He believes I’m infuriating?
*
We come to a clearing as the sun is setting. “We can rest here,” I say.
My will to keep walking faded hours ago; my head turned muddy from the emotions of the day, from the confusion stirring in me. The last few hours have been torture, with the prince walking so near to me—his energy too present, too focused on me, too difficult to ignore. He smells like curiosity, like mischief and determination. The salty scent of him tickles at my senses and makes me think the strangest things.
“I need a moment,” I mutter.
He looks around without comment, then begins gathering wood.
I put my hand to his arm to stop him from harvesting a branch from the moss. “No fire.”
“But the wolves—”
“No fire, Julius.” I won’t have my mother distracting me again. I won’t have anything stopping me. Not now when I’m so close.
He sighs in frustration, but he drops the stick he’d collected. “Foolhardy at best.” He pulls a small dagger from his boot, holding it out to me. “At least keep this close in case the beasts come.”
“I need no weapon.” I ignore his offering and settle into the ferns. “We’ll only rest a little while. We must be almost there.”
He rolls his eyes up to the trees. “I knew you were lost.”
“I’m not lost,” I mutter, laying back into the moss. I stare at the dark sky through the branches. “I’m simply looking.” He snorts out a laugh, so I add quickly, “But I’ll find it.”
“Find what? I thought you were trying to reach your home in the north. We’re far, far from the north, little queen.”
“Not as far as it seems.”
He settles in beside me, lying on his side only a foot away. “You’re mad as anything I’ve seen.”
“You’re forgetting, I’ve met your king father.” I roll over, turning my back to him. “And I know you’ve seen him.”
He sighs heavily. “My father isn’t mad. He’s simply a prick and a devil.”
“Yes.”
It’s silent for a moment, the night rustle of the forest filling the glade. Until the prince whispers, “I hate him.” The bitter scent of his disgust drifts into the air. “I’d have killed him long ago if I wasn’t such a coward.”
A shiver runs through me.
“But more than I wish for his death, I dread becoming king of these lands.”
I move to face him and study his profile, curious at his melancholy. “I think you’d make a fair king,” I say.
He laughs dryly. “You don’t know me. We’re strangers to each other.”
“I know enough,” I say. “I know you’re kind at times. You care for your sister, your cousin.” I pause, but then dare to add, “You took care of me.”
“I did what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s what I’m known for—doing as little as possible, the spoiled fool prince.”
I’m caught off guard by his words. He’s right, we’re strangers. But I’ve never known a person to be so determined to be seen in a negative light. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know you’re not as heartless as you play with your family. Or I’d still be bleeding in the woods near the abbey, after what you saw.”
He turns his head, his eyes meeting mine in the darkness.
“Instead you carried me home,” I say. “Even knowing I was . . . unnatural.”
“I don’t see you that way.”
“Most do,” I say. Then I dare to ask, “How do you see me?”
He only studies my face in the moonlight.
“How’re you not afraid of me?” I press. Everyone is always afraid. “It must be the curse that keeps you from despising me.”
“No,” he says, quickly, sitting up a little. “It can’t be.”
“Why?”
“It isn’t.”
I don’t agree, but he sounds very sure.
He leans closer, closing the distance between us. He’s suddenly very present, only inches away now. He could reach out and touch me. Instead he hovers, trying to catch my eye. “I see you, Lily,” he says gently.
My heart stutters. His intensity seems to pierce me.
“I see your strength, your determination. I want to know you, sincerely I do.”
“That isn’t possible,” I breathe. But even as the words emerge from my lips I want them to be a lie. What is it like to be known, truly, purely known? To not be despised for what you are?
I force myself to look away from him, to find clarity even as my emotions stir. I’m far too tired to be sensible right now. He’s worn me down. The whole day has been full of pestering and bickering, the tug and pull between us constant. I’m so tired of everything being a trial.
Still, I think I’d rather be here, with him, than alone. Which is so strange.
“I want more than I should,” he confesses, breaking into my thoughts. “There is so much inside of me that you’ve stirred, things I’d forgotten were there. I want to understand. Yes, I want to protect you, but . . . there’s much more that I want from you.” His voice becomes quieter as he adds, “Things a man craves from a woman.”
Heat blossoms, filling my chest as his meaning hits me, the scent of his intent filling the air, mingling with the buzz of my own energy.
“I told you that I was wicked,” he whispers as if he doesn’t wish the trees to hear.
If he’s wicked, then so am I. Because even as my mind spins with the impact of his words, with the reality of the situation, the impossibility of where it’s all leading, his humanity, my desire to be free, how foolish it is to even consider him as anything more than a stranger . . . I want . . .
I want him. Closer.
I want him to touch me. To hold me. To kiss me.
Like he said he would.
Why did he speak the thought into my head?
A kiss.
My mouth goes dry, my heart beginning to race. The sky above me blurs. Is my mind truly considering allowing such a thing? Am I actually considering the idea of granting a connection—to let him believe I could care even a little for him? That I want more as well?
Do I want more?
