I was sure that I knew Casteel better than most, but there was still so much I had to learn about him. Things that weren’t all that important, and the things that made him who he was today. We just hadn’t had the time to truly discover each other’s secrets yet, and I wanted that time as painfully as I wanted to hold my brother, see Tawny again, and learn that she hadn’t Ascended like the Duchess had claimed. I wanted that as badly as I wanted to see Casteel reunite with his brother and for Malik to be healthy and whole.
And we’d almost lost the chance for more time.
Casteel stepped to the side, turning to me. I saw the open door behind him. Faint sunlight drenched ivory-tiled walls and glimmered off a large, porcelain soaking tub. Drawn forward, I might’ve stopped breathing as I realized how big the tub was and that all the bottles on the shelves were full of colored salts, creams, and lotions. What sat in the corner of the bathing chamber was what I couldn’t look away from, though. Several pipes descended from the ceiling, each one with an oval-shaped head on it, and all full of tiny holes. The floor under them was sunken, and a large…drain was in the center. One side, under the window, held a tiled bench built into the wall.
“That’s the shower,” Casteel said from behind me. “Once turned on, the water comes from overhead.”
All I could do was stare.
“The faucets at the sink are like the ones in the shower and tub. The handle painted red is hot, and the blue one is for cold water. You just turn it— Poppy?” There was a smile in his voice. “Look.”
Blinking, I pulled my gaze from the shower to watch him turn the red handle. Water poured into the basin.
“Come.” Casteel motioned me forward. “Feel the water. It’ll be cold for a few seconds.”
I went to his side, slipping my hand into the stream of water. It was cold and then cool before turning to lukewarm and then hot. Gasping, I jerked my hand back as my eyes flew to his.
The dimple in his right cheek deepened. “Welcome to the land of hot water at your fingertips.”
Awe filled me. Tawny would love this chamber. She probably would never leave it, demanding her suppers be served here. Sadness threatened to creep in and crowd out the joy, and it was hard to set it aside and allow myself to enjoy this moment. I started to dip my hand into the water again, but Casteel turned it off. “Hey—”
He took my hand. “You can play with the faucets and water all day, but let me take care of you first.”
Looking up, I started to tell him there was no need, but I saw my reflection and stopped moving, stopped thinking.
It was the first time I’d seen myself since I’d awakened in the cabin. I couldn’t stop staring, and it wasn’t the absolute mess that was my hair. Lowering my hands to the rim of the sink, I stared at my reflection.
“What are you doing?” Casteel asked.
“I…I look the same,” I said, noting the strong brow, the line of my nose, and the width of my mouth. “But I don’t.” I lifted a hand, touching the scar on my left cheek. His gaze followed mine to the mirror. “Do the scars look…less to you?” I asked because they did to me. They were still clearly noticeable, the one at my hairline that cut through my brow, and the other that sliced across my temple, reminding me of how close I’d come to losing an eye. The scars didn’t appear to be a shade paler than my skin like before. They were the same tone of pink as the rest of my face, and the flesh didn’t feel as rough, nor did it look as jagged.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Casteel said, and my gaze shot to his in the reflection. I…I sensed surprise from him. He spoke the truth. He truly hadn’t noticed the difference because he never really noticed the scars in the first place. They had never been a thing to him.
I might’ve fallen even more in love with him right then if that were possible.
“They are a little fainter,” he continued, his head cocked. “It must’ve been my blood—how much of it. It could’ve repaired some of the old wounds.”
I glanced down at my arm then and looked—really looked. The skin was less shiny and patchy there.
“It amazes me,” he commented. “That the scars are what you notice first.”
“Because the scars are what everyone seems to see first when they look upon me,” I stated.
“I don’t think that’s the first thing, Poppy. Not before,” he said, brushing a clump of my hair over my shoulder. “And definitely not now.”
Definitely not now.
I lifted my gaze once more and looked beyond the scars and the smattering of freckles across my nose to my eyes. They were green, just like I remembered my father’s being, but they were also different. It wasn’t exactly noticeable upon first glance, but I saw it now.
The silvery sheen behind my pupils.
“My eyes…”
“They’ve been like that since the Temple of Saion,” he said.
I blinked once and then twice. They remained the same upon reopening. “This isn’t what they look like when they glow, right?”
He shook his head. “That light behind your pupils seeps out into the green. It’s far more intense.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
“I think it’s the eather in you,” he told me, angling his body toward mine.
“Oh,” I repeated, thinking that it must be the same thing that made Casteel and the other Atlantians’ eyes become luminous and churning.
He arched a brow. “That’s all you have to say to seeing your eyes? Oh?”
“My eyes…they feel the same,” I offered up, truly having no idea what to say.
One side of his lips quirked. “And they’re still the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”
I turned to him, looking up. “None of this bothers you? My heritage? Whatever it is that I am?”
His half-grin faded. “We had this conversation when we talked about Malec.”
“Yes, we did, but…but when you met me, I was the Maiden. You thought I was mortal, and then you learned I was half-Atlantian. But now you know I’m descended from a god, and you don’t even really know what I am,” I pointed out. “My gifts aren’t even the same. I’m changing.”
