Chained To Him [Editing]

Chapter Thirty-Five

It was impossible to tear her eyes away from him as he took court in the throne room, as much as she fought to keep her gaze to the floor. Others would notice here, and she would be punished for her obstinance. But Luc was finally before her again as he was meant to be, as himself. For once, Luc was having an easier time than her at lying, and he played his part well. It wasn't so much playing a part as stepping back into a familiar role, into who he had always been inside the walls of this palace.

She knew with a pain in her heart that she would have to lie to Luc, too. He couldn't know that she had helped to lead the rebels, and he couldn't know that she would do it again. How would Greywood chose between his power and a childhood love? She wouldn't force him to make the choice, not now – not until she had more time with him. Would she be able to convince him to give up everything he had built over the past six years? Would it mean anything if she did? Even if he gave up his role as Greywood, there would be so little left for him in this world. He would still be Aésadel's conqueror and torturer. He could never truly leave this life behind, in the eyes of the people or in his own mind. The Luc she knew, the one who froze each time he saw the scars on her back, would never truly understand how to bear the burden of what he'd done. But that was only if that part of Luc remained.

Jayde caught his piney scent before she saw him, and she did not turn to look as Aragon stepped next to her. His hand came to brush the hair away from her shoulder and she was reminded that she would be his tonight, in what felt like too few hours. The weight of his hand left her, but his presence still felt crushing so near her. She would never be used to the feeling of being so small beside him.

"You'll come back early with me," he murmured, and her stomach twisted. It wasn't just the thought of being with Aragon again – it was the knowledge that she would have to leave Luc to do it. She had known that if he ever remembered himself, things wouldn't change right away. She would still have to leave his side, and she would still have to give herself to Aragon's whims. But it was harder to face that reality now.

Jayde swallowed hard and finally looked up at him, realizing that she was about to lie to him, despite what he had done to her the last time she displeased him. "Lord Greywood has asked that I spend the afternoon with him," she whispered. Aragon stared at her, perhaps seeing through her as he always did, but he only smiled and nodded in mock understanding. She would pay for it later, but for now it bought her more time with Luc.

"Of course." His eyes dropped past her face to where the bruised marks of his hands were beginning to fade from her neck. Jayde shuddered and wondered if he had regretted not finishing her off. Perhaps he still intended to. Her thoughts were interrupted when Aragon looked up suddenly, summoning his usual smile. She realized then that the hum of voices had risen around them, and people filtered out of the room. Luc stood in front of her now, a shadow of a smile on his face as he clasped Aragon's hand.

Jayde didn't listen to what they had to say. It was as if she heard every noise in the room and simultaneously nothing at all. Instead, she glanced now and then between them as her chest was tight with anticipation. Could each of the men sense the hatred rolling off of the other? Did Aragon know how rigid Luc's muscles were with the yearning to kill him? She had the sense that if Luc had been anyone else, any soldier of a lesser status, he would have made him disappear already.

Aragon's eyes seemed to look Luc over more carefully than usual, perhaps noticing some of the cracks in his facade. He seemed shaken, though he hid it better than Jayde had anticipated. When Luc's hand found the small of her back and led her from the room, she finally found her breath again.

The walk back to Luc's room was silent, filled with a tension Jayde couldn't quite name. Her thoughts were overwhelmed by those of Aragon, the feeling of his hand moving the hair away from her neck. Such little motions stuck like thorns in her mind. They were evidence that in some way, she belonged to him. She would always be chained to him even when Luc was walking beside her once again, even when the chance at freedom loomed on the horizon. It was impossible for any of it to feel real next to that simple motion of his fingers running through her hair, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to touch her, own her.