Page 88 of Godbound
It resembles a circle edged with some kind of design, though I can’t make out the details clearly. Sigils like this usually bind their bearer to some kind of agreement, an unbreakable contract sealed by magic, much like the bond between a Champion and their Godbeast. And for a moment, I wonder what other obligation my Godbeast is committed to fulfilling. Then, accepting that it will likely remain just another one of his secrets, at least for now, my thoughts drift as my gaze continues to trace the lines of his sleeping form.
His face, normally hard-edged, is softened in sleep, stripped of its usual severity. In this quiet moment, he looks… almost peaceful.
My heart stammers as my gaze lingers over the chiseled lines of his muscles, the firelight accentuating his carved hollows. He looks different like this, captivating. I’ve never allowed myself to look at a man this way, to let curiosity slip its fingers into forbidden spaces. And Kaelzar, least of all.
Not when I know what he is, what he’s capable of. Not when I shouldn’t fully trust him with his true and forced loyalties.
And yet here I am, caught in the thought of reaching out, of feeling his strength beneath his skin. My hand tingles with the urge, and I swallow hard, my breath catching as temptation stirs something deepwithin me.
Then his voice cuts through the silence, low and edged with dark amusement. “You’re drooling.”
My mouth snaps shut. Was I really staring at him with my mouth open? Mortification twists in my gut at the realization.
I twist to turn away only for pain to lance through my side again, forcing me to curl forward with a strangled breath.
Kaelzar is at my side in an instant, his hands firm and careful as he props the pillow against the headboard and helps me sit upright against it. His touch is gentle yet firm, the rough callouses of his fingers a stark contrast to the surprising care in his movements.
His closeness unsettles me, his scent—leather, earth, something distinctly him—curling around me.
“Where—” I try to speak, but my voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
He reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand, lifting it to my lips when my bandaged hands fail me.
“The cabin is deep within the Birch Forest,” he says as I stiffen. But he is patient, guiding me as I take slow sips, the cool liquid washing over my parched throat.
The intimacy of the moment prickles against my skin, a strange, fragile thing hanging between us.
“I can’t feel my hands,” I murmur, looking down at the thick wrappings.
“Bloodroot and foxglove leaves,” he says, his tone even, though his eyes hold a quiet intensity. “They numb the pain and clot the blood. The feeling will return in a day or so.”
I absorb this in silence, my gaze drifting to the leaves peeking from my bandages, to the meticulous care in their placement. Gratitude flickers in my chest, mingling with the ever-present worry curling in my gut.
Silence settles between us, and I feel the need to push back against the tenderness tugging at my heart, a vulnerability I’m not ready to confront.
I think of Ryker’s hands, steady on my waist as we danced just overtwo months ago. The warmth of his smile when he looked at me not like a pawn in this Trial, but like a person. That warmth should be enough. It should pull me back.
But no matter how hard I try, his memory feels distant, dimmed in the shadow of Kaelzar’s presence. I try to summon his image, but all I see is Kaelzar. Solid, unwavering, taking up all the space in my mind.
“It was either that or let you lose your hands,” he finally says, most likely assuming my discomfort is stemming from the way he took care of my wounds.
A shiver traces my spine as the memory of the second Challenge resurfaces. The desperate battle, the chaos. Kaelzar defying the rules, risking his life to stop the last Fleshleech. Me, risking my life to save him. My thoughts spiral back, retracing everything before it.
The dinner that had felt more like a buffet of women for Ryker to choose from, my conversation with Eva, the revelation of what those chains do to Kaelzar. And then me, dancing and singing to distract him. The two of us kneeling face to face, his palm against my cheek, his thumb brushing along my jaw.
My breath catches, my cheeks flushing anew.
“This lodge is far from the city,” he says in a low voice. “I wanted you to have a place to heal and this cottage seemed to be abandoned long ago when I found it.”
I glance around, trying to imagine how much effort it took him to make this place feel so comfortable, so lived-in.
A quiet breath slips past my lips as I wrestle with the tangle of emotions rising too fast to contain. “How long have I been out?”
He shrugs his cloak around his shoulders, the dark fabric settling over his skin. Just before it covers his chest, I catch the gleam of his chains, shifting from solid to ink in a slow, eerie transformation.
“A day,” he says. “I gave you sleeping herbs to help your body recover.”
“A whole day?” My fingers twitch toward the edge of the bed, searching for my clothes. “We need to get back. The next challenge could begin at any moment, and I can’t afford to?—”