“So?”
“So?”
“When you met me, you thought I was a mortal guard who’d sworn an oath to protect you. But then you learned I was an Atlantian and that I was the Prince,” he countered. “Did any of that change how you saw me?”
At first it had, but… “No. It didn’t.”
“Then why is it so hard for you to believe that it changes nothing for me? You are still Poppy.” He touched my cheek. “No matter how much more you change, you are still her in your heart.”
I glanced back at the mirror, seeing a familiar face that was also unfamiliar in the smallest ways. I felt like myself in my heart…and I hoped that didn’t change.
Chapter 16
“Come,” Casteel repeated, taking my hand. “Let me look at you.”
“I told you, I’m okay.”
He led me away from the mirror and back into the bedchamber. “And I told you to stop saying that when I know you aren’t.”
“I don’t even feel those bruises you mentioned,” I said as he placed me by the side of the bed.
His ocher gaze flicked to mine. “I know there are wounds that aren’t visible to the eye, and I wish you would stop trying to hide them from me.”
I snapped my mouth shut.
“I think there is a lot we need to talk about. He reached for the hem of my tunic, lifting it. “But there’s something really important we need to talk about before we discuss anything else.” He motioned for me to lift my arms, and I did so. Air flowed over my bare arms as I watched him toss the top aside. The plain slip I wore was so much thinner and better suited for the climate, but its tiny straps and the near-sheer, cinched bodice hid very little.
He drew a finger along the strap as he eyed it, slipping it under the flimsy material. “These silly, tiny straps…” The tips of his fangs dragged across his lower lip.
“Is that what you want to talk about?” My skin tingled as he ran his finger along the bodice of the slip, over the swell of my flesh. The peaks of my breasts tightened and hardened as his gaze returned to mine.
“I think these straps are very important and extremely distracting, but they’re not what we need to discuss,” he replied. “Sit, Poppy. I know you’re exhausted.”
I glanced down at my dusty pants. “I’ll dirty the bed if I sit.”
“Then you’ll have to take the pants off.”
My brows lifted. “Are you trying to get me naked?”
“Poppy,” he purred, brushing several strands of hair over my shoulder. “When am I not trying to get you naked?”
I laughed softly. “Good point.” I reached for the flap of the breeches, knowing he was teasing and enjoying it—and relieved that I could still enjoy it despite everything that had happened. I undid the buttons.
“Boots,” he reminded me. “Here. Hold onto my shoulders.”
Casteel knelt before me, and the sight of him—the breadth of his shoulders, the hair that had dried in a mess of waves and loose curls, toppling over his forehead, and the thick fringe of dark lashes nearly undid me. He was beautiful. He was brave. He was intelligent. He was kind and accepting. He was ferocious.
And he was mine.
Hands trembling slightly, I placed them on his shoulders. He made quick work of tugging off the boots as I steadied myself. The pants came next, and then I was standing before him in nothing but a slip that reached my thighs.
Casteel remained where he was, his gaze traveling over the length of my legs. His stare lingered, not on the old scars from the night of the Craven attack, but rather on the dull blue patches of skin, bruised now from the gods only knew what. His gaze roamed over me—my arms, the skin above my breasts, my face.
His eyes were like iced-over chips of amber when they met mine. “If any of those who inflicted one second of pain on you still breathed, I would tear them apart, limb from limb. I pray that the death you dealt them was slow and painful.”
“It wasn’t slow for most.” An image surfaced of them clutching their heads and screaming as their bodies contorted. “But it was painful for all.”
“Good.” His gaze held mine. “Don’t spend a second on guilt or pity. None of them—and especially not Alastir—deserve that.”
I nodded.
“I promise you if anyone else was involved in this, they will be found, and they will pay. The same goes for anyone else who seeks to threaten you. No matter who.”
He meant those words, and instinct told me that no one was excluded. Not even his parents.
“And I promise the same to you. I will allow no one to harm you,” I swore, the center of my chest thrumming.
“I know.” Casteel took my hands and pulled me down so I was sitting on the edge of the soft bed. A long moment passed. “I’m your husband, right?” he asked, remaining crouched.
My brows lifted at the unexpected question. “Yes?”
“Now, I don’t know a whole lot about being a husband,” he said as he placed my hands in my lap, and I really had no idea where he was going with this. “Do you know what’s carved into our rings? It’s in old Atlantian,” he told me when I shook my head. “Both say the same thing. Always and forever. That is us.”
“Yes,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “It is.”
“Obviously, I don’t have experience in the whole marriage department, but be that as it may, you’re my wife. That means we don’t pretend anymore, correct? That, always and forever, we are real with one another.”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Not about anything. Not even when you don’t want me to worry. I know you’re strong and so resilient it’s fucking unbelievable, but you don’t have to always be strong with me. It’s okay to not be okay when you’re with me,” he said, and my breath caught. “It’s my duty as your husband to make sure you feel safe enough to be real. You don’t have to pretend that you’re okay with everything that has happened, Poppy.”
Oh…
Oh, gods.
