There were footsteps and then at her side, Destonne asked, his voice shockingly calm, “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. She just started—”Brennen stared helplessly at Emmery. “Doingthat.”
Destonne knelt on the ground before her, dangerously close to the flames, and studied her unmarked hands before he shot Brennen a look overflowing with blame. “How did you remove them?”
“I didn’t. They … broke.”
On his knees, Destonne shuffled closer and met Emmery’s eyes through the wall of gold. “Look at me, angel. It’s alright.”
His voice was soft, deep, soothing. It hovered around her buzzing head like a cool wind clearing away smoke.
But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t answer him. Her tongue wouldn’t work.
She could only blink through the golden wall, but he held her stare.
“Emmery?” he tried.
But she couldn’t muster a response.
Destonne reached toward her, an unreadable look on his face as his fingers neared the golden shelter around her body.
What the fuck was he doing? Her flame would char his hand to the bone or disintegrate it entirely.
“Don’t,” Emmery choked, desperate to keep him away. “Don’t touch me.”
He blinked as if his senses slammed back into him. Destonne’s hand froze, like he debated taking the risk but pulled back, and threaded his fingers together to keep his wandering hands caged.
But he kept talking, saying nothing important and somehow everything she needed to hear. And it was his voice that grounded her, coaxed her back. She grabbed onto his voice like a lifeline, as if it reached her through the flames and freed her from the protection it’d offered.
Bit by bit her flames died, her panic with it, until her magic extinguished entirely and left her shaking and chilled to the bone.
She collapsed onto her side, buried her face in the charred grass, and wished she was anywhere but there. The breath Emmery sucked into her lungs tasted of soot and scorched earth. Nothing was said between them.
Brennen helped her stand and Destonne removed his cloak and wrapped her in it.
She didn’t remember much of the ride back, only the shame festering in her chest as they travelled in silence. Emmery stared blankly out at the forest and Aera snuggled into her neck for support.
Destonne didn’t press her.
And he certainly didn’t try to touch her again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EMMERY
Much to Emmery’s displeasure, Destonne found her in the garden later that evening after they arrived back in Asaella. The stolen, and now nearly empty, bottle of wine clutched in her hand had gone down smooth as water and easier than air. She scratched at the new restraints, those iridescent markings that mocked her, and sighed. Maybe she would burst through these later too.
As he approached, each of the King's steps emitted that obnoxious grace she’d grown to loathe. Emmery eyed the white roses and recalled the day he’d offered her one. It now laidpreserved between one of her books back in her chamber. Pathetic.
He stopped a few paces away and leaned against a nearby tree. His arms folded over his chest likehewas frustrated withherwhile she fell into the memory of how he had miraculously pulled her from her panic after the dark abyss had happily swallowed her. She couldn’t explain how he’d done it and prayed he wouldn’t ask.
“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” he drawled.
His question spiked fresh anger into her chest, but she huffed a tired breath, and replied, “Are you done asking foolish questions?”
Emmery tipped back the last drop of wine, savoured the rich oaky flavour on her tongue, then tossed the bottle aside.
The King winced as it landed with a thud and she reached behind her to retrieve another. “I see you’re making good use of my wine cellar.” He eyed her swaying form. “How much have you had to drink?”