Page 40 of A Kingdom of Destruction

“You’ve heard enough,” he retorted, flashing his teeth at her. “Just because we’re stuck in here doesn’t mean I have to talk to you.”

“Tell me the truth. You don’t want to be around me any more than I want to be around you. Your father and brother are probably making you play the nice guy when you really want to use that dagger on me and slit my throat.” Her gaze dropped to the gleaming blade. “Am I right?”

He said nothing for the longest moment, and she nodded.

“I thought so.”

“I’m not saying I’d rather you be dead. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Because here we are and we’re both stuck pretending.” He blew out a breath. “It’s exhausting.”

Indeed. It really was tiring to have to pretend to be something other than what you were.

“I never had to pretend when I led my men,” she found herself telling him. “Sure, war sucks. The fighting itself is the worst, and I wouldn’t wish it on an enemy. But the camaraderie, the way they listened to me because they knew I had the skills and not just because of my status… it felt liberating.”

And satisfying in a way nothing else had ever been.

Roran studied her before he leaned forward and mimicked her posture. “Mortals like to pretend they are the more solid of our two races. The more stable. The good ones. Yet you are just as beastly as we are, simply without the vision.”

“I really do love our chats. Remind me to make them into my schedule for the future.” Aven faked nonchalance, stretching her legs out so that the soles of her shoes nearly pressed against Roran’s. She crossed one ankle over the other to mirror him. “Considering I have nothing but time now.”

There was no way King Donal could force her into a match with Roran. They’d both hate it! He was the most obstinate, asinine person she’d ever met, with an ego the size of a boulder and no brains to match.

“There is nothing quite like being told what’s wrong with you,” she said.

“I’m sure this isn’t the first time someone has pointed out the obvious.” Roran’s expression remained soured, his lips pulled down and small lines fanning out from his icy eyes. “Or perhaps not. The mortals might be cowed at the idea of their little warrior princess. Too scared of you to talk to you about your faults. Not to mention it would be a mirror held up to their own.”

“I get it, Roran. You have a problem with me and my kind.” She fought to keep the sharpness out of her tone and failed miserably.

“That’s why you shouldn’t take it personally. Mortals are a disease. Although you’re not half bad to look at.”

“Good enough to mount, good enough to kill, good enough to manipulate into the direction you want,” she clarified.

“Finally, you have it right.”

His grin infuriated her. Yet the desire to slap some sense into his head wasn’t as strong as it used to be.

Especially with his scent filling her head and making it spin. Not an altogether unpleasant sensation, but this was the wrong time. And the wrong person. “Must be tough being second to your older brother. Don’t tell me you have no aspirations to lead.”

“You have no idea whatIwant,” he barked.

“That’s why I’m asking you about it now. Seems to me you have no jealousy with your brother, but I find it impossible to believe.”

“Cillian and I have always had our differences. He’s pleased to be next in line for the throne. It doesn’t exactly give me the leverage I’d like to tread my own path, but I make the best of it.”

“What would you like to do, then?” she wanted to know.

“Bake pies,” he replied sarcastically.

She kicked at him. Roran kicked back, much lighter than she had expected.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. I serve Mourningvale.” His words came out rough, almost a growl.

Aven’s breath caught as he shifted closer, the press of his knee against hers sending an unexpected jolt through her body.

When had the space between them become so small?

Her heart stammered as his ice-blue eyes dropped to her lips, lingering there for just a heartbeat before meeting her gaze again with an intensity that made her pulse race.

“Aven.”

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