Page 162 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

The air rushed from Alora’s lungs as her chest tightened. “I don’t deserve him.” Not denying it, but deflecting the accusation was much less dangerous.

“I’m sure he says that about himself, too.”

“It doesn’t matter if I did.” Love him. “He’s the High Prince. I’m just?—”

“You.” Miwa threw her a pointed glare, then fixated on Garrik and the massaging oils on the bedside, as if she could see what they had done last night. As if she could hear their comforting words. Their laughs. As if she could hear the pain in his voice as Alora massaged and kissed his scars.

“Do you honestly think his title matters to him? Matters to who you are to him?”

Alora swallowed hard, tears threatening to burn her eyes. “The Savage Prince cares little about?—”

Miwa threw her grip on Alora’s arm and pulled her onto the balcony before she could finish. The door closed behind them and within a breath, Miwa’s voice rose, “Don’t give me that bullshit.” She crossed her arms and cocked her hip, flaring those wings. “He looks no less than a ferocious rabbit right now. None of you are fooling me behind these doors. And I’ve only known you for three days. And I’veseenthe way he looks at you,” she admitted, then brushed a loose hair behind Alora’s ear, voice softening. “I see the same in your eyes, right now.”

Alora said nothing. Could say nothing.

“I will leave you to your morning.” Miwa paused and glanced through the doors. At Garrik. “Remember, he’s in your bed. Not anyone else’s.”

Ezander waited for her by the castle gates. The dense sunlight was so thick beyond the doors and down the staircase that she could cut it with a blade.

Alora flattened her palms down her shimmering ice-blue gown laced with gemstones, smoothing out invisible wrinkles with aching fingertips as she closed the distance to the open doors. She squinted and glimpsed golden hair and a dark navysuit with golden filigrees adorning the princeling. He stood out that morning. Not because of who he was, but everywhere she browsed in that courtyard, a sea of crimson waited.

Decorated for the Festival of Cullings and in honor of the Hunt, blood-red banners hung from the white-marbled walls and hundreds of windows. Roaring gold bears waved on scarlet flags atop the endless amount of turrets and a crimson carpet draped down the steps of the castle. Twisted ribbons and glistening gems were inlaid within the lavish hedges, carved as Elysian creatures.

Tonight would be Ladomyr’s famous Red Ball.

A reminder of the blood spilled to earn the lands his ancestors passed to him.

If she was lucky, perhaps Alora could convince Ezander to tour the royal gem collection. Knowing what Blood looked like, knowing Erissa preferred?—

Alora screamed. The hand over her mouth prevented sound from escaping.

She didn’t know how her back flattened against the pillar at the other end of the foyer so quickly, but the shadows tendriling around the hand lifting from her mouth was a good inclination.

Garrik’s smirk was more wicked than she’d seen since arriving at Kadamar, then his finger met his lips, quieting her. He leaned close to her ear and snickered, “You are getting slow, clever girl. I think I may need to take over your training.”

An icy palm flattened beside her head. Alora didn’t shove him off her. She only straightened her neck to glower into those eyes full of mischief and lied, “I hate you.”The mighty bastard. She had thought he was Silas. A castle guardsman. The High King himself.

His answering chuckle made her blood go molten. “Your racing heartbeat proves otherwise.”

“No,” she snarled. “You simply scared me. What in Firekeeper-filled-hell are you doing?”

“Starting your training for the day. How to anticipate and resist an enemy.”

She was certain she couldresisther enemy perfectly enough. Especially, at that moment,thisone.

Bracing her hands on his chest, Alora glanced over her shoulder. She had to at least be seen walking to the door. Someone might come looking. “I’m going out with Ezander,” she informed him and turned to catch his eyes darkening. “And before you say anything, Thalon is coming with me.”

Garrik trailed his nose along her jaw to her ear, racking her in shivers. “Is that so?” His exploration didn’t stop there. Hands traveled to her waist, thumbs brushing her hip bones. “If Ezander touches you again, his life will be forfeit. Be sure to inform him for me.”

Alora rolled her eyes. “Someone’s jealous,” she muttered.

Her High Prince only hummed. “You have three hours,” he warned. Those thumbs didn’t stop tracing lazy circles. “Then I want you in leathers and prepared for riding.”

Darkness seeped from every shadow in the foyer, coiling around them and the pillar. Garrik unhurriedly reformed as dark clouds and mist, turning him into shadow. Before he was entirely consumed, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

A promise in the farewell.

Alora was still touching it long after he dawned away.

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