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I land on my knees. My bones rattle, and my stomach drops. I clutch the dirt for purchase, then look up at massive gates and the castle behind them.
We were in the forest a moment ago … and now we’re in front of a sprawling estate. I blink.
“You—you portaled us?” It isn’t a word I’ve ever used outside of the context of my mother’s passed-down stories, or when my sister and I would imagine opening a door and entering another world entirely.
“The blade did,” he says sharply, before walking through the gates, which open at his approach.
I look around. Raker is nowhere to be seen.
“He’ll be in the stables, as suggested,” Vander Evren mumbles from up ahead. I swallow. He’s going to be really fucking unhappy about that when
he wakes. If he does.
Panic is like ice through my blood.
Raker needs medicine. This immortal I was warned never to summon is our best bet. I just have to convince him to give it to me.
Vander Evren’s castle is crafted of glimmering light gray stone, with tall arching windows, and over a dozen gray-blue turrets with blade-sharp points. It sits like a beast, taller than that massive bear in the skyquill forest, with spires that brush the lowest clouds.
I can imagine a ball taking place here just as much as I can imagine it becoming a fortress.
I follow Vander down the pine-lined path, through a courtyard, up stone steps, and past towering silver doors.
The ceilings are impossibly high, sculpture carved into the corners.
There’s a front room, then a glorious double staircase, hewn from pure marble—white, infused with silver veins like bolts of lightning.
Vander looks over at me, gaze snagging on my dirt-crusted clothes and still-bloody hand. “Attendants will see to your needs. Then dine with me.”
He turns and makes to go upstairs. I know I’m supposed to wait here, for his attendants. But I take a step after him.
It’s a risk. He could kick me out of his estate for disobeying him, or— more in keeping with the fact that the hunter seemed to fear even his name —slay me where I stand. But Vander just sighs. He grips the marble banister so hard that his already-pale knuckles get whiter. By the tense set of his wide shoulders, he looks one moment from either cutting me down or
simply snapping at me.
Luckily, he picks the later.
“What—”
“I need medicine,” I say quickly.
He frowns, looking over at me in a cursory way. His brow raises. “You’re
sick?”
“Not for me.”
That makes him pause. I see a shadow of interest pass across his face.
“You care for that knight?”
My laugh seems to startle him. “I care about making it to the end of the Questral.”
I get the sense that Vander’s patience and attention are as thin as needle thread. His eyes are sparkling light blue, the color of the sky here on the clearest day, but they hold no warmth. They’re as cold as ice as he looks me over, as if I’ve already wasted enough of his time. “Dine with me. Then we’ll discuss the medicine.” He turns back toward the stairs.
Ordering me. All these people, always fucking ordering me. I should probably be thankful for it, I should just shut up and listen, but I have met enough powerful men to know that they are all capable of steamrolling right over a woman’s voice the moment they think she won’t speak up for
something.
“And if I don’t want to?”
That makes him go predatorially still. When he turns around again, he looks not only angry but also genuinely confused. “I am heir of the most powerful house on Starside. It is an honor to dine with me.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Wow. Most powerful house on Starside …” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to bow?”
Silence.
The entire house seems to go still, as if the stone is listening.
Maybe, on second thought, it wasn’t a good idea insulting the heir of the most powerful house on Starside in his own home, while I’m in need of medicine and Raker is at death’s door.
What would he do? He certainly wouldn’t cower before this immortal.
Confidence I didn’t have before holds me still. Keeps me from backing down. I hold his gaze, waiting for his next move, hoping it won’t be reaching for his godsword.
But Vander simply frowns. “What a strange human,” he says.
I glare at him. “What a proud immortal.”
He takes a step down the stairs toward me. “Stellan didn’t teach you many survival instincts, did he?”
My chin lifts. “He taught me not to bow before bastards.”
At that, the ghost of amusement plays on his lips. “Stellan would never bow before anyone.”
He’s right. The fact that he knows that makes a strange mix of pain and comfort run through me. Like part of Stellan is here. Like I’ve finally met someone who knew him as I did. “And neither will I.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
I snort. “Your attitude practically commands it.”
I can see my pushing has limits when a flash of irritation passes across his expression. His eyes narrow. “I don’t think you understand how lucky you are to be alive. I could sense at least five different creatures and warrior sects in those woods, all headed toward you. Not to mention the cavalry.”
He studies me again, as if searching for what could possibly make me that special.
His gaze is piercing. I feel the power around him in my very marrow.
