expression guarded. "You didn't have to defend me, you know. I'm used to hearing it. What they say is nothing new."

Ella immediately became defensive. "I most certainly did. I wasn't about to allow him--or anyone--to insult you. Least of all a pathetic weasel like Roan. He isn't fit to cast judgement on you."

Aedion was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, it was soft but weighty. "I don't give a damn what they say about me. That will never change, no matter how much you defend me. They see me as an extension of my father; as someone who is evil in my own right. I am not faultless, I know that. I have done terrible things. But you must know," he insisted, boring his gaze into her. "I have never been disloyal. I would rather cut off my arms."

"I know. I believe you," she replied easily, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I would never doubt your loyalty to Callan."

There had never been a doubt in Ella's mind. People could say what they wanted about Aedion. They could call him a murderer, a manipulator and a liar, but disloyal he was not. He was committed, and passionate to a fault. He was devoted. And she knew it better than anyone. She had been on the flip side of that devotion.