Chapter 10

I don't know how long we crouch there on the floor. The King's arms caging me in-protecting my head from colliding with the wall and from the debris simultaneously getting knocked loose from the ceiling as the world thunders around us. It feels like the entire earth is coming loose at the seams. Yet, somehow, even with the sound of screaming echoing from outside and the terrifying pounding of my heartbeat, I don't feel scared. The feel of Damien Lothbrook's body crowding over my own, safeguarding me from the terrors beyond, helps dispel some of the anxiety that's wracking through my system.

His breathing-the constant in and out of his chest-is slow and steady. It's an anchor in the chaos. I latch onto that sound and match my breathing with his to steady myself. It works better than I anticipated. I keep my focus on *him*-on the simple constance and warmth of his body over mine-and everything that's going bad around us somehow doesn't feel as terrifying as I know that it should. Under this King's protection, I feel irrationally*safe*.

I don't know how long we crouch like that on the floor-minutes, hours? But eventually, the rumbling outside begins to fade, the stone floors steadying beneath our feet. When the shaking ground has stilled, the King's body stays fixed over mine for an extended period.

"Is itover?" I ask, swallowing hard.

Commander Lothbrook's body stiffens above me and then, slowly-so slowly-he removes himself from where he's been hovering over me. He leans his large body against the wall beside me, and I feel an irrational loss as his warmth is removed from my own. It feels like the sting of something vital being ripped from my skin. I shake the ludicrous feeling off and blink over at the male now sitting beside me.

He's already looking at me.

Even though we're sitting on the floor together, his head still comes higher than mine. Seated this closely to him I can make out the dark lashes fanning around his eyes, the faint line of a scar along his cheek. He's beautifulthere's no denying that.

The monstrous features-the horns and the sharp teeth and the spikes along his back- had taken my sole focus the first few times I'd seen him. Now that I'm getting used to those differences, I can't help but be taken in by the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the angular point of his jaw, and the light scruff-creating shadows on his pale skin.

And his eyes flash with a deep shade of purple.

I blink back my shock. "Your eyes changed," I accuse, unable to help the curious tilt of my chin as I take in the subtle difference.

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline. Even after all of the terrifying commotion we'd just endured, his hair was somehow still perfectly rumpled, not a hair out of place. I'm sure I look like a crypt keeper-my white hair feels like it's standing on end after spending days on end in a bed without a proper brush and then racing through the halls just now.

His eyes, which had been purple only moments ago, now flash with a yellow light. And without thinking about it, I lean forward to get a better look, feeling my lips tilt up, face lighting in my fascination.

"They just did it again! That's *amazing*. I've never seen anything like it before." I trail off.

His pupils dilate-probably from shock at how bold I'm being by throwing myself into his space the way I am. As I continue to lean in, his eyes dip so quickly to my lips before going back to my eyes that I wouldn't have noticed it if I weren't staring right at them. So quickly that I wonder if I imagine it. I gasp in wonder as the color shifts again to a deep crimson red.

He clears his throat, eyes flickering over my face, "They have a habit of doing that unfortunately. It's not uncommon among shifters for a person's eyes to change colors."

It's then I realize how improper I'm being, practically sitting in his lap. I lean back in a rush, a heated blush overtaking my face, "Sorry," I rush to apologize, "I didn't mean toget in your face like that. It's justwow, I've never been around a shifter before. Your eyes are incredible."

The crimson shade of his eyes swirls darker before flashing with another streak of yellow.

I can't read his expression as he clears his throat again and tugs a hand through his raven-black hair. "The storm is over now. Sometimes there are aftershocks, but it's been long enough now that I would say we don't have to worry about those this time."

The reminder of the teeth-rattling sensation of the thunder rolling through the building, and the echoing sound of screams, has my stomach roiling with nerves. I gnaw worriedly on my lip, "What kind of storm was that?"

He considers me for a moment, his eyes again that same dark shade of black I remember them being the previous times I'd seen him. His head tilts thoughtfully as if unsure of how much to share, "We call them earth storms," He finally says, hands flexing on the stone floor beneath us, "they've been occurring in these mountain ranges for as long as history books go back. Though not at the frequency they've been arising these past few months."

"I never knew--" I feel my eyebrows pulling together as I consider his words. The idea that these earth storms were a common occurrence around these parts had me feeling a concern for the people who are constantly enduring that sort of terror, "I was never made aware of this happening in the mountains. Is there something that's causing these storms? I mean, if they're coming more frequently--"

Damien Lothbrook eyes me like I'm a puzzle he can't quite figure out. What appears to be bewilderment streaks across his face, as if taken aback by my concern, "We have an idea of what's causing it, yes."

I open my mouth to ask him more, but there's a knocking at the door interrupting me before I can voice the questions burning through me. The King pulls himself from the floor and to a standing position with more grace than I would have thought possible for someone of his size and stature. He covers the distance to the door in two brisk strides.

He opens the door to the two guards I recognize-the male and female shifters who searched my room the other day. At the sight of their king, both guards bring one of their arms across their arms their leather-clad chests in a salute. His head dips in a returning nod.

"Report?" The King asks in a low, brusque voice.

"No casualties to report, sir. Two injured, though they are already receiving treatment."

The king hums a low acknowledgment, "See to it that their treatments are taken care of by our healers. And keep me updated on their conditions."

"Yes, highness," the guards say in unison.

"Anything else to report?"

"No sign of fog," the female says.

"We got lucky this time then," the king lets loose a deep sigh, tugging one of his large hands through his dark hair.

While they're distracted, I decided to pull myself to my feet as well-not nearly as graceful as the king was. In a slow brutal motion, I push up from the ground with shaky arms, the muscles in my legs screaming in protest as they take my weight after the strain of sprinting down the hallways.

Unfortunately, the king senses my movement-of course, he does-and automatically throws out a hand to steady my swaying stance. His large hand holds my upper arm in a grip that's firm and steady but remarkably gentle. The warm grip seeps through the thin fabric of my nightgown and heats the skin beneath. An unbidden blush rises to my cheeks at the need for assistance, but I'm grateful for his help nonetheless. Much better than accidentally landing face-first on the ground by accident.

I swallow hard and gently clear my throat, "Thank you."

I'm too embarrassed to meet the dark gaze I can feel focused on my face. His hand flexes where it rests on my arm. I don't know how, but I can feel when he takes his attention off me turning it back to the guards standing at the door. "Make sure the princess gets back to her room safely. See to it that she gets anything she requires and then meet me back in the main room to see to follow-up procedures."

"Yes, sir." The guards intone with another salute across their chests.

I look back up to take in the sharp, brutal lines of his face that have become somewhat familiar to me over the short time we'd spent in this small room together. He meets my gaze with his own-eyes still the same deep black of his hair, "You'll be safe with Arden and Xavier." The king tells me. He hesitates as if he's about to say something else, before giving me a quick nod and striding brusquely out of the room.

I don't know whybut I feel an unexpected hollowness in his wake.