The air between myself and her was tense, but neither of us dared to say a word about what had narrowly escaped the other the night before. Nearly.
The one word replayed within me like a bitter insult. So near to my mouth had he been that I was persuaded I had tasted its warmth, and our breaths had gotten mixed till the room had whirled away to nothing but Lucian and his eyes. And then. he'd stepped back.
Now, as the light of the morning fell in through the tall windows of the rooms of the Alpha King, I sat at the end of the table most remote, and pretended to be reading the parchment spread out before me. The quill was tightly held in my hand and could have broken.
Before me Lucian was striding lethargically, adjusting the fittings of his black tunic, his powerful shoulders outlined in the sunshine. He had not glanced at me at all since getting up, and silence is dazzling. "Did you sleep?" His voice was low and repressed--to repressed. I gulped. "Well enough." It was a lie. I had tossed and turned before daylight thinking of that moment, and whether I had dreamed how his eyes had burnt me.
He gave a nod of the head that could not be interpreted. The same fellow who had nearly kissed me last night was now looking at me as though he were doing me a favor. That transformation hurt me more than I would like to admit. I rose to leave the room and his mantle stood in my way. Lucian stretched out, and his hand brushed my arm as he laid it on my shoulders. It was so easy that it deprived me of the faculty of breathing. Without it you will catch cold walking about the training grounds. His voice was sharp, and yet it was gentler in the movement of smoothing out the cloth so that I felt all of it.
My heart was false, and ran to touch him. Thanks, I said to myself, trying very hard to suppress the tone of my voice. Here they looked--once only once. That same smoulder burst out, crude and unchecked, and whipped round his axis. Something quiet followed the walk to the grounds, except for the steady tread of his feet beside me. He stayed near--nearer than he had to be--and his hand brushed against mine once, twice, like touching the dead. Each of the involuntary touches left a trail of fire on my epidermis.
I broke in with final words, halting half-way along the corridor: "Lucian," I said. "Why are you doing this?" He turned, brow furrowed. "Doing what? " This." I fluttered a little between us, and my breast tightened. One moment you. and then you act as nothing ever did. His eyes were soft to the morning, and there were shadows playing in them. "Because nothing did." The words stung like a knife. I was able to handle an ugly laugh, a nod. "Right. Nothing."
But passing in front of him, rubbing a sore spot in my eyes, I felt as though the gaze lingered--pregnant, blazing--the sort of pledge that a man must never give. And though he did nothing, the silence between us cried aloud like words themselves.