“You risked your life!” Prince Alastor roared. “I didn’t save you so you could—”
“It’s my life,” she cut in sharply. “To spend as I see fit. Or did you not mean it when you said that all of us would be free to choose? Am I now pledged to spend my days serving you, despite what you said before?”
Prince Alastor recoiled as if she’d slapped him, and Ro instantly felt remorseful. But she’d gotten so used to charting her own course that she couldn’t return to service. Not even for Prince Alastor, who had, admittedly, saved her from the executioner’s block. How much gratitude was enough? She’d suborned her will and followed his banner without flagging until they parted ways on the battlefield outside Hallowell.
“I meant it,” he said at last. “Once the soldiers blow off sufficient steam not to destroy Golgerra with their pent-up fury, I will announce the disbanding of the Exiles.” His mobile mouth twisted with sardonic amusement. “I have no need for an honor guard when you’ve slain my great enemy. But…why did you fight in my stead?”
“Because I couldn’t let you walk your brother’s path.” And he was mine to kill for what he did to me. That truth she would keep from Prince Alastor as a kindness. “It destroyed him, little by little. Your father was a monster, and he shaped Tycho in his image. He fed your brother bitterness and ambition, made him believe he had to devour his own family to survive. It may be hard to credit, but he wasn’t always like this.”
Yet Tycho Vega deserved no sympathy because he’d made his own choices after his father died. Perhaps he had been given a sword, encouraged to turn it on his siblings, but ultimately those decisions had been his own. Sometimes Ro remembered how he had been in the beginning, and she sometimes wondered if any of it had been real. Tycho had claimed it was, but he’d proved to be a serpent, and they couldn’t be trusted, venomous by nature. So much pain and sorrow—it would take years to rebuild and start anew.
“I am pleased that not all your recollections of him are hateful,” Prince Alastor said. “You have the advantage of me in that regard.”
“Even his favor carried a high price,” she replied.
And the prince seemed to understand that she wouldn’t say anything else on the subject, for he didn’t press for more details. She glanced over to the railing where Vega had fallen.
The tyrant’s body had been removed from the spikes, but the bloody stain lingered on the gray stone. Likewise, Golgerra bore the marks of tyranny, and recovery would be slow.
“Thank you for everything,” she said then.
Prince Alastor tilted his head, incisive as ever. “Why does this feel like farewell?”
Before Rowena could reply, Slay cut through the partygoers and took position at her side, edging forward slightly in a protective posture. Alastor seemed to find amusement in the exchange, but he only dipped a graceful bow and strode away, joining Chantisse who was hosting a forum instead of participating in the drunken celebration. Soon Sheyla slipped into the group, a silent, devoted companion to the prince.
“It’s over,” Slay said, opening his arms.
Rowena went to him without an instant’s hesitation, snuggling into his embrace. They both smelled of battle and could use a good wash, but she still luxuriated in the heat of his body against hers, a pleasure she would never take for granted because it had been so hard won. Because of the shape her past had taken, it would never be easy for her to get close to people. Often being touched plunged her neck deep in memories she’d rather forget, making her relive the pain and horror like it was brand new. Thankfully, Slay didn’t trigger that instinctive fear, and it was time she came to him fully, as she’d wanted all along.
Ro hadn’t wanted to begin whatever this was as a captive, as that might taint their relationship irreparably. There could be some chance that their attraction was born of despair or lack of other options, and she didn’t want to become a dreadful reminder of the darkest time in his life. Instead, she wanted this moment to be bright and beautiful, even if Slay chose to return to Ash Valley soon after.
Gathering all her courage, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Should we visit the bathhouse?”
Slay nodded. “Afterward, we can get some rest. Chantisse and Alastor have allocated housing for the entire resistance.”
“The war left Golgerra half empty,” she said as Slay stepped back.
He didn’t let go of her entirely, however. Linking their fingers together, he towed her out of the throng, then hesitated. Ro smiled. While she’d visited Golgerra infrequently and never with freedom to explore, she knew where the bathhouse was. It lay on the other side of the city, past the hydroponic garden and the market. They always took her to wash before—
No. I will not allow that bastard to taint even this.
“This way,” she said softly.
“I hate being so ignorant.” He sounded bitter, and she glanced over her shoulder to read his expression.
“You’ve never been here.” Defending him was instinctive at this point, and it didn’t matter if he talked shit about himself; she’d still refute it.
The city quieted farther from the wild mob celebrating their hearts out. Rowena registered a dawning sense of wonder that she could simply choose to go have a bath. Though things had been better when she served Prince Alastor, her time still hadn’t been her own. For the first time in her life, she could determine her own fate.
The bathhouse was completely deserted, no attendants at all, but that was better for Rowena’s purposes. With Slay’s help, she kindled the lamps in a private bathing chamber, then she gathered a variety of bath supplies. Slay tested the water temperature, swirling his fingers in the clear stream.
“That feels amazing.” Eagerly, he stripped, diving into the oversized tub with an exuberant splash. He surfaced with the enthusiasm of a child, dashing the water from his eyes with a joyous gesture that she found equal measures artless and endearing.
She smiled at him teasingly. “Does it now?”
“How long do you plan to keep me waiting?” he asked, quirking a brow.
“Not long.”
Ro peeled off the loose trousers and tunic and flung herself into the water. Slay pulled her into his arms with only the water between them. Their skin was slippery slick, and he felt incredible. A frisson of pleasure raced through her, making her toes curl.
“I can’t wait to touch every last inch of you,” Slay said in a smoky voice.
Even in this light, Slay could see all of Rowena’s scars.
Pale lines. Silver ones.
Her whole body was a testament to resilience, and she had never been more beautiful than in this moment. She didn’t cower or try to cover herself either. When she gazed up at him, a smile on her lips and laughter in her eyes, he realized how far gone he was. Slay had never felt like this in his life, as if her beauty were made of knives, and that if she turned away from him for any reason, he might literally die of longing.
His chest felt tight as she lathered up a sponge and gently cleaned the blood from his skin. It tinged the water pink, carried away by the slow pull of the drains. The water in this tub was constantly circulating, ridiculously lavish. The veined stone reminded Slay of the bathhouse at home, only this one was even more ornate. He suspected it wasn’t normally used by regular people, probably by Golgerra nobility if anyone outside the Vega family held high ranks. Really, he didn’t give a damn about any of that. Hell, on a good day, he didn’t care about politics in Ash Valley either.