Chapter 25 Twenty Five

Chapter 25 Twenty Five
Cupid

Dragus carried me through the corridors in silence, his footsteps echoing off the volcanic stone. 

I kept my face pressed to his chest, too exhausted to look up and much too overwhelmed to process any of what had just happened.

When we reached his chambers, he nudged the door open with his shoulder and carried me straight to the massive bed. Then he set me down with surprising gentleness, arranging me against the pillows as though I was something fragile that might break.

Then he stepped back and glowered down at me, eyes full of anger and disappointment.

“I cannot look away from you for five seconds,” he said, his voice sharp with accusation, “without you finding yourself in mortal peril. How is it that you always manage to acquire a target on your back?”

I shuffled backwards instinctively, pulling the sheets up around myself like they could provide some kind of protection. “I don’t know. One moment we were just talking and then the next… I’m still not really sure what happened.”

“Is that so?”

I nodded. My throat still ached, my arm throbbed dully from the stabilised fractures, and I could feel stinging cuts where Cersei’s fingers had dug into my scalp.

“Thank you for, um, helping me,” I managed, not quite meeting his eyes. “But I don’t really need it. I’ll be just fine. I just need to go to sleep for a while or maybe...”

His expression darkened.

“You nearly died,” he said flatly, as if I were being deliberately obtuse. “Another thirty seconds and you would have drowned in my own washroom. What part of that sounds like “fine”?”

He moved closer to the bed, looming over me.

“Come here,” he commanded. “Let me see the damage properly.”

I didn’t move; instead, I just clutched the sheets tighter, gazing warily at him, afraid of what he might do.

“Now, Cupid.”

Reluctantly, I shifted forward until I was sitting at the edge of the bed. 

He tilted my chin up with one finger, examining my throat clinically. His thumb traced over the marks Cersei that had left behind, leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever he touched.

The bruises in the shape of fingers, already turning a mottled purple-blue against my pale skin, the tiny scrapes and cuts littering my neck.

His jaw clenched tightly.

“I do not appreciate seeing marks on your body that I did not place there myself,” he said quietly, dangerously. “Remove them.”

I blinked at him. “Remove them?”

“You possess healing magic, do you not? Erase these. Now.”

Normal people would just say sorry, I thought bitterly. But obviously you’re not norm—

“What did you say?” His eyes snapped to mine.

Oh goddess. I’d said that out loud.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, backtracking. “I just… I’m not a Hearthealer. I can do some basic healing, enough to mend minor injuries, but I’d need…”

I trailed off, looking around the dark chamber. “I’d need love to do that. And there isn’t any here.”

His expression changed to a disgusted scowl, as though he had just tasted something bitter.

“That is the source of your power? Love?” he asked, his lip curling slightly. “I thought your lot were being metaphorical when you said that.”

“Well its true. When we find ourselves in places where people love each other deeply, we draw that affection from the air in that place and then use it as magic.” 

I said simply, certain that he probably already knew that. “But there’s none here in Nexium. Obviously, because your people cannot feel love. So I can’t—”

“Wait till I return.” He responded.

He turned and strode out of the room, leaving me sitting there confused and aching all over.

When he returned less than a minute later, he was holding a small vial. The liquid inside glowed bright pink, pulsing with soft light that seemed completely out of place in the darkness of his chambers.

Then he held it out to me. “Take it.”

I took it carefully, staring at the contents in shock. “This is… concentrated love magic. It’s pure essence, at least an entire stateful of love.” I looked up at him. “This is incredibly rare. Where did you get so my b—”

“I did not ask you to question me,” he cut me off, his voice cold. “I asked you to heal yourself.”

I stared at the vial, then at him, realization dawning slowly.

He’d just handed me enough raw love magic to potentially break out of here. To blast through walls, fly away, and escape as fast as my wings could carry me.

And he knew it. He had to know it.

But he’d given it to me anyway, because he wanted me to be okay, with the absolute arrogance, or was it confidence? that I wouldn’t dare use it to leave.

Arrogance and kindness rolled into one, I thought, still trying to make sense of him.

I uncorked the vial and drank it. The magic hit my system and it felt like liquid sunlight, warm and bright and utterly foreign in this place of darkness and hate.

I felt it spread through me, seeking out the damage, and I directed it carefully to my throat and arm.

Soon the bruises faded away. The ache in my arm disappeared as the fractures knit back together properly. Even my breathing, which had been heavy and laboured, now eased as whatever internal damage I had sustained went down.

The whole time, Dragus watched with an expression I couldn’t quite read. He watched me suspiciously, the curiosity in his eyes mixed with fascination, though his lip remained curled in distaste.

“Having love magic in my premises offends me on principle,” he said when I’d finished. “The very presence of it is… nauseating.”

But he’d brought it anyway. For me.

He reached out and gripped my chin, tilting my head from side to side, examining his work; or rather, my work at his command. His touch was stiff but his eyes were warm and intense, burning straight into me.

“Good,” he said finally.

Then he released me roughly, the sudden loss of support making me fall back onto the bed.

I caught myself on my elbows, looking up at him as he loomed over me. The air between us felt charged, heavy with emotions I didn’t understand.

“About Cersei,” I started carefully, still worried about her safety. “Maybe you don’t have to punish her so harshly. She was just… I think she might be in love with you.”

“Drop it.”

The command was absolute, allowing no room for argument, so I closed my mouth, deciding I would try that again later.

He turned toward the door and I felt a surge of panic at the thought of being left alone again in this dark room all alone, without even Cersei for company.

It was bad enough that I was essentially a sex slave in a strange land to a psychopath King. I used to be the most free Heartwalker imaginable, constantly flying about the human realm from one location to the next, to work my matchmaking love magic on countless humans.

I refused to rot away in the dark and eventually die from a lack of purpose. I had to have something to do, anything at all.

“Try not to die before I return,” he said, already moving toward the exit.

“Where are you going?” The words burst out before I could stop them.

He paused, looking back at me with one eyebrow raised. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…” I gestured around the oppressive darkness of his chambers. “It’s really dark in here. And I don’t have anyone to talk to or anything to do. I’m…” I swallowed my pride. “I’m lonely. All by myself.”

I tried to make my voice as small and as vulnerable as possible. Hoping against hope that he’d either stay or, better yet, let me out where I could actually do some real spying.

“Can you stay?” I asked, then quickly added, “Or can I come with you?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You expect me to permit a spy to walk the corridors of my fortress at my side?”

“Please, Dragon King,” I said, lowering my gaze in what I hoped looked like submission. “I promise my loyalty to you. I would never do anything to offend you or be disobedient. I’ll behave.”

The silence stretched so long I thought he would refuse.

Then, surprisingly he said: “Very well.”

My head snapped up in shock.

He gestured to a pile of black fabric in the corner. “Put those on. You have two minutes.”

I scrambled off the bed, already plotting in my head. This was my chance! I could take the opportunity to map the fortress, find weaknesses, locate where they might be keeping Aerion and the others, then I would figure out escape routes and—

I grabbed the clothes and started to undress, too focused on planning to care about modesty.

When I pulled my nightgown over my head, I felt his eyes on me.

I glanced over and found him watching with undisguised appreciation, his gaze raking over every inch of exposed skin. The heat in his eyes made my breath catch despite myself.

“Keep going,” he said, his voice dropping to that dark velvet tone.

I forced myself to ignore him and pulled on the dress he’d provided.

It was black silk and leather dress that clung to every curve, and it was cut far lower than I would have liked, with slits up both sides that showed far too much leg. 

Full black from head to toe, much too gothic and sexual and absolutely not my style.

But at least it was better than being naked all the time.

I walked over to him, trying not to fidget with the revealing neckline and all the cleavage it was showing.

Suddenly he reached over to a side table and pulled out a heavy iron collar from inside it.

My heart sank and I shrank back a little in horror, asking, “What is that?”

“Insurance,” he said simply.

Before I could protest, he fastened it around my neck and locked it. The weight of it was immediate and uncomfortable, cold heavy metal pressing against my skin.

And then he attached a leash.

“You can’t be serious,” I said, staring at the chain in his hand

“Deadly serious.” He gave the leash a sharp tug, pulling me forward until I stumbled into him. “Now walk.”