He’s right, of course. But just like any predator in the wild, he will sense my fear or hesitance and take it as weakness. I try my best to look casual and unaffected. He can’t know how desperate we are for his help. How Raker will die without his medicine.
I shrug. “What can I say? Apparently, my head is worth a lot.” My own eyes sharpen. “Is that why you saved us? Are you going to turn us in for the reward?”
His lip curls in disgust. “I don’t need a bounty.”
“Right. Heir of the most powerful house on Starside. I almost forgot. It’s a good thing I’m sure you’ll be constantly reminding me.”
He sighs in a long-suffering way. But he hasn’t killed me yet. All because of Stellan. They must have—somehow—become friends, during the quest.
His eyes shut tightly, and I’m sure he regrets ever responding to that call in the forest. Finally, in a manner that suggests it’s almost impossible for him to get the words out, he says, “Will you dine with me?”
He opens his eyes when I don’t immediately respond. They are fierce, and confused, as if saying, I just gave you what you wanted. Now respond the way I want you to.
I have a feeling that being here will be filled with winning and losing battles. This, I think, is something easy to agree to.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m starving.”
He sighs again.
“But at least give him tea for the fever. Please.” I’m not sure Raker will
make it even a few hours without it.
His eyes narrow. “Fine.”
I try not to show my knee-wobbling relief.
Then, Vander shifts his grip on the hilt of his weapon, and I tense, but a moment later, an attendant walks through the door, as if called. By his sword?
“Ethel. If you would please show—” He frowns, turning back to me.
“Aris,” I say.
He frowns even more after hearing my name. “Aris to the guest chambers.”
The woman looks like she would rather do anything else, but she bows and strides forward. She practically drags me away from Vander, past him, and up the stairs.
“I can walk myself, I assure you,” I say, yanking my arm back after her nails sink into it.
She just huffs at me. I wonder if Ethel is this unpleasant to everyone or if I have somehow already made her dislike me. Perhaps she heard my conversation with Vander.
His castle, I admit, is commensurate with his ego. It is enormous.
The halls are made of marble as cold and pale as its owner. We stride down a grand hall, and the immortal woman turns toward me, eyes
narrowed. “Your insolence will not be tolerated,” she spits.
I raise a brow at her. So, she did hear our conversation. She seems unconcerned by the blade on my back. Her glare, I think, is practically just as sharp.
My silence only makes her angrier. “Do you know anything about the
lord?”
I snort. “Do you really call him that?”
“Of course we do. He’s the greatest heir of the last millennium.”
I roll my eyes. “So I’ve heard. Have you even been alive a millennium?”
She bares her teeth at me. “Lord Evren is the only reason any of us is alive. He does not make us call him ‘lord,’ but we do, because he has given every part of himself for us. In ways you could never understand.”
Interesting.
“He was about to leave me for dead,” I offer.
She lazily looks me over. “You’re human. How much time do you have left, anyway?”
My glare casts flames. She doesn’t look at me again, but turns down another hall, then opens two towering double doors with more force than necessary. “Here,” she says, before turning on her heel and leaving me, grumbling something about already being busy enough with preparations for a houseguest.
I’ve spent nights on cave floors, in cold waters, in ethereal woods, against a rock face with a ruthless warrior pressed against me. I’ve seen
magnificence.
Nothing compares to this.
It isn’t a room—it’s a wing. I walk through space after space, all crafted out of white and silver-speckled marble.
There aren’t many attendants, at least from what I’ve seen. If this castle is full of rooms like these … it would be impossible to keep them maintained.
The bed is a monstrosity, with columns and sparkling fabrics cloaking it.
The windows are enormous, showcasing a garden that is manicured to perfection. Right now, at dusk, the statues and ponds and shapes are shrouded in darkness. I wonder what they look like in the sunlight.
The bathroom is almost as big as the main room. A white claw-foot tub sits in the center of it.
Another attendant must have been in here, I think, as the tub is already full of steaming water. It doesn’t have flower petals like the one in the Traveling City, but there is a sparkling dust like crushed diamonds swirling on the water’s surface.
I turn and am almost shocked by my reflection in a mirror. Wow. I look awful. I almost want to go to dinner like this, reeking of dirt and blood, but I take a bath because Raker is dying, and it would be in my best interest for that to stop.
When I’m done with my bath, I look inside the wardrobe and frown. It’s clear a woman hasn’t lived in these quarters for a long while. There are only two dresses, and they’re made from thick, scratchy fabrics.