I try to swallow as I let myself turn back to him. I watch the white mist of his desire lift from his shoulders and wonder at the fluttering in my chest.
Yes . . . I want more. And why should I resist such a gift? Why should I shun such a small comfort? What will it hurt to allow things to take their natural course? I’m alone in this world, whatever I do. Stealing a single moment of such simple companionship won’t change my fate.
“Why is it wicked to want such a thing?” I whisper back, letting my eyes trail over his face, his strong jaw, his lips, my curiosity growing. My will to see this through strengthening with each heartbeat. “Desire can be beautiful.”
His surprise at my words seems to make him go still. His throat moves. “Lily . . .”
I reach out tentatively, running my fingertip along the rim of his collar. “And the night is cold.” I meet his gaze, my breath becoming shallow. “Is it not?”
He nods slowly.
“I’m shivering,” I say, truly shaking, though not from the cold. “Will you hold me?”
“Lily . . . you don’t understand,” he says, obviously struggling with something. “I wish to hold you, but . . .”
“I do understand, Julius,” I say, leaning closer. I allow myself to touch my lips to his cheek, leaving behind a delicate kiss. “I’m asking you to hold me. To touch me.”
“Lily . . .”
I pull away a little, unease creeping back in. “Is it that you truly do fear me, or—?”
He stops my words, his lips trapping my doubt.
Instantly the warmth of him spreads through me, his palm sliding higher to cup my neck, his body matching mine.
And everything tips, the world changing focus instantly with the insistent feel of his need, the pressing of his fingers, the scratch of his jaw against my cheek, the sal
ty smell of his skin, his linen tunic in my grip, until his energy enveloping me becomes everything I am, the heat of emotion coiling around us tingling my senses, awakening my fire.
But it remains calm, my hunger silent, dormant. As if acquiescing.
He seems to commit fully within moments, rolling us over, pressing me into the moss, clutching at me, his fingers turning urgent, playing at my sides, my hips, tugging my leg up along his, until our bodies have nearly joined, and his breathing has turned into a gasp.
He pauses then. As if trying to get himself under control. “Are you sure of this?” he asks, his voice shaking.
I nod and kiss his lips gently. “We are simply holding back the chill.”
He breathes a laugh. “Is that all?”
“That is all.” I won’t think of what else it could mean. I won’t allow my doubt to cloud out my control—I am in full control. And I want this. I want to be near another soul. I want this loneliness, this ache in my chest to ebb. Even for a moment.
So, I touch my lips to the tip of his nose. To his brow. To his neck.
I pull him closer. Until he’s crushing me. And then I kiss him again, with determination. Insistent. Not letting a sliver of caution through. As I give myself over to the moment. Over to him.
And allow myself to believe. That maybe.
Just maybe.
I’ve found something pure.
NINE
Love
The crunch of leaves awakens me from a deep slumber. A jolt of energy pulses at the air, scraping against my skin.
The dark scent of decay, of bracken and damp earth slinks around me.
Goblins.
I sit up in a rush, searching the trees.
I steady my breathing, waiting. But they remain hidden. Watching at the edges. After a few heartbeats the smell fades away.
Julius sits up slowly beside me. “What is it?”
“We’re being followed.” This is something I should have expected. I suddenly feel very foolish.
His hand rests on mine, protectively. “Followed? By who? Or . . . what?”
I shake my head. At his touch my mind instantly fills with the memory of what happened the night before. The urgency of how it began, the linens pushed and tugged out of the way, his quick breath, his stuttered gentleness and whispered declarations.
I easily controlled my hunger, never once slipping—though, to be fair, it was a quick event.
Still, once the initial bite of pain faded, it was pleasing to be so close to him. The scent of his satisfaction was almost intoxicating. And when we settled he still gripped me tight, as if I held him to the earth, as if he never wished to let go.
As if he might care for me in truth.
My cheeks heat with the memories and I stand to fix my dress. I fumble with the loosened ribbons at my chest.
He rises and moves to my side. “Let me help you.”
“It’s all right,” I say, covering my bared skin, feeling unsure. How am I meant to be with him now? I’ve never mated before. I’ve never even had a man see me in such a state. He may never wish to touch me again if I act improperly.
“There’s no need to be shy now,” he says gently, taking my arm. He turns my body to face him and begins tying my ribbons. I watch his clumsy fingers, feeling dazed.
What’ve I done? What’ve I allowed to happen?
I should feel ashamed.
The sisters in the abbey spoke constantly about men’s depravity. They seemed horrified each time I revealed any curiosity on the subject of my body or asked questions. Now, here I am, a harlot, a fornicator, and all I feel is concern that this prince may not wish to mate with me again if I look like a fallen maid. It’s only more proof of how unnatural I am.
“You’re shivering,” he says, resting his hand on my side. “Are you sorry for what we did?”
I shake my head. If I were pure I would be sorry. But it’s become very clear since my escape that I’m many leagues from that illusive virtue.
He smiles wickedly. “Good.” He steps a little closer, kissing my brow.
