Silk and Steel

Chapter 3: Silk and Steel

Gawin’s Pov

​Morning did not arrive with sunlight in the Northern Citadel. It came with a dull, grey fog that clung to the high stone towers, filtering through the heavy drapes of Joss’s private suite in pale, ghostlike ribbons.

​I hadn’t slept.

​Every time my eyes drifted shut, the sheer absurdity of my situation dragged me back to consciousness. I was Gawin Caskey. I had spent ten years training my body to be an instrument of death, to ignore cold, hunger, and physical agony. Yet now, I lay propped up on a mountain of silk pillows, clutching a velvet blanket to my chest while my own body quietly betrayed me.

​Pregnant.

​The word felt like a physical weight on my chest, threatening to crush my lungs. A secret, ancient trait awakened by royal blood. By his blood.

​The heavy oak doors clicked open without a warning.

​I sat up instantly, reaching out of pure instinct for the dagger I usually kept strapped to my inner thigh. My hand met soft cotton sleepwear instead. I cursed under my breath, my jaw clenching as the sudden movement sent another sharp, sickening wave of nausea straight to my throat.

​Joss stepped into the room.

​He wasn't wearing his formal velvet cloak or heavy leather armor. Instead, he wore a dark tunic tailored closely to his broad frame, his dark hair damp from a morning wash. In his hand, he carried a heavy silver tray laden with a steaming porcelain bowl, a cup of herbal tea, and two small dark glass vials.

​He didn't speak as he crossed the room. His golden eyes locked onto mine, tracking every subtle tremor in my posture with alarming accuracy.

​"Get out," I rasped, leaning back against the wooden headboard to fight off the dizziness.

​"You haven't eaten in two days," Joss said smoothly, setting the silver tray down on the small table beside the bed. "Master Edwin was very clear. If you don't keep food down, your core will draw strength directly from your own vital energy. You're already dangerously thin."

​"I don't care what Master Edwin said," I growled, glaring at him with all the venom I could summon. "And I don't take orders from you."

​Joss didn't flinch. He picked up the cup of herbal tea, stirring it gently. The sharp scent of ginger and dried chamomile drifted toward me, making my mouth water despite myself.

​"This isn't an order, Gawin," Joss said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he sat on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped under his weight, bringing him entirely too close. "It's a fact. Drink the tonic, or I will force it down your throat myself."

​"Try it," I snarled, baring my teeth. "I'll bite your finger off."

​A faint, dangerous smirk touched the corner of Joss’s lips. "You're welcome to try. But considering you can barely sit upright without fainting, I like my odds."

​Before I could react, Joss reached out. His broad hand cupped the back of my neck, his thumb resting over my pulse point. His grip was firm, inescapable, yet surprisingly careful not to pinch or strain my skin. He lifted the cup to my lips.

​I tried to turn my head away, but his hand on my neck held me steady. The heat radiating from his palm felt unnaturally warm, seeping straight into my skin and sending a strange, settling sensation through my unsettled stomach.

​"Drink," Joss murmured, his golden eyes dropping to my mouth. "Don't force me to treat you like a child."

​I ground my teeth, staring him down, before snapping my jaws forward and taking a bitter gulp of the tea. It was hot, laced with honey and strong medicinal herbs. The moment the liquid hit my throat, the violent churning in my stomach began to subside.

​I took another sip, then another, hating every second of how good it felt.

​"Good," Joss said softly, his thumb lightly stroking the side of my neck before he finally withdrew his hand.

​I swallowed hard, glaring at the space where his hand had been. "Satisfied?"

​"Not even close," Joss replied, setting the cup down and picking up one of the dark glass vials. He unstoppered it, pouring a thick, crimson liquid into a spoon. "Master Edwin’s blood-fortifying potion. Two drops every morning."

​I looked at the thick red liquid with deep suspicion. "What is in that?"

​"Ingredients to stabilize your Aethel-Core," Joss answered, holding the spoon out. "Including a trace amount of my own magic essence. Your body needs it to keep the baby anchored safely."

​My stomach turned for an entirely different reason. His magic.

​"I don't want your magic inside me," I whispered, the sheer vulnerability of the sentence slipping out before I could stop it.

​Joss’s golden eyes darkened, the playful edge vanishing completely. He leaned in, his shadow falling over me like a heavy blanket.

​"It's already inside you, Gawin," Joss said, his voice dropping into a low, possessive rumble. "It has been for six weeks. And as long as you carry my heir, my magic will protect you, whether you want it to or not."

​He pressed the spoon against my lips. I held his gaze for three agonizing seconds, searching for any sign of hesitation in those cold, golden eyes. There was none. Only unyielding, terrifying resolve.

​I opened my mouth and swallowed the potion.

​It tasted like iron and sweet nectar. The moment it hit my tongue, a sudden surge of heat rushed through my veins, shooting straight down into my lower abdomen. My breath hitched as the faint, pulsing sensation in my stomach flared,answering the magic in the potion like a spark catching tinder.

​I gasped, my hands flying down to cover my stomach.

​Joss watched me intently, his breath catching slightly in his chest. Without asking, he reached out, placing his large, warm palm directly over my hands on my abdomen.

​"You feel it, don't you?" Joss whispered, his voice laced with an emotion so raw it made my skin burn. "The bond."

​"Stop," I choked out, trying to pull his hand away, but his fingers intertwined with mine, pinning my hands against my body.

​"I tried to kill you, Joss," I reminded him, my voice shaking with rage and confusion. "I was hired to cut your throat in your sleep. I am an assassin. I am your enemy!"

​"And yet," Joss murmured, leaning down until his lips were a hair's breadth from mine, "you are sitting in my bed, carrying my child, drinking my magic from a spoon."

​He pressed his thumb gently into my hip, holding me flush against him.

​"Your mission is over, Spymaster," Joss whispered against my lips, sending a fierce, involuntary shiver down my spine. 

"You belong to the Citadel now. You belong to me."