Why does he have to be so painfully beautiful? Why? It’s like someone turned a lightning bolt into the most arresting young man imaginable. And, of course, he draws the most interesting, charismatic young men to himself. Kisses them so freely and openly. The sight never fails to send a frisson of shock through my lines. Most of the exchanges seem light and teasing, but sometimes...it’s like he’s feeding lightning straight into the man he’s kissing.

It’s even more difficult to look at Vothe now that the dreams have started.

Dreams that I don’t want. Dreams of pulling Vothendrile into my room, pinning him to the wall and showing him what lightning really is.

“Shouldn’t you just get on with quietly guarding me?” I ask, and there’s no way to keep the bitter edge from my tone.

Vothendrile gives me a long look, and it’s a shock to see something new in his expression—a kind of chastened dismay. And frustration.

With what?

I almost go with him. I almost let him say what he has to say.

But the hurt is too raw, and I’m not interested in his blaring lack of courage. I’m not interested in feigning civility when the emotions cut too deep.

I give him another silent look that I fear reveals too much...and shut the door.

Vothendrile

The Death Fae gather around Trystan at every meal.

I watch them the next evening from the periphery, half noticing Basyl as he caresses my arm, jockeying for my attention along with several other friends. I force quick smiles, even as my attention is drawn back to Trystan in an increasingly reckless tide.

All three primordial Death Fae are seated with him, as they are at every meal—tall, powerful Viger, petite, spider-shifter Sylla, and mysterious, elegant Vesper. Every table around them has emptied, as it always does, dark mist curling around their bizarre, insular grouping.

They sit in their usual silence, poisonous scorpions and spiders and the occasional snake encircling Trystan’s lean frame like a fraternal, albeit deadly, embrace. The Death Fae’s presence here will be a fleeting thing, all three completing basic Vu Trin training before departing—Viger about to deploy to the Dyoi Desert to harness its huge desert serpents, Sylla soon to be stationed in the Agolith Desert to fortify the Vu Trin’s ranks with deadly storm spiders. And Vesper will be stationed at a military base in Northern Noilaan, the enigmatic rune sorcerer adept at linking Death magic to Noi military runes.

Conflict whorls inside me as I find myself both relieved that Trystan has gained such staunch friends and dismayed over their imminent departure.

Because the animosity toward Trystan’s presence here is growing alongside the mounting tensions between Noilaan and Gardneria. I’m becoming less a guard protecting the Wyvernguard and more a guard protecting him.