I open the drawers instead, and find them mostly empty, save for corsets.
I search them once, then again, desperate to find anything more wearable.
Pants. I must have missed them on the first pass. They’re made of a soft material, and are tight against my body, far more so than the ones I’ve been wearing throughout the quest. I must be losing my mind, because next to the pants I find a tight long-sleeved shirt of the same material. It goes all the way up my neck, and the sleeves are long enough to cover my hands.
“Perfect,” I say to myself, hardly questioning the outfit that was not there the first time but then was, before taking my sword and slipping out into the hall.
Vander is sitting at the head of a table so long, it starts on the other end of the room. The moment I enter, his blue eyes click up. I feel his gaze slide down me. “You don’t like dresses?”
“No, I love dresses,” I tell him. “Your dresses are hideous.”
He frowns. “Are they?”
I nod helpfully.
He scowls. “Is that all you do, human? Complain?”
“I have a name,” I say, walking toward the end of the table. The place on the opposite side of his has been set. I linger by the chair but don’t sit.
“Yes, and careful who you tell it to. Names have power. Sword names, most of all.”
I lift a brow at him. “Are you telling me I should be afraid of you?”
At this, he grins, revealing teeth that look particularly sharp. “You should be running for the gates, human.”
He’s not completely kidding. I can see some vestige of a beast of prey in his eyes, the way they sparkle like I have something he wants. All those warnings echo through my mind, before I silence them.
I lift my chin. “Stellan trusted you. He would have never told me to seek you out if he didn’t.”
At the mention of Stellan, his gaze softens just the slightest bit. I take my opportunity.
“The medicine,” I say, my thoughts annoyingly crawling with worry about Raker in the stables. I haven’t seen him. What if he’s dead? What if he’s thirsty? What if Vander didn’t get him the tea?
Panic squeezes my insides.
The hardness in his eyes is back. “Eat,” he says firmly. “Then we’ll talk
about the demon you’re traveling with.”
I bristle. “You don’t order me.”
He doesn’t even look up from his food as he stabs a piece of his meat and eats it. “I just did.”
Battles. I have to choose them. Without medicine, Raker will definitely die. If Vander has it … I sit down slowly. He looks far too pleased that I listened.
“How did you get that sword?” he asks, as I set it down next to me, within reach.
I steal Raker’s line. “How do you think?”
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me for a second.
I glance at his own sword, leaning against the wall feet away, as if he doesn’t fear at all that anyone will try to claim it. “How did you get yours?”
“How do you think?” he says, words full of mirth.
I reach for the goblet in front of me. A golden liquid sparkles inside.
Wine. “I think it was handed to you, just like that seat, just like this house, just like that silver hair. I think you were born with all of it at your fingertips.”
Someone drops something behind me. Another attendant horrified by how I’m speaking to their lord, no doubt.
Vander Evren’s own wineglass was halfway to his lips, but it stills. All at once, the force of him fills the room, power like an invisible, crushing wave, searing through my skin and bones, as if the entire time, he’s been holding it back. Ice-cold fear grips my chest. That’s when I realize, perhaps for the first time, the immortal I’m dealing with.
The supposed greatest heir in a millennium. The warrior that quieted the whole forest. That even the cavalry stayed away from.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t have any sense of self-preservation.
I swallow.
All at once, that power is ripped away, as if taken back. I rock forward, released from its hold.
He sets down his glass with unnerving gentleness. “You don’t know anything about me, or what I’ve done.” He looks me over. “I could tell you, but you’d be dead of old age before I got to any of the good parts.” He looks bored. “I won’t waste my breath. Eat.”
The word is a brutal command, and after that wordless display, I heed it.
Gaze not leaving his, I slowly pick up my fork and stab at something orange. I bring it to my mouth.
And try not to let my face reveal how extraordinarily delicious it is as I chew some type of vegetable that is sweeter than any honey.
Vander watches me eat for several moments, until half my plate is empty.
Only then does he speak again. “Who was Stellan to you?”
The question hits me right in the chest. Every twisted shard of guilt and sadness that I buried pokes through my ribs.
I take a sip of the wine, the sweet nectar slightly burning down my throat but not doing anything for the knot in it. My voice is tight. “He was—he was my savior.”
Vander nods. His gaze touches the table, then me. “That, human, we have in common.”
I blink. He must know I’m wondering how Stellan, a mortal, could possibly be an immortal’s savior.
