Gilded Serpent Danielle Jensen (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

High Lady for gossip that likely pertained to her deceased brother seemed rude, so she held her tongue.

“Either way, Serrick heeds her advice, so unless you can offer him a compelling alternative to putting all of his resources to hunting the blighters, that’s what he will do.”

Lena and Gwen chose that moment to appear in the doorway, and though they’d been gone for only a few hours, relief that they were safe flooded through Lydia. Relief that was tempered by Lena giving a slow shake of her head and Gwen muttering, “This is going to be harder than we thought.”

Dareena rose to her feet. “I need to get back to the palace.” She gave Gwen a gentle slap on the shoulder. “The right path is rarely the easy one. Keep at it and keep safe.” Then she left the library.

“We’ll keep at it,” Gwen said. “The longer we’re out among them, the more they’ll come to trust us. We just need to be careful to make sure that no one catches us coming and going from here. It might be easier—”

“No,” Lydia interrupted. “It’s too dangerous at night. I don’t want you out there.”

“Fine.” Her friend shrugged. “But it will take longer.”

“I’m not risking you more than I already am. Not unless we’re really desperate.”

Lena huffed out a breath, a slightly wild smile on her face. “You mean it can get worse than this?”

It can always get worse. “You two should go get something to eat before it’s all gone.”

“You coming with?”

She was exhausted. Frustrated. Afraid. “No, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll bring something back for you,” Gwen said.

They parted ways on the stairs, Lydia heading to her room and her friends heading to the main level to eat. Once behind closed doors, Lydia pulled off her robes and tossed them aside, then went to the tiny mirror nailed to the wall. Removing her spectacles, she peered at her reflection, noting the shadows beneath her eyes. The gauntness of her cheeks.

It was more than exhaustion, because when she’d been working with Killian in the sewer tunnels, she’d gone with even less sleep. But then she’d been fueled by the sense she was accomplishing something. That she’d been doing good. And she’d had Killian at her side.

At the thought of him, she bit her bottom lip, wondering when he’d arrive in Rotahn. If he’d thought of her since they’d parted ways at Alder’s Ford. Closing her eyes, she pulled up the memory of his face as she’d ridden away and knew in her heart that he had. That the connection between them wasn’t something to be erased by distance. Or even time.

Gods, but she missed him. Missed him in such a painful, visceral way, it was as though a part of her body had been cut out. A part of her heart. With him, she felt more herself—the best version of herself—though she hadn’t realized it until he was gone. Killian would understand why she was fighting to save the blighters rather than kill them, and she couldn’t help but think that her chances of finding a solution would be greater if he were here. He wouldn’t abandon his people, no matter how much it cost him—it wasn’t in his nature.

The cold air bit at her bare skin, her thin shift not enough to keep her warm, so she went to her bed, curling on her side beneath the thick blanket. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to drift, building an alternative version of reality where things were as she wanted them to be. She imagined the familiar tread of his boots coming down the hall. The firm knock of his fist against the door. How his tall, broad-shouldered frame would fill the entrance, smelling faintly of horses and soap, leather and steel.

What would he say?

A jest? Her mouth curved upward as she envisioned the gleam of wit in his dark eyes and the crooked smile he always gave when something amused him. The sound of his laugh, deep and rich, filling her with warmth.

No … He wouldn’t make jokes or laugh in such a moment. Casting aside the flawed dream, she started it from the beginning, imagining again his footfalls. The knock. Rising to the door to find him there, dressed in his usual dark coat and trousers, the expensive fabric likely torn in an elbow or knee.

He wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t need to any more than she did, because they always understood each other. She bit her bottom lip, imagining how he’d push back the dark locks of his hair the way he always did when he was nervous. And when he finally spoke, the deep timbre of his voice would be rough, everything he felt playing across his face for her to see.

I missed you.

Though it was her imagination speaking, it felt real, and her heart flipped, her mind drawing them a step closer together. Though he might protest otherwise, he was a gentleman through and through, and despite how little she wore, his eyes would never stray from her face.

Except she wanted them to.

Her lips parted as she envisioned his gaze running over the length of her body, desire darkening his eyes. How it would feel if he reached out and pushed the straps of her shift off her shoulders, the fabric ghosting down her body and leaving her naked before him. Of her fumbling with buttons and buckles, weapons clattering against the floor as she cast them aside.

Her fingers twisted the fabric of the blanket as she imagined his hands, calloused from use, touching her. Of his skin, hot where hers was cool, pressing against her. What would it feel like when he finally kissed her? What would he taste like?

Her toes curled, an aching need building in her belly as her mind offered her a glimpse of them together. Of falling into this very bed, of his weight pressing down against her, their fingers interlaced.

Her breathing grew more ragged as she