My breath catches at the feel of his lips. “It was quite nice,” I whisper, as if it were a secret.
He tenses a little, his hand lowering from my side. “Nice?”
Perhaps I said the wrong thing . . . “It was lovely,” I amend.
He smiles once more, appearing to relax as he takes my arm gently, tugging me closer. “As is my mystery queen.” He kisses me delicately, his lips playing over mine with slow focus.
I lean into him, instantly giving in to his advance, sliding my hand under his shirt to enjoy the feel of his skin against mine. My fingers move over the cluster of scars I’d noticed the night before that wrap around his left side, likely battle wounds that’ve healed. So human. So fascinating. I want to know the story of how he ran into the fray, what it felt like to fight, and win—
“We’ll never leave this place if you don’t stop that,” he says, breaking into my thoughts.
“You want me to stop?” I ask, unsure again.
He laughs softly. “No, silly girl.”
“Silly?” I frown up at him.
He moves my hand away from his scars and pulls me closer. “Calm yourself. I could hide here with you, enjoying you forever, woman. I just don’t wish to be the reason you never make it north.”
“We’re very close.” I’ve said this already, but he refuses to listen. It’s an assurance in my skin. I can’t expect a human to understand, though.
“Yes, so you say,” he smirks.
I sigh, not wishing to argue. He’s right, though, we should finish our journey. This has been a lovely distraction. But a distraction, none the less. The sooner I find my way to Lailoken, the sooner I can break this strange curse over the prince. And then perhaps . . . well, I’m unclear what will happen next between us, what I’ll do. I’m still unsure of what I want from him.
He is a very good kisser.
“How much further are you estimating this home of yours is?” he asks.
“Not far.”
He laughs at the bowers above. “Very well, I give in. We’ll play your game.” He leans in and kisses my forehead before releasing me. “Let’s continue our journey, then, My Queen.”
*
He seems content to be near me as we walk, touching me gently here and there, a palm to my lower back when I pause to search the trees, or fingers slipping into mine to help me over a log.
I’ve not been touched so much in my life. It’s both strange and wonderful all at once.
He doesn’t pester me as he did the day before. He barely speaks other than to point out a small wren or how the light hits the leaves in a glade we pass. He’s gone a bit soft towards me from our night’s activity, apparently.
And I’ve softened to him as well. His smile seems more sincere, his masculine energy less jarring, and I’ve developed a strange fascination with his lips, my gaze compulsively returning to them, tracing their shape, reliving the feel of them on mine.
I touch my own lips absently, then force myself to focus on the path ahead.
“Is there a marker or something we should be watching for?” he asks eventually.
“I’ll feel it when we’re there.”
He says nothing in response, but I hear his soft laughter behind me.
“What will you tell your family when you return to them?” I ask, attempting to distract him from always hounding me about our direction. I don’t wish to talk about the home I nearly destroyed, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.
He shrugs. “I suppose I’ll tell them I caught you and strung you from the nearest tree to spill your guts into the earth and appease the gods of the woods.”
I turn, gapping at him. “Goddess, what a horrid tale.”
“It’s the only thing that will keep them from hunting you down like a dog.”
“They’d never catch me,” I say, returning my focus on the trees. There seems to be a chill in the air now.
&nbs
p; “I caught you.”
“That’s different.”
He releases dry laughter. “Why?”
I open my mouth to say that it was likely the goblins leading him to me, but I stop myself. Whatever I tell him, it will be too much. So, instead I say, “Now that I’m free, I won’t be caught again.” And the words feel like a vow as they emerge. I hope the blasted goblins and their master heard me, cretins that they are.
“Well, you don’t understand my father if you think anything less than a gutting will quench him after what you did. He’ll only be raging that he couldn’t rip you apart with his own hands.”
What a disgusting soul. “You shouldn’t be appeasing that villain, whatever the cost. You’re a man who knows his mind, I think. Let him see you. Tell him what you truly think.”
He barks out laugh. “Ah, yes. Truth is something I tried as a boy. Once. And you felt the scars.” He motions to his side where the slashes twist his skin.
A shiver works through me. “Your father did that to you?” They aren’t from a battle, then.
“He gave the order. It was Podrick who dealt the blows.”
“Gods. And to think I’d thought kindly of your man.”
“As you should—he’s a good soul.”
I give him a disbelieving look. “How could you say that? He cut you.”
“He flogged me with a special-made seven-tailed scourge, on the orders of his king. It was either that or see himself slowly pulled limb from limb, and he knew if he bowed out, my father would perform the flogging himself—the king would’ve likely killed me in his rage since I was only nine at the time and thin as a reed. Podrick saved my life. It wasn’t the last time either. This is why I chose him to be my first man.”
I let the silence fill the space between us, turning his words over in my mind. What a strange thing, thinking of a prince being beaten by his servant and that servant becoming that prince’s most trusted companion. My own memories of the rowen switch striking my back won’t allow me to settle into the idea—and that was a small prick of pain compared to what he must have endured. A scourge will tear through skin and can reach bone. He was only a boy, the pain could have killed him.
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