He leans back in his chair, looking every inch the powerful warrior heir.
“Half a century ago, he saved my life. I gave him a piece of rare metal in thanks and hosted him on his journey.” I don’t breathe, remembering the sparkling silver. The most valuable item Stellan owned and turned into a
gift for me.
The dagger he died for.
“He learned about my people’s … suffering. He finished the quest.
Instead of going for the gates, he came here. He gave the magic to me, and to my people.” My eyes widen. That’s where the magic went. Confusion grips me. Why would Stellan help immortals who have so much … instead of our own neighbors?
Vander looks me over. “He was a friend to me at my worst, a friend to all immortals, when he had little reason to be.” His gaze hardens. “That friendship and sacrifice are the only reasons I answered your call.”
My eyes burn. Stellan—he was a friend to me too. He died because of me. And, even in those final moments, even as he called me a fool, I know he didn’t regret taking me in.
I blink, and a tear escapes. It runs down my cheek. Vander turns his head, studying it, as if it’s something grossly unfamiliar.
He stands. A blur, and he’s right in front of me, fast as lightning.
Slowly, he reaches forward and brushes away the tear. His skin barely touches mine. He’s entirely focused on the liquid.
He rubs it between his fingers. He frowns.
His arm extends in a flash, and his magnificent blade is hurtling across the room, into his hand. It’s against my neck in an instant, glowing wildly.
Yes, definitely a godsword. He’s right in front of me, and his face—it’s
transformed.
It’s become a mask of cold rage.
“Why so guilty, human?” he growls. “Did you kill him?”
I can’t even find it in myself to feel fear. All I feel is knee-wobbling sadness. And yes, guilt.
How could he know? My emotions? My tear?
More are falling now. I shake my head, my pulse brushing the shining metal. “No. But I might as well have. I … I should have.” I sniff. I should fear this angry immortal, who could end me in a moment. But being with someone who knew Stellan makes me want to be honest. “He wanted me to.
But I wasn’t strong enough.” I take a rattling breath. “He’s dead because of me.”
Vander just studies me. Top to bottom, he studies me, and then he frowns, and I can almost read his disappointment, seeing that I am what his friend gave up his life for.
“Everything in me wants to kill you,” he says. He sounds like he means it.
Then, just as suddenly as it was drawn, his sword is back against the wall. He sighs. “But if he died for you … I won’t let it be in vain.” His eyes meet mine. They are harsh and fierce. “Why are you making the quest?”
My answer is immediate. “Revenge.”
He looks surprised at that.
“On who?”
Telling him would be a risk. The gods are revered on this side. Even the faelings told me Great Houses are associated with them. Though I haven’t seen any hints of reverence in the castle.
But Stellan trusted him. If I’m going to make it to the end of my journey, I need to trust him too. “The gods. I’m going to kill them.”
Silence. The world stills.
Then a slow smile spreads across Vander’s face. “Now, human, you’re getting interesting.” He looks toward the door and, as if commanded by his mind, it flies open. An attendant is waiting. “Get me a vial of healing
elixir.”
The immortal rushes out of the room.
I lift my brow. “You’re helping him?”
“I’m helping you. This is only the first step. We’ll discuss the rest tomorrow.”
The attendant returns with a vial. He hands it to Vander, bows, then leaves us alone again.
Slowly, Vander turns back to me. “You say you want to kill the gods?”
I nod.
“You don’t stand a chance.”
I frown. “I—”
“Alone. You don’t stand a chance alone.” My skin brushes his as he hands me the vial, and my shoulders spike at the otherworldly cold. “You’re staying until I say otherwise,” he says.
Then, he passes me by, and leaves the room, glowing sword hurtling after him.
Raker’s eyes fly open.
They go right to me, standing on the other side of the barn watching him.
Then they go to the chain fixed around one of his wrists.
He looks up at me, bored. “Really?”
“They’re afraid of you,” I say.
He glares past the sweat spilling down his forehead. He isn’t wearing his mask. His hood is down. “Then at least not everyone here is a fool.”
I throw the vial at him, and he just manages to catch it before it hits his
face.
“Take it,” I say.
“Poison?”
I give him my best smile. “No. When I kill you, it will be with my blade.”
“I would expect nothing less, Aris,” he says, before uncorking the bottle with his teeth, then downing it.
I take a shaking breath. I still haven’t gotten used to it. Matching that ruinous voice with an equally ruinous face.
