The men shifted on their feet, no doubt realizing now that she could have gotten out any time she wanted. Samael shot Amun a look, and the other man crossed his arms with a glare.
For her part, Meira’s gaze skittered over the men in the room, pausing on Samael for a heartbeat before she moved to the bedside. With a gentle smile followed by a grimace of pain, Gorgon reached for her hand, and she sat on the edge of the bed to take it. Samael deliberately stepped back. Either that or gnaw his king’s hand off for touching her, his dragon going wild in his head at what he was watching and the thoughts now screaming in his mind.
“I need to explain everything,” Gorgon said.
She shook her head. “I heard through the mirror.”
“I’m sorry—”
“This is not your fault. This is Pytheios.” A quick, unreadable glance at Samael, and he took another step back. Meira’s eyes turned darker blue than they already were, but she turned away from him in silence, disappointment written into every line of her tense body. But he couldn’t help that. Now he had to be strong for both of them.
“We have no time to waste,” Gorgon said. “We must complete our mating now.”
The seven hells collapsed in on Samael, raining fire and brimstone down on his head, even as he stood in total silence in a room filled with those loyal to the man on the bed. Himself included.
He waited for her to reveal their secret. Tell the king she was taken. But that was dangerous.
“You must rest.” She softened the words with a smile.
Gorgon coughed. “Pytheios has successfully mated the woman named Tisiphone. She appears to be a legitimate phoenix. All the signs were in place. I witnessed the coupling myself.”
The king paled and suddenly spasmed into a fit of coughing that racked his body, pain evident in every accompanying grimace and grunt and the way he tried to cushion his body from each blow. Finally, he settled back on the pillows, breathing hard, skin ashy beneath the natural hue and beaded with sweat.
Meira gripped his hand tighter. “We can’t mate.”
Samael straightened. He had to stop her from confessing to the king. If she told Gorgon here, with the king this vulnerable, with all these untrusting eyes focused on the two of them, Samael couldn’t guarantee her safety. “Meira—”
She shot him a warning look and continued. “Not when you’re in this condition, or you risk death. I won’t see you burn again. Let’s give you more time to rest, then we should talk with the other kings and my sisters. There is…much you don’t know.”
The understatement of the fucking millennium.
…
Guards walked ahead of and behind her as Meira returned to Gorgon after meeting with her sisters. The long skirt of her dress swished against her legs, swirling the cool mountain air against her skin. Back in her normal clothes. As though she’d hit a reset button on her life.
She was hiding again, but the part of her she’d discovered while she was with Sam, the brave part, was just biding time.
Up ahead, the door to the king’s chamber opened. “I’ll return in an hour,” someone was saying.
It took everything in her not to stumble to a halt at that familiar, darkly smooth voice. Samael.
She couldn’t see him thanks to the guard in front of her having wide shoulders and blocking most of her view.
For two days now, as Gorgon recovered, any time she’d entered a room, her mate had exited. No doubt he’d heard her coming just now. Surprise hadn’t lit his gaze as it had connected with hers.
Which meant he was actively avoiding her.
The wall was still up, blocking his emotions from her so completely, he was a void to her. Possibly, now that he knew of her ability, he could actively will that to happen. Either way, she had no idea what to do about it. Except bleed internally and wait.
By unspoken agreement, they had yet to inform Gorgon of their mating. The king was healing, but still weak, calling the healer to provide blood less often now, but still needed. That alone was a strong sign that he wasn’t ready to hear the truth.
Samael stayed in his personal rooms while Gorgon had her staying in one of the extra bedrooms in his own suite. When she’d gone to protest, Samael had been the one to override her.
What was he thinking?
As they drew up to the door, Samael turned to leave. Their gazes connected and she waited, heart slowing in each pump of her life’s blood through her body.
Time didn’t stop. Because he didn’t stop, and his walls were solid, keeping her out.
“My queen.” He nodded and walked briskly by.
Damn the man.
“Samael.” Deliberately, she avoided his nickname.
With visible reluctance, he turned to face her, eyebrows raised.
“I’m not giving up,” she said, willing him to understand. Unable to say more because of their audience.
But her lover’s walls were sky-high by now. “Of course, my queen.”
“Don’t,” she choked, then sucked in a breath.
Pain, a wasteland of it, lashed out at her, only to be reined in so fast, she almost questioned what she’d felt.
“I must go.” Without waiting for her response, Sam turned and walked away.
Time might not have stopped, but her heart came to a screeching halt before plummeting to her feet, where it got trampled to a gory pulp. Her heart crawled, bloody and bruised, in the opposite direction, wanting to go with the man walking away from her.
She had a horrible, piercing dread about what was going on in his head. The fact that his king’s brand had returned was a bad sign as far as their mating was concerned. But to acknowledge the terrible possibility of what Sam could
