Page 36 of Nightingale

Vrea tried again, rubbing furiously until the point where her skin burned and she dropped it hastily, swatting her stinging palm in the air.

“Fucking fire.” She seethed, nursing the red mark that was slowly spreading across her brown palm.

A horse snorted from behind her, but she swore it was Rian based off of the twinge of disdain she heard in the noise. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around to glare at him, like her first instinct suggested.

Actually, that wasn’t true.

Hervery firstthought was to remove one of her daggers from her hip and plunge it in between his third and fourth rib, and watch him squirm on the steel.

But she’d sworn that she wouldn’t do that.

And unfortunately Vrea kept her promises.

“Would you like some help?” He crooned from behind, merrily and irritatingly. “I could assist you.”

“No.” Vrea bluntly blurted out.

“Are you sure?” Rian prodded and she could make out the shuffle of his boots as he came closer. “That spreading rash on your palm seemed to suggest otherwise.”

“I can manage to produce a fire just fine, without any help from the likes of you.” She plucked the flint up from where it had fallen and re-inserted it into the bundle of sticks, which had slumped from her last attempt. “Get the bedrolls laid out.”

He didn’t move from his leering perch above her, observing her fail to light the fire like it was the most fascinating thing in either of the Kingdoms. “Might I remind you that until we cross into Niroulian territory, that we’re still in Carylim, Princess.”

“And?” She interrogated.

“And, that means that I’m the one who gives the orders here.”

Vrea didn’t reply and sent all of her concentration down into creating the fire that they’d need unless they’d rather the cold creep in and steal a handful of their toes whilst they slept. Her hands felt warm, which she took as a good sign as they rolled together. More wisping smoke followed, enacting a surge of elation to rise up inside of her.

Then nothing.

Again.

Gloved hands came around hers and she flinched as Rian took up a place behind her, pressing his broad chest into her back as he silently instructed her on the correct way. Part of her wanted to send her sharp elbow flying back into his attractive face, orher backside straight into his crotch to send a message, but she ignored it.

For now.

“You were almost there, but turning your hands up and down the stick helps create the tension that builds the spark.” The Prince informed her and recreated his words as he pushed both of their entwined hands up and down.

A spark started, but it wasn’t within the sticks.

“You could have just told me what to do, instead of throwing your body atop mine,” Vrea grumbled but didn’t complain. In truth, she’d been a bit cold and his heat felt nice as it radiated into hers. Once the fire was going, she could use that instead.

“Do you ever say thank you?” He chortled as a flame ignited, which only caused him to jolt the piece of wood around even more as steam drifted upwards.

“Not if I can help it.” She shoved him off at last, and he laughed softly in a way that made her heart stutter.

“Of course.” He pushed off the ground and strode for the horses who’d found a tiny patch of grass amidst the dusty road, loudly munching. He untethered the bedrolls and tossed them towards her, letting them tumble until they stopped on their own accord.

She grabbed the smaller of the two and unclasped the buckle, standing and flapping it out until the entire thing had unrolled. It met the ground with ease as she spread the fabric out, making sure that there were no sides that doubled up. Rian did the same, laying his out a couple of feet away and propping himself atop it with one elbow draped across a folded knee.

He eyed the fire and popped his gloves off, holding his hands out towards the amber flames that were growing in colour and size. The light bounced off his golden skin as he rotated his palm back and forth, angling it over the heat for the best warmth.

“My mother used to call me Fireheart when she’d comearound, mostly for the sake of my red hair and my spirit,” Rian said out of nowhere as she observed his curious, almost youthful interest in the inferno. He was perceptive, as it seemed all his siblings were, Castil included.

“Did you know her well enough?”

“No,” Sadness coated his tone as he continued. “Only a couple of years that I can somewhat remember, between gaps of missing time. She was young, I know that. As young as you are now if I can recall correctly and had ginger hair that was a shade brighter than mine.”

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