As beautiful and deadly as a blade. I feel like a fool watching it, like being mesmerized by the shine of a sword right before it stabs me through the heart.
“What?” he demands, eyes narrowing at my focus on him.
I swallow. “You look disgusting,” I say, hoping saying the words might make them true.
“Lovely words, Aris,” he drawls. He looks me up and down with a curl of distaste on his lips. “But that’s not what you were saying yesterday.”
My cheeks burn. He does remember, then. “Forget the vial,” I grumble.
“Maybe I’ll just let you die.”
At that, he chuckles. I’m momentarily stunned by the sound, by the way his lips curve. I must be losing my mind. It must be a side effect of the poison that was in my body for just a few seconds.
I turn on my heel and leave, before he can see the blush spreading across my face.
In my room, I stare at myself in the mirror. Now that I’m clean, I can see more than I did before. I look … different. Still too thin. Cheekbones just a little too sharp. But there’s a hardness to my eyes. A fierce determination.
There are cuts down my cheeks. I wash them, then turn my attention to my hair. After my bath, I put it in my single braid, that I now unravel.
There’s a brush. I take my time combing through it, and blink, a memory
taking over my reflection.
My mom, brushing my hair.
“Why, Aris, are there so many tangles?” Her voice is playful, but I can see the worry in her eyes. I’m not supposed to leave the house. Playing outside, with my markings, is a risk.
“It was just for a moment,” I say. “We—we just played with the neighbor boy.”
My mom sighs. “You are not like other children.”
My lip trembles. “But I am. Only these make me different. And they—they don’t mean anything.”
My mother looks at me, and in her eyes, for the first time, I see fear.
“Aris,” she says, and the way she says my name sounds like home. “They mean far more than I hope you’ll ever know.”
My hair snags, pulling me from the memory. Quickly, I braid my hair into a crown, the way my mother used to before bed. I haven’t done it in years. I’m surprised my fingers remember the movements, but they do.
They do.
An attendant must have walked in without me noticing, because there’s a dress waiting on the bed. It has long sleeves and is long enough to touch the floor. I frown, wondering why I would need a dress to sleep in, before I
touch the fabric.
It’s thin, and soft as a blanket.
It melts against my skin like a lullaby. In the drawers, I find a scarf, which I wrap around my neck, just in case another attendant decides to walk in without knocking. I crawl into the cloud of a bed, through the silky curtains. I lay in the center and tuck my sword in next to me.
I fall asleep wrapped around it, trying not to think of the poisoned demon in the barn.
I fail.
Late into the night, I’m still tossing and turning, thinking about the way he collapsed from the poison. The way he sucked it from my skin.
We hate each other. This is an arrangement.
So why am I crawling out of bed and opening the door? Why am I intent on checking to see if the medicine is working?
In the darkness, the castle is truly like a beast. I can almost hear it breathing. Whispering.
I run a hand along one of the halls as I move down it, and it’s almost like the silver in the stone is moving with me.
Through nothing short of a miracle, I find the kitchens. Mercifully, they’re empty. I put as much food as I can in a large napkin, then wander until I find the center staircase. It’s only then that I realize I’ve forgotten shoes.
I curse and turn back toward my room, before something glimmering catches my gaze. There’s a pair of silk slippers by the front door. They must
belong to an attendant.
They’re beautiful, with ribbons as ties, and they somehow fit perfectly. I push on the door, expecting to find friction, or that it’s locked, but it creaks open, letting in a shard of moonlight.
We’re safe on this estate, according to Vander. Still, I grip my sword in my hand as I creep to the barn.
Raker isn’t sleeping either. He looks up the moment I enter. Now both of his hands are tied in manacles, his arms chained above him on either side. I wonder what he did to earn that second shackle.
His sword is still on his back, but he can’t reach it. I wonder if he can still call upon it, locked up like this.
His eyes sear into mine as I step forward. They slip down my body with little interest, even though I do find my new outfit interesting.
“It’s soft,” I tell him about the fabric, knowing he doesn’t care at all. I smooth my hand down my leg, to convey my meaning.
“I’m glad you’re nice and comfortable,” he says, voice grating.
Right. I’m in a castle, and he’s here … in a stable. My nose crinkles. A
stable that smells horrible.
He sighs. “Why are you here, Aris?”
“I—I wanted to make sure—”
“I wasn’t dying a brutal death? How thoughtful of you. I am, as you can
see, perfectly alive.”
