Page 52 of Vow of the Shadow King

I stare at her. Frozen.

Then I wrench away, stand up, and splash back to the shore. There I pace, back and forth, my stride quick and agitated. “It doesn’t matter,” I say at last. “It simply doesn’t matter what I feel.”

“That’s not—”

“You’re in danger! All the time.” I clench my fists, rounding on her. She sits perched on that stone. So vulnerable. So lovely. So everything I crave. But this craving is an enemy I must face and fight and conquer. “Every moment you stay here in Mythanar is another moment of peril. If not from the cultists then from my own ministers. From the spies within my court. Why, even I have tried to kill you. Twice now!”

“I don’t care,” she whispers, her expression fierce.

“I do!” The words bark from my throat. “Which means I cannot let you stay here. I cannot let you face death again and again. I cannot risk it.”

“And what of my feelings? What of my choice?” Before I can answer, she slips from the stone, stands in the water. Slowly, she comes toward me. Spray from the waterfall has dampened the thin fabric of her shift. It clings to her body, like she’s a bride once more, climbing from the sacred waters of the marriage pool. The sight makes me feel hollow and hot inside. And she knows it. She feels it. She can sense my intense arousal.

With an effort of will, I drag my gaze up to hers. She is close now, close enough to reach out, to take my hand. Which she does. Her fingers squeeze mine, while her eyes peer right into my soul. “You once told me you considered women the equal of men,” she says. “Do you remember? Neither one superior to the other. Is this no longer what you believe? Do you intend to strip me of my rights? Of the equality of my voice? Will you deprive me of a choice that is mine to make?”

My head feels heavy as a boulder as I slowly shake it. “The choice is neither mine nor yours, Faraine. The gods themselves have united against us.” With that, I wrench my hand from her hold and back away. Firmly, I raise the walls in my mind, around my heart, stone barriers which even her gods-gift must struggle to pierce. It pains me to do so, but I must.

“I will escort you back to your chambers, Princess,” I say in a voice as cold asvirmaersteel. “There I beg you to remain until the message from Beldroth arrives. It is for your own good.”

And mine.

21

FARAINE

Vor offers to carry me back to my rooms. I can’t very well refuse. Though soothed by the warm lake water and Vor’s gentle ministrations, my feet are still quite battered. I’m not sure I can make it back on my own.

So, I submit to the indignity of being lugged about in his strong arms. Though, if I’m honest, that’s not so terrible a trial. At first, I hold my body very tense, braced for pain. Long years have taught me that any amount of physical touch will inevitably end badly for me. It’s difficult to let such habits of wariness go. But Vor’s feelings are carefully locked down once more, and my gods-gift is not unduly activated. Instead, I’m extremely aware of the sensation of his hands gripping my body. His strong arms bear my weight as though I’m little more than a doll. My skin warms right through the damp fabric of my shift. My cheeks are flushed, my breath tight and uneven.

This isn’t a good idea.

Or maybe . . . maybe it is? After all, by tomorrow, I’ll be on my way back to Beldroth unless something happens to change Vor’s mind.

My teeth clench. Vor wants me. Though his defenses are back in place, I know I didn’t misread his emotions earlier. He wants me—and not just in the hot, fiery way a man wants a woman. He wants more than that. He longs for a companion he can trust, for someone on whom he can depend through all the tumultuous storms of this life. When he looks at me, he knows I could be that very companion. I could be the one to give his heart safe harbor. Why then does he still resist so vehemently?

I study the hard line of his jaw, the shadows of his throat and clavicle. His tale of Hoknath and the horrors he witnessed there chilled me to the bone. But I’d been able to bear it, far better than I’ve ever managed to bear such unchecked emotion in the past. Perhaps Vor was holding himself back. Perhaps he wasn’t telling me all. He spoke of poison and the damage caused by the quake, but there is more going on here than he’s willing to say. A darkness threatening all the Under Realm.

I press my lips into a thin line. If his kingdom is in such imminent danger, doesn’t that make the alliance more important than ever? He shouldn’t be giving up so easily. My father’s mages are Vor’s best bet for saving his people. He should strive with everything he has to make this alliance work.

We are silent as Vor crosses the garden. I scarcely notice the beauty of the winding paths, the rock formations and crystals, caught up in my own thoughts as I am. When at length he reaches the palace and steps into the shadowed halls, his stride does not slow. “You can put me down now,” I say quickly.

He pauses. His muscles tense. Is he going to protest? To refuse? A shiver of reluctance ripples through his barriers. But when I shift in his grasp, he sets me on my feet, withdraws his arms, and backs up two paces. I wince, pain shooting up my legs, but quickly mask it in a determined grimace. I will not be carried about like a child. I can certainly manage to walk on the polished stone floors and soft rugs of the palace interior. Lifting my chin, I face the Shadow King. Now we are inside, away from the glowing crystal-light of the garden, he is suddenly an ominous, enigmatic figure. Only one palelorststone set in a wall sconce gleams in the depths of his eyes.

“I can find my own way back,” I say bravely.

His eyes narrow. “It’s not safe, Princess. You do not know whom you might meet on your way. It’s best if I escort you.”

I hold his gaze for a long moment. Then nod. He turns, sweeps an arm, and we walk together down the cavernous hall. He matches his long stride to my short one. In truth, I’m glad to have him near. I’m not at all certain of the way and don’t recognize anything until we come to the stairwell leading up to my floor. This I recognize well enough based on the distinctive carving of a long, sinuous dragon etched into the wall.

My pace slows. I grip the stair rail hard, willing each painful footstep after the other. Nothing but my empty chamber waits at the end of this climb. My luxurious prison cell. But . . . does it have to be a prison? Or might I put it to better use?

My stomach knots. I cast a sideways glance at Vor, whose gaze is firmly fixed away from me. I can scarcely see him in the shadowed stairwell, but that doesn’t matter. I remember every feature of his beautiful face, every line of his magnificent body. I feel his warmth like the draw of the celestial spheres, pulling me to him.

I know what I want. But that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid.

We exit the stairwell, emerging into the empty passage outside my chamber. Vor utters a low growling troldishword. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“That boy.” Vor grunts and shakes his head. “He’s not here.”

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