His words wrecked me. Tears scorched my throat and rushed to my eyes. I did the only mature thing possible. I smacked my hands over my face.
“Poppy,” Casteel whispered, folding his fingers around my wrists. “That sounded like it hurt.”
“It did.” My voice was muffled. “I don’t want to cry.”
“Does smacking yourself in the face help with that?”
“No.” I laughed, shoulders trembling as tears dampened my lashes.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He tugged a little on my arms.
My hands stayed over my face. “Then don’t say incredibly sweet and supportive things.”
“Would you rather I say something mean and unsupportive?”
“Yes.”
“Poppy.” He drew my name out, pulling my hands away from my face. He gave me a lopsided grin, one that made him seem so incredibly young. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be vulnerable. This was possibly the worst homecoming ever. This last week sucked, and not in a fun way.”
I laughed again, and it ended in a sob. I didn’t stop the onslaught of emotion this time. I broke, and just like Casteel had promised, he was there to catch those pieces, holding them together and keeping them safe until I could piece myself back together. Somehow, I ended up on the floor with him, in his lap, my arms and legs wrapped tightly around him.
And I stopped pretending.
Because I wasn’t okay.
I wasn’t okay with what had happened, with what it could signal and what it meant when I didn’t even know what I was now. Nor was I okay with learning that my parents had been betrayed by someone they trusted—that they’d truly been attempting to escape Solis with Ian and me but never made it, risking their lives for me—for us. That betrayal hurt, and the pain throbbed intensely. All those things I tried not to think about crashed into me, and who…who would be okay?
Seconds turned into minutes, and those minutes stacked on top of one another. My tears dampened Casteel’s chest. I hadn’t even cried like this when I lost Vikter. That had been a harsher explosion of emotion, but Casteel…he had been there for that, too. And as he held me to him, his cheek pressed against the top of my head, his hands smoothing up and down my back, I didn’t worry about being seen as weak. I didn’t fear that I’d be reprimanded for showing emotion as he gently rocked us back and forth. I hadn’t even allowed myself to do this with Vikter, and I knew he wouldn’t have judged me. He would’ve let me cry it out and then told me to deal with it. And, sometimes, that was what I needed. This wasn’t one of those times, and not since my parents had died and Ian had left for Carsodonia had I felt safe enough to be this vulnerable.
And I knew why I could be like this with Casteel. It was further proof of what I felt so deeply when I opened my senses to him now. I was drowning in the taste of chocolate-dipped strawberries.
Love.
Love and acceptance.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, but it felt like a small eternity by the time the tears stopped flowing. My eyes ached a little, but I felt lighter.
Casteel turned his head, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You up for taking your first-ever shower? Afterwards, we’ll get some food in us, and eventually—unfortunately—find you some clothing. Then we’ll talk about everything else.”
At first, my brain got snagged on the whole shower part and then got hung up on the everything else section. Everything else was meeting with his parents, the whole Queen business, and…well, everything else.
“Or we can get some food in us first. It’s up to you,” he said. “What would you like?”
“I think I would like a shower, Cas.” I gasped as he nipped my finger.
His eyes opened, shining like citrine jewels. “Sorry. Hearing you say that just…does things to me.”
Having a relatively good idea of what those things were, warmth slid into my veins. My gaze
crept over his shoulder, and excitement bubbled to life. “It’s going to feel weird bathing while standing.”
“You’re going to love it.” Casteel rose then, easily bringing me with him. His strength was always a shock, one I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to.
I followed him into the bathroom. Only the faintest light seeped in through the window above the bench. Casteel turned the knob on a lamp over the vanity, and a soft, golden glow stretched across the tiled floor. I watched him place two thick towels on a small stool between the tub and shower stall. I hadn’t even noticed that before.
Casteel shucked off his clothing with an utter lack of self-consciousness that was fascinating and enviable. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he walked into the sunken stall and began fiddling with the faucets on the wall.
Water spilled out of the multiple pipes overhead, resulting in a heavy shower. I should’ve focused on whatever sorcery made that possible, but I was mesmerized by him—by the dusting of dark hair on his calves, the breadth of his shoulders and chest, and the lean, coiled muscles of his stomach. His body was proof of a day rarely spent idle. He enthralled me, everything from the delineated lines of his chest, the wickedness of the length of him, to the life he’d lived that played out across his bronzed skin in a smattering of pale scars.
His body was…gods, it was a masterpiece of perfection and flaws. Not even the Royal Crest brand—the circle with the arrow piercing the middle—on his right upper thigh detracted from the raw beauty of him.
“When you look at me like that, every good intention I had of letting you enjoy your first shower disappears with each passing second,” he said, water sluicing over his shoulders as he crossed under the rain shower. “And is replaced by very inappropriate intentions.”
Heat flushed my veins as I toyed with the hem of my slip. My gaze dipped below the tight muscles of his abdominals, lower than his navel. He’d hardened, the skin there a deeper hue. A curling motion was sharp and sudden in the pit of my stomach and then between my thighs.
His chest rose sharply. “I think you’re interested in those inappropriate intentions.”
The Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood And Ash Series Book 3) Page 20
