Lord of Silver Ashes (Rowan Blood Book 2) by Kellen Graves

Author:Kellen Graves [Graves, Kellen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-10-27T18:30:00+00:00

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Saffron trailed behind the prince and the daurae for the rest of the morning, occasionally slipping into silent ghostliness, but regularly brought back to the land of the living every time Cylvan glanced over his shoulder to ensure Saffron still followed. Sometimes, he pointed out something pretty dangling from a shop window. He offered to buy Saffron a new jacket. Tucked a sugar-iced pastry into Saffron’s hands and distracted him when someone turned their nose up or made the Day Court gesture again. Saffron sneered at one passerby when he noticed, and Cylvan snorted, before pulling a face, too—and they burst out laughing as the blood drained from the stranger’s face.

But when Saffron was refused entry at the third shop in a row, Cylvan finally snapped. Pulling Saffron through the door anyway and into the back, he grabbed the veil and tugged it off. Saffron let out a small sound of surprise, nearly losing his teeth on the chain. Grappling for the chiffon on instinct, Cylvan was already wadding it up into a ball and tucking it into Saffron’s hand.

“Taran’s at a funeral in the next town; he won’t be back for a few days, so you don’t have to wear this until then. By royal decree. Danu bless. Amen.”

Saffron flushed, but nodded, not expecting the intensity of Cylvan’s tone—or the expression that came with it. Keeping Saffron’s eyes with his, staring at him for a moment longer than would have been casual. When Cylvan’s hand suddenly lifted to touch Saffron’s face, then push his mussed hair back into place, Saffron held his breath.

“I prefer to see your face, anyway…” Cylvan mumbled, before pulling his hand back with what sounded like a tiny curse under his breath.

Cylvan was suddenly grabbed and yanked toward the boutique’s fine clothes by Asche demanding attention. Cylvan stumbled after them, and Saffron took his first breath, hobbling his own way to a bench where he could sit and rest his leg—as well as his pounding heart.

Without the veil making him self-conscious, Saffron was able to enjoy the sight of Cylvan and his sibling rifling through clothes, changing into different jackets and skirts and blouses, pinched and prodded by the designer who offered all sorts of suggestions to adjust the fit. Every time Cylvan lifted his eyes to Saffron and asked what he thought, Saffron stiffened, opening his mouth and nearly speaking on instinct. Not that it mattered that he couldn’t—his answer would have been exactly the same, every time.

You look beautiful, Cylvan.

Everything fits you perfectly.

You’re always so handsome.

It made Saffron blush constantly, unable to keep away the bite-sized fantasies that formed whenever Cylvan pulled on another ensemble and looked more stunning than ever. With his broad shoulders and chest, narrow waist and hips, long legs that Saffron knew were stronger than they looked… even just watching his hands work over buttons and loops, Saffron was mesmerized by the tendons, the way the sharp points of his nails moved with perfect accuracy every time.

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