Page 67 of Court of Secrets and Flames

“I know.” I kiss him back, and my eyes slide shut as the weight of the day fades. “Two minutes.”

“It’s not nearly enough…but I’ll take it.”

The chill of the water lingers on my skin as I stand in the center of my bathing chamber. My damp, heavy wings drag down my shoulders with a weight that is both metaphorical and all too physical.

I twist, attempting to reach every feathered expanse, but it’s no use. The memory of Knox’s lips on mine, of the way he touched the most sensitive parts of my wings and whispered in my ear while we stole a few moments, comes to my mind unbidden.

Despite the soreness of my muscles, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

Halting my fruitless efforts, I instead shake my wings out, droplets scattering across the tiled floor like tiny stars flung from a celestial hand.

The movement triggers a fresh wave of aches through my tired body. I close my eyes and focus, calling forth the fire magic that simmers within my blood and feeling its eager response.

Warmth blooms in my palms, a welcome contrast to the cold bath that Knox assured would aid in muscle recovery. How he managed to convince me, I’ll never know. The heat from my hands spreads, seeping into my flesh like a soothing balm to the day’s relentless strain.

“I guess a fiery dry-off will have to do.”

With a deep breath, I inhale damp stone and linen, the scents grounding me in the moment. With one last brush of magic-infused heat over my wings, I extinguish the flames prancing upon my skin, leaving only an echo of their warmth behind.

As I wrap the robe tighter around my aching body, the fabric brushes against sensitive skin still flushed from the grueling day. Pungent aroma aside, the liniment’s cool relief as I slather it over my sore muscles is undeniable. With each application, the day’s strains and bruises fade into a dull ache.

Grumbling under my breath about stubborn trainers and their blasted cold baths, I gingerly dress in a simple garment. As the fabric catches on my wings, I contort myself to accommodate the span of my back.

I still don’t know how to put the stupid things away. Knox keeps saying I’ll get it “one day,” but he doesn’t say whatitI’ll get.

In the meantime, I have to resign myself to not sleeping on my back.

Maybe I should reach out to Duchess Breann, though the thought of more training makes me groan.

I slip out the door of my chamber, nodding at the guard who falls into line behind me as I weave through the corridors. The hush of the hallway swallows every light tap of my slippered feet.

My determination to escape may have weakened, but knowledge is power, and I still have a prophecy to worry about. The more I understand about my heritage, the safer I’ll be. Counting intersections, I near the Royal Archives. When I enter, silence greets me, save for the soft sigh of my own breath.

Inside, the shelves taunt me with endless rows of dust and cobweb-shrouded spines and the scent of parchment and leather. I poke through the titles, hunting for something helpful about my ancestors, but it’sThe Big Book of Eel Recipesthat stops me cold.

A surprised laugh escapes me. What the hells is it with me stumbling across eel cookbooks in random libraries?

As I inspect the disorganized rows and piles, an eerie sensation hits me, like someone walking over my grave. Almost as if one of these tomes is calling to me.

An image of the book from my dream the other night slithers into my brain, sending goose bumps coursing over my flesh.

Okay, now I’m really starting to lose it. I’ll take that as the nudge I need to return to my room.

Shaking my head at my own jumpiness, I leave the archives, determined to ignore the odd, prickly sensation that I’m leaving something important behind.

Chapter Twenty-Four

My boots kick up dust as I rush toward the paddock clad in my dragonriding gear. Knox’s relentless training sessions and the undeniable attraction between us have frayed my nerves to their last threads, and I need an escape.

I’ve sent word to the prince through one of the guards that I’ll be late for the first training session of the day. I didn’t bother to wait for his response because I have a feeling he’d insist on accompanying me on my flight.

But I need space. Time alone to think and just breathe.

Is Sterling going to be pissed when he learns I’ve skipped training to fly solo? Probably.

Am I worried about that? Not one bit.

The arrogant prince could use a little lesson in patience.

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