Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 31: Questions and answers

CW for slightly nsfw-ish content. (Don't get your hopes up just yet!)

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There were few experiences as revealing as the morning after a near-death encounter.

When Ella awoke that morning, it was to pain. She shifted, eyes still closed, and winced as her tender skin brushed against the soft furs. Even without looking down, she knew the expanse of her skin was littered with lilac and blue. Her ribs, her elbows, her thighs and her knees. A patchwork of colours, one giant bruise.

Still, she smiled.

Draped over her middle was one heavy arm, keeping her pressed to a warm, solid chest, shielding her from the chill of the morning. Behind her, Aedion still slept, his nose buried in her hair, breathing small puffs of air. She slowly turned around in his hold and looked up at his sleep-soft features.

He truly was a sight to behold. Thick, sooty lashes crescenting his cheeks. The arched line of his brows, stark black against his pale skin. The cowlick on his hair making small tufts of it stand on edge. His lips, sculpted and reddened, just slightly parted to allow small puffs of air. His chest expanded with each breath, warm and solid against her.

Memories of the day before trickled by, and with it, a warm, golden glow filled her chest.

Tentatively, as if with a mind of its own, she lifted a finger and traced the straight, aristocratic line of his nose. She touched the perfect slant of his brow, slightly wicked even in his sleep, and trailed across the curve of his high cheekbone, down to the firmness of his jaw. She could scarcely breathe, as that emotion in her chest swelled like an ocean tide.

Aedion stirred and his arms around her twitched, absently pulling her closer, until they were flush together. He mumbled something unintelligible, and his eyelids began to flutter open.

He blinked away the sleep for a moment, before focusing on her face. "Morning," he rumbled, voice thick with disuse.

"Morning," she answered softly, her fingers still caught on the curve of his jaw, palm lingering on his cheek.

He scanned her features intently, searching for any discomfort, any sigh of unease. "How are you feeling?" he asked tentatively.

"Sore," she answered honestly. "As if I'd been thoroughly whacked with a giant meat tenderiser." He winced, and she chuckled softly. "But better. Much better than before." She looked down briefly and cleared her throat. "Thanks to you."

He made a non-committal sound, dismissing her words. "I only did what was needed."

She shook her head and cracked a wry smile, remembering how attentive he'd been. How dead-set he'd been on tending to her. Her memories were blurry, given how dazed she'd been, but she was coherent enough to remember his patient, reassuring words. His gentle hands, brushing away her damp hair and soothing her aching muscles. The kisses he brushed on her sweaty forehead. The way he'd looked at her with that frenzied preoccupation. He hadn't needed to do that.

"You did more than that," she quietly pointed out.

Around her, Aedion's arms tensed and twitched. "Well, I did say I would keep you alive enough for you to hate me come morning," he said drolly, grimacing. "I expect you to make good on that promise."

Though they remained chest to chest, he extracted his arms from around her and lay there stiffly, as if expecting her to truly hate him. To berate him for his actions.

But Ella wanted none of that. She didn't want him to go away and put distance between them. She didn't want to let that animosity between them grow. And she certainly couldn't bear for him to continue to believe that she resented him. She hadn't for a while now, and it was high time for it to be known.