“Right.” I nod. “I—I brought you this.”
I’m about to toss the food at him when I remember the restraints. There’s a full cup of water a few feet away from him, clearly left as a taunt.
This demon deserves to starve, to thirst, but—that poison should also be mine. Even though he did it for his own selfish reasons, he took pain from me.
Slowly, I bend down to get the cup of water. He watches me with narrowed eyes, eyes of precision, someone who is used to sketching and enacting battle plans. Used to predicting all his enemy’s movements.
Right now, I’m moving toward him with the cup in my hand.
He’s so tall, even sitting down. I sink to the ground and—this isn’t going to work. He watches as I slowly lift onto my knees to get anywhere close to his height. He just stares at me, his gray eyes even more piercing this close.
Our faces are almost level. I lift the cup.
“What are you doing?” he demands through his teeth, eyes still narrowed, as if trying to ascertain my ulterior motives.
“I’m helping you, you cranky bastard.”
He glares at me. But when I slowly bring the cup to his lips, he drinks.
I watch his throat work with far too much interest. Everything about him is enormous. Muscled, but lean. I wonder—I wonder what— I realize the water is gone and I’ve been ogling his body when he says, voice echoing into the empty cup, “See something you like?” I drop the cup. It thuds against the dirt.
His voice is cutting, full of brutal mirth. My cheeks burn.
“I could never like anything about you,” I say.
He tilts his head. “And here I was, thinking we were becoming friends.”
Friends. At that, I have to laugh. I want to turn and leave him here, the way I did before, but his face is still too flushed. “You’re feverish,” I say,
leaning closer, feeling his heat.
“Poison will do that to you,” he says.
I sigh. Carefully, I reach my hand out, until the back of it touches his forehead. “So foolish of you, to save my life.”
“I’m regretting it more and more every second.”
His fever has gone down; the medicine is working. I feel a flush of relief.
Still … he’s warmer than he should be. It must be uncomfortable, especially in the heat of the stables.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, rising and turning on my heel. I saw ice in the kitchens. I return with it minutes later.
“This will help,” I say, avoiding looking at him. I hold the ice to his forehead, until my own hand goes numb. Until it’s dripping down his
heated skin.
“Interesting,” he finally says.
“What is?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Nothing. You’ve imagined a thousand ways to kill me. I would think you’d be happy to let me rot.”
I frown. “How—”
“You talk in your sleep,” he says. “When you’re not screaming. Or snoring.”
My cheeks heat. I wonder what else I’ve said.
I try to find all the nonexistent composure I have and say, as casually as possible, “You can die after the Questral is over.”
“Right,” he says. “Tell me. What do you want, Aris?”
“What?” I say on a breath, far too aware of his proximity and the heat of his body. At how close we are. At how I’m in front of him, on my knees.
“Why do you want to kill the gods? What do you want? What are you hoping to get from your revenge?” He studies me. “Why do you want it in
the first place?”
Oh.
His words are a bucket of ice over my simmering thoughts. I look away.
“Don’t pretend to care, Raker. You’ll lose some of your villainous sheen.”
At that, I swear I see him smile from the corner of my eye. But when I turn back again, he’s all the same broodiness I’ve come to know well.
His voice is flat. “I don’t care. If I survive this, though, our fates are tied until we reach the end of this journey. I want to know that your motivations are clear. That you will do anything needed to reach the end.”
“Have I not proven that?” I ask, my voice sharp, remembering everything we’ve had to do just to make it here.
His head tilts, considering. “The ends of journeys are always the hardest.”
I lean forward so he can hear my every syllable as I say, “I will do anything to reach my revenge. Anything.” I hope he can see the intensity in my eyes. I hope he can hear the unspoken words. I’ll do anything—even kill you.
The ice in my palm has practically melted against his heat. The drops are now snaking down his neck, disappearing beneath his armor, and I watch— I watch with far too much interest. I watch, lips parting, suddenly overcome with thirst.
When I look back up at him, I see he’s watching me too. His eyes are burning, like he can sense my longing. Like he knows very well that I’m lying to both of us when I deny that I see something I like. Slowly, his own gaze drops down to my lips, then to my neck, then to my chest. It snags there, lingering.
I follow his eyes and gasp, leaning back, dropping what’s left of the ice.
The material of this dress is thin. The ice—it’s cold.
His eyes snap back up to mine. Nothing short of anger twists Raker’s face as he says, “Don’t visit me again, Aris.”