Page 82 of Sharpest Court

The molten sound of his voice began to melt my icy horror. But when a burst of laughter sounded from outside, I jumped, rattled again. Because this was the worst possible scenario to be caught in: standing intimately with Keil, my specter flowing free.

And as Goren had once predicted, my fear now fed into the waves of my power until it rippled more rampantly around us, overwhelming—

“Ignore everything else,” said Keil.

“But we can’t be seen like this,” I said, spiraling deeper into panic.

“What else is new?” He gave a weary smile. “Now focus on me.”

I looked toward the curtain, panting. “But if—”

“My lady.” He shifted his palms to cradle my head more fully, ensuring my gaze didn’t stray from his. “I really must insist.” He moved impossibly closer, blocking my view of the curtain, filling my world with him alone. “Please,” he whispered, his breath drifting across my face, “go against every instinct that has ever commanded you otherwise . . . and focus on me.”

I swallowed, heart pounding, not knowing if I could find my way through this. But I trusted that he would walk beside me as I stumbled.

So, once again, I did as he instructed.

“Good,” Keil murmured as my muscles slowly unclenched. “Tell me what you’re focusing on.”

“A dark brown fleck in your eye,” I breathed.

“How disappointing. I thought you would have chosen my lips.”

I managed a raw huff. “Do you think you’ll ever get through a conversation without inserting a suggestive remark?”

“Gods, I hope not.”

I breathed another small, impossible laugh. My specter flared with the sound, and then withdrew an inch, like a lung expanding before it released excess air.

“That’s it,” he said, softly encouraging. “Let it retreat in its own time.”

As my sweat cooled and the images of Erik slowly faded from my mind, the power began settling around me—thrumming slower, retreating with every inhale.

Only when the last wisps flowed under my skin did my body go limp against the wall, crashing out after the spike of terror. Though being discovered in this position still presented a risk, Keil kept hold of me, his solid presence anchoring me to the world.

“Why the roses?” he asked gently.

“The Opal.”

Keil nodded slowly, surely remembering my similar breathlessness when we’d stumbled upon the Opal back in Daradon. And remembering, too, that Erik had tortured a sympathizer there.

But he didn’t know what only the king himself had uncovered: that I’d killed that sympathizer with my specter to end his suffering.

“The smell stirs the memory?” Keil asked.

I nodded, and he withdrew just far enough to take a sprig of lavender from the only vase that had survived my eruption. Then he crushed the petals between his fingers and drew that lavender dust toward my neck.

My breath hitched as his thumb brushed my pulse point, his gaze settling heavily on mine. He was using the method I’d employed at court—trading one scent for another—and his gentle, intimate touch sent goose bumps tingling up my legs.

“If you feel overwhelmed again,” he said, rubbing the crushed lavender against my skin, “I want you to choose something to focus on. Your fingernails. A loose thread on your dress. That lovely fleck in my eye, if you feel so inclined.” He grazed his thumb one last time across my throat, then tilted my chin up with the crook of his finger. “But mostly, I want you to breathe deeply, until your specter finds its rhythm with your breaths.”

“All right,” I said, now breathless for a different reason.

Raising his eyebrows, he gave a playful smile. “We should make a note of this for the historians. The first time you’ve ever agreed with me.”

“Don’t push your luck,” I said, my face still tipped to his, “or it’ll also be the first time I kick you in the shins.”

He chuckled, but as my faculties returned to me, so too did another pressing horror.