When The Last Ember Falls

Twelve

Cindra:

The Gryphon, also known as Nesta, had stayed by the High Lord's side all day. Whatever he needed whether he requested help or not, she was there. I stood guard outside his door, eavesdropping every moment I could. That's what guardians are supposed to do, right? Make sure their High Lord is safe?

"What do they have you doing in Velaris now? Picking out the High Lady's wardrobe? Collecting taxes? Or, maybe, organizing their subpar library? Hm?" the High Lord taunted from his bed.

Nesta's small voice confessed, "I haven't been able to step into the library since..."

There was a moment of hesitation before my lord's voice gave in. A tenderness I had never heard from him before, "what is it? What haunts you, Nesta?"

"Nothing—sorry," her soft voice armed itself with swords dipped in faebane.

"You know, maybe if you focused on helping me actually get better, you wouldn't be so caught up in past memories."

Let the bantering begin...

"One of these days, I will slap you from here to the human realm."

"I would say you slap like an infant then."

"Don't tempt me."

"You're the temptress," he argued. "Sleeping in my chambers as bare as the day you entered the world."

Nesta gasped, her steel voice raged on, "I can't help it—it's not like they make expandable clothes for Gryphons, you ass."

A moment of silence before an exchange of laughter. They fell quiet again. It wasn't an awkward lull in conversation—it was their own. Whether it was through body language or reading each other's minds, I knew they were still communicating, I just wasn't privy to it.

Affection returned to my lord's voice, "I didn't look this morning, if that's what you're wondering."

"I didn't," the Gryphon paused. I could hear her cleaning up the layers of parchments on his desk. "I knew if you hadn't taken your many chances in the dungeon than you wouldn't do it now."

Always at the ready, my lord replied, "a gentleman, am I not?"

"A High Lord," she answered, rustling the papers into organized stacks.

He groaned, probably from trying to move towards her. I'm sure he failed and I'm positive she scared him still. His voice carried through the room, breathing ragged as he retreated to a stable position, "you don't have to call me, High Lord, you know."

"Then what do you propose I call you? A boob?"

"A boob?" my lord's bellowing laughter vibrated against the walls. Wet coughs exploded from his lips before his wicked tongue could reply.

Immediately to her feet, I heard her rush to his side. "I, I'm sorry..." she stammered.

I imagined her sitting beside him, cloth in hand while dabbing the material against the blood splatter...

Her warm hands slowly moving from his chest down to the ties of his trousers. Kidding. If only that were taking place right now. I wouldn't even mind. Guardians are trained to withstand hours of moans, groans, screams—you name it.

The High Lord's gravelly voice turned to silk, "for what? Calling me a boob? Yes, you should be."

"No, for making you laugh and causing you further pain," her voice near a whisper before she sarcastically said his title, "High Lord."

Irony flooded out of him as he attempted to play it cool, "I've missed your endearing insults."

"Are you hungry?" she switched subjects, not risking to tell him she missed him too.

She had to miss him. Why else would she come?

And he loved her. Why else would she stay?

"Famished," he responded, his stomach roaring before he could finish.

Nesta made her way towards the exit, "I'll be back."

"Where are you going?"

If I wasn't listening so damn closely, I would say he was only curious. But curse me, I was, and the lingering fear in his voice made me want to scream at them. Were they both that deep in denial that neither one of them could see the obvious signs??

Fucking kiss her already, High Lord. Get up, fall to your knees and when she helps pick you up, you kiss her. Is that so hard?

Nesta's hand gripped the doorknob, cracking it open for me to hear more clearly. "To make you some food. I'm tired of hearing your gurgling stomach," she explained with more bite than necessary.

"Do you even know where the kitchen is?" he quipped at the Gryphon.

"I'll find it."

I stood straight, hand on the decorative hilt of my blade as Nesta walked out of his room. She didn't notice me, or maybe she did and just ignored my awkward wave. I would say the latter.

I peeked inside, seeing a smile as bright as the sun on my lord's face. Since she was going to make him food, this would be the perfect opportunity to discuss what in the hell is happening here. I mean, a guardian is supposed to watch and keep their High Lord safe but a great guardian. Well, a great guardian would investigate the possibility of good fortune. Right?

Quickly slipping through the door, I cleared my throat, "so that's Nesta, huh?"

The High Lord's glare nearly had me on my knees to beg forgiveness, his voice made of fire and more fire, "what are you getting at, guardian?" He was slightly propped up, still in his clothes from the night before.

"She's quite the beauty..." I whistled, my hands outlining the curvy shape of her body.

A flash of red, a second of hoping. "Whatever is gnawing at your brain, I suggest you say it," he demanded with a raised, auburn brow.

Okay, time to be more direct then. I lowered my voice in case the Gryphon stood outside the door listening, "no wonder you can't seem to get over her, by the mother above she is something else."

"Cindra..." he cautioned.

I shrugged, glancing to the bloodied bandages that needed to be removed. Gross. "She's here, isn't she?" I pushed, hoping he would understand what I was getting at. I looked from him to the red cloths, waiting for his okay to remove them.

The High Lord nodded, bracing himself, "what is that supposed to mean?" He winced as I ripped off the first layer.

"She must care for you in some way, why else would she come?" I asked, my brows knitting together as I focused on the second layer. Some of his blood had dried to the fabric, forming a barrier between his skin and the bandages. This was going to hurt.

I ripped off the second layer as fast as I could.

He grinded his teeth together, hissing with pain. "We are only friends," he finally said, focusing on the broken window, "nothing more."

I didn't know if he was looking away to avoid the new blood flow or if he was remembering the past. Either way, he didn't look well. Pressing a clean cloth onto his chest, I quickly scooped the goop of black he was given by the healers. "If my friend was stabbed, I would send him a note. But if Mikayl was attacked—"

"—it's complicated," he interrupted, his face turning to stone. Whatever emotions he showed Nesta, he certainly was not displaying them for anyone else.

I still held my hand on his chest, my bodyshifting to fully face him, "is it?"