Page 68 of A Kingdom of Destruction

“Our focus has been settled on defending ourselves against your weapons for the last several decades. We don’t send our soldiers into battle covered in runes, the way you’ve described. I’m curious as to what you did that made such an impact. And I wanted to give you time to settle down.”

“The runes were nothing,” she replied. “They were for calming and peace. I had no idea it would turn into a fight for my life.”

“Yet you somehow managed to overpower him and use his own dagger.” Was Cillian laughing at her? She had no idea how to take him.

“Yes. Like I said, I defended myself. Alone.”

Who knew? This might be a favor she could use as a bribe in the future should Roran become odious with her again. A small bit of leverage. Not that anyone would believe her if she pointed a finger at the younger prince. That bastard was untouchable.

“I would still like to know about the runes,” Cillian pressed.

“Then get me ink when we return and I’ll draw them on you.” Aven stifled a smile. “We’ll see how many people get up in arms about it.”

She might redraw them on herself as well, if only to feel better prepared for whatever they’d face when they returned. The first night in the cottage, she’d ruminated on the meeting with the King and how it might have turned out without Cillian’s interference. The second night she’d been intimately aware of him sleeping with only a wall to separate them. How did the crown prince sleep? Did he wear a nightgown like she did, or did he strip down and pass out, the way she’d heard her soldiers joke about in the past?

Something pressed at her to find out, but she stifled the urge.

Curiosity would indeed get her in more trouble if she snuck out of her bed and into his, if only to slake it.

“I never thanked you, though.” She adjusted her grip on the reins.

Cillian turned to her. “For what?”

“For helping me out with your father. You didn’t have to step up. I was prepared to handle the consequences.” Which shamed her, how she’d thought it might be easier to just let him end her.

“I need you to know that any intrusion on my part wasn’t just for the peace between our people,” Cillian insisted.

He sounded so eager, she stifled a grin. “Oh, I know. Your far-reaching plans. You probably see centuries into the future.”

Cillian remained silent, but something in the quiet between them felt natural. Rather than forcing any conversation, Aven stared straight ahead, allowing her body to soften in the saddle. She moved with the easy rhythm of her gelding with the sun gilding her pale skin and casting warm slants through the trees.

They moved out of the town limits and through the fields separating the cottages from the forest around the palace. It felt easier to breathe out here. Easier to let down her guard even though she knew she shouldn’t.

“Would it be hard to believe thatyouare part of my plan?” Cillian said at last. “Part of my future?”

“Yes,” she agreed after some hesitation. “At this point, in life and in the fighting… I’m no one.”

“Who told you that you're no one?”

“Your father would have gutted me without hesitation if you hadn’t stepped in. And Roran…” she trailed off, shaking her head as his face flashed through her mind. “He’s made his opinions clear to me. So why do you care?”

“Because in getting to know you, I’ve seen something passionate and worthwhile in you. You are the future, Aven. Together I think we can accomplish wonderful things.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond or why her eyes suddenly blurred. The horizon became a hazy line in front of her. Several options burst to life in her mind before they died on her tongue because this didn’t feel like the correct occasion to make a joke and play everything off under what her brothers used to call her self-deprecating humor.

She was saved from speech by several outraged voices coming from the line of the forest.

Cillian glanced sideways at her in concern before he clucked his tongue, digging his heels into the stallion’s side and spurring him onward. She followed suit, and the Appaloosa flew into motion.

They rounded the lane, and a wall of guards halted them in their tracks. And there, standing between them, were two men. Humans.

Aven stopped short, and her breath tightened her chest. “What’s going on?” she murmured.

Cillian had the same question, and he dismounted, leaving the reins draped across the horse’s neck as he approached the guards.

They turned to him with their heads bowed, a gesture of loyalty, and as a single unit, clenched their closed fists against their hearts.

“Your Highness,” the nearest guard said. He stepped forward, and a gold feather inked on the side of his helmet marked him as one of Cillian’s personal